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parade of means, no summoning a crowd of on-lookers, or waiting for an opportunity to produoe a thrilling effect. "He took him aside from the multitude." God works quietly. That is our lesson—a lesson we very much need to learn in this day. We find quiet work the hardest work of all, and are apt to think nothing is being done if there is no noise, no demonstration. But it is often "apart from the multitude" God does some of his most notable works. How quietly does he evolve life in a thousand forms; forms of beauty, whioh come, and live their age, and fulfil the Divine purpose, and pass away unnoticed by the multitude! How quietly and slowly does the coral reef rise from the ocean, and receive the soil, and become covered with verdure, and then become the home of man! Through long years the monarch of the forest springs from the little seed, and becomes the tall sapling, and then spreads his branches in noble beauty, and yields grateful shade to man and beast. These are but illustrations of what God is ever doing in the spiritual kingdom. In many a soul, unseen and unnoticed by the multitude, the seed of the kingdom finds an abiding place, and there quietly and slowly grows, until it yields the fruits of righteousness, unknown even to the sower. Surely Jesus says to us, by taking this man " aside from the multitude," there is real work to be done in the quiet by-ways of life—work, real work, though unnoticed and unapplauded by the multitude; and that we Bhould not seek, in the work he gives us to do, to be sustained by the excitement of publicity, but should be content to work for Q-od and man as bravely and as truly in the solitary plaoes, "aside from the multitude," as amid the approving gaze and loud plaudits of a crowd.

Observe again:—he "put his fingers into his ears, and he spit, and touched his tongue, and saith unto him, Be opened." His mere will was adequate to the production of the oure. Why, then, does Jesus act thus? The lesson is on the surface. A miracle of healing is wrought—wrought by the hand of the Divine One; but not ■wrought by the immediate action of the Divine will. Even He who has all power, here aots through visible means. Is not this, then, our lesson— God co-operates with us in the use of instrumentality in our Christian work % This is the method of the Divine operations everywhere. He chooses his instruments of such a cha

racter, and employs them in such a manner, as to manifest his own power, and to teach us that he could do without the instrument, and that if any man glory, should glory in the Lord. But he employs instrumentality to teach us t) if we would be healed, or be healers, must not stand aside and look for mil but must work—work with suoh m( and suoh tools, as he gives us to wi withal. Everywhere in nature we see same great truth, and that is but the ilbttration of God's mode of operation in th* kingdom of his grace.

And further, notice how simple the mmi were which Jesus employed in effecting t!»: cure. He only touched him with lu fingers, and from those fingers flowed the healing power. To the human hand, tin God within gave healing efficacy. Tin man's ears were opened, and in rushed il the harmony of earth and heaven throng! those gates of the soul; his tongue Wm unloosed, and out poured distinct, articulate praises of God's mercy. What » wonderful ohange! And how simply produced! Yes, brethren; and what a striing lesson again for us! God works gttt purposes by the simplest means. Very frequently does he show us this. fnm nature and from history we could multiply illustrations, and in spiritual work it is constantly seen. We are often constniMd to exclaim, "Not great things, but things that are despised, and things that are not, hath God chosen, to bring to nought the things that are, that no flesh should gl<»7 in his presence." Despise not simple instruments; they are oftentimes (Joas mightiest levers for effecting spiritual revolutions. The "preaching of foolishness' is " the wisdom of God, and the power of God." The simple story of the Gross has done more for the world than all tie world's philosophy, or the world's power, or the world's wealth.

III. Here is an illustration of the spirit in whioh all true Christian work should be done:—"And looking up to heaven, ho sighed."

Is it mere fancy to say that Jesos teaches us here something like this:— that if we would be successful workers among men, we must cherish a spirit of kindly sympathy for those we would help l that in our work we must remember em acknowledge our dependence on God; "M that our work must ever be accompanied oy prayer i I have not spaoe to enlarge on

iefe points; but I think we shall miss le teaching of the narrative if we over

'; them. But is there not much soilled Christian work in whioh we are u orally conscious of the absence of these laraeteristies? Proud, cold, austere irking among the poor, the ignorant, id the outcast, in which there is no nder sympathy of soul; boastful, selfmfident working, which relies on talent, ull, eloquence, wealth, and takes no icount of God; bustling, noisy, imetnoua working, which knows no calm, oleum moment of communion with lleaen; a Mai which is devoured in its own me, and is never renewed in the secret lace of prayer:—alas! we have too much r this. Such working may fill the world's re, and the world's ear, for a season; but

■will never fill the world with blessing. f we would open the ears, and loosen the ongnes, we must often sigh in sympathy nth the sufferers, and look up to heaven or His Mewing by whose power alone we an be made effectual workers.

IT. We have here an encouraging illusration of the success which always follows rue Christian work.

Tou may be ready to say, the success sM i» no ground of assurance of success to '■ Jesus commanded success by virtue of n Dirine power, and there is no parallel letween him and us, as workers. Stay!


Has he not said, "The works that I do shall ye do also; and greater works than these Bhall ye do, because I go to my Father" P He has associated us with him in his work; he has shown us how to do that work; and he has promised to aid us in it, and to place at our disposal his own Divine energy. May we not then fairly take his success as the guarantee of ours ?" Lo, I am with you alway, even to the end of the world." And because he never failed, we Bhall always succeed. Sometimes our success is immediate; we have results "straightway." The Lord sends his word, uttered by us, direct to the soul, and straightway the "ears are opened, and the string of the tongue is loosed," and we marvel at the suddenness as well as at the greatness of the change. Sometimes we have to toil on for a season apparently in vain. But it is not in vain. "If the promise tarry, wait for it." "He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him." Break up the fallow ground; sow the good seed of the kingdom; and as the rain and the snow shall not fail of their purpose, so the word of the Lord shall do the work of the Lord, and the patient labourer shall become the joyful reaper. "Learn to labour and to wait," and your expectation shall not be disappointed.

A Child's Bong.

A FAIB little girl sat under a tree,
Sewing as long as her eyes could see: §
Then smoothed her work, and folded it right,
And said, "Dear work, good-night! good-night!"
Such a number of rooks came over her head,
Crying "Caw! caw," on their way to bed:
She said, as she watched their curious flight,

L "Little black things, good-night! good-night!"

The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed;
The Bheep's "Bleat! bleat!" came over the road,
All seeming to say, with a quiet delight,
"Good little girl, good-night! good-night I
She did not say to the sun "good-night!"

ST Though she saw him there like a ball of light;

For she knew he had God's time to keep
All over the world, and never could sleep.
The tall, pink foxglove bowed his head;
The violet curtsied and went to bed;
And good little Lucy tied up her hair,
And said, on her knees, her favourite prayer.
And while on her pillow she softly lay,
She knew nothing more till again it was day
[ And all things said to the beautiful sun,

'! Good-morning! ggod-mprning J our work is begun!'»

Cales anb Statcjjts.



"look out, Ellen, right across the street," said Mr. Walden, laying Mb paper on his knee, and Bpeaking to his wife, who sat at the opposite front window. "Do you see that young man?"

"Yes, Henry; I happen to know him— one of your clerks;" and the lady turned her face, moBt sweet, most fair, from the heautiful child, to whom she was tossing up and down a cluster of silver-voiced bells, and listening to its crow of triumph.

"Was one of my clerks, you mean, Ellen. That's the very young man we turned off last week for helping himself to money out of our till. You remember I 1 old you about it."

"Yes, but I never suspected that he was the one. You know he brought me messages several times from the office, and I was always pleased with his bright, pleasant, courteous manner. He hadn't the face of a rogue, Harry."

"No; this was his first offence. I believe the boy was as honest when he came up from the country as ever one was; but he fell into bad company, and there was an end of him. There's no trusting boy or man after the first theft," and Mr. Walden took up his paper.

His wife glanced sadly across the street to the slight young figure which was slowly passing out of her range of vision. She remembered its rapid, alert step, which had struck her a little while before, and fancied there was remorse and depression in the altered bearing. Then her glance dropped on the sweet face with the wide bloom in its cheeks, and the childish wonder and joy in its eyes, and her heart grew pitiful, and reached out with a half mother-yearning after the slight, half-drooping figure, which had just passed by.

She thought of him, friendless, disgraced, desolate—this youth, in the great city, so full of all temptation and enticement; and she thought, too, of the mother he must once have had, and who was just as proud and fond of him as she was of her own boy; and involuntarily this lady, with the sweet face, this lady, whom wealth and luxury, and all that is good and to be desired in

life, had not spoiled, reached out her lira with a quick gesture of alarm and pratertion to her child.

The gentleman opposite to her, with 1 pleasant face and portly figure, and hair little sprinkled with grey, caught the mo* ment, and looked up from his paper.

"What is the matter, Ellen?"

She smiled, half apologetically.

"I was thinking, dear, what if that were ours!"

Mr. Walden looked down on his si heir a little touched.

"I shall never place him in the midits! such temptations as my warehouse."

"But this boy had to meet them, because he failed once, it seems to me it was hard to turn him right out into cold and dark of the world."

Mr. Walden smiled a little.

"O Ellen," he said, "that would eoimJ very pretty in a story, and sentiment I thia sort is very attractive in a woman B» you; but it don't do for us busineu n» We've got to be up to the mark, hard, aM straightforward, and practical."

"And yet, Harry, you business menial had moth era to love you, and have WM ■ your turn to love. That is the Hb^ straight, practical truth."

When she paused "Why, Ellen, what makes an interest in this never seen half a dozen times?

"I don't know, Harry. Perhaps itj because I look at my own boy and yoon.

"Well, to please you, I'll promise total him back once more, and give him s trial'

And Mrs. Walden rose up, went orer her husband, pushed away the black ha sifted with grey, from his forehead, and t kiss which fell there was the warm, swa* fragrant kiss of a loving wife.

Half an hour later, Lucius Street was n tracing his steps through the wide eh* flanked with its stately homes, down »hic he had wandered unconsciously, for w> spirit of unrest and unhappiness had tak possession of him that day, from which li vainly tried to deliver himself.

Suddenly a voice called to him on 6 opposite side, "Lucius! Lucius Street!'

He turned, and there, standing on tl broad stone steps of his dwelling, was H

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out into the road once more, it was not as he went in.

That night, at "Sparks's Saloon," half a dozen young men and boys, bent on what they called "mischief" and "fun," waited vainly for another to join their company. The barn was fired; the flames spread beyond the original intentions of the incendiaries. Much valuable property was destroyed, but Lucius Street was not there to see. He was faithful to his new covenant. He withstood the jeers and persuasions of his old companions, the temptations and enticements of his city life.

As his years grew into manhood, he rose to new positions of trust and responsibility in the great warehouse, and always filled these to the satisfaction of the proprietors, and at last he became head clerk in the establishment. And it was not till the evening of his appointment, which transpired ten years after his reinstatement in the warehouse, that he related to Mr. Walden the evil into which he had fallen at that time.

"I was on the brink of an awful precipice, sir," he said, with emotion which fairly choked his words. "My ruin was inevitable; and it was you, under God, who saved me."

"Not I," interrupted Mr. Walden, almost as much moved as his clerk; "it was Ellen, my wife, who did it all. You. owe the thanks to her."

And then the senior partner, whoso hair was not now sifted, but crusted with silver, related all which had transpired between himself and his wife that afternoon in his sitting-room ten years ago. And the young man wept like a child again.

"I never knew before what made Mrs. Walden so kind to me," he said; "I understand it all now."

"Come up to supper to-night, and tell her with your own lips," said Mr. Walden.

And Lucius went, and hearing it, Mrs, Walden wept for joy, and thanked God in her heart.


It was my happiness to spend a week in the beautiful vale of Todmorton, Yorkshire, England, preaching daily in the surrounding chapels. On one occasion I spoke of the various methods which God is pleased to bless in bringing sinners to himself, and raising up missionaries; and iu particular mentioned family prayev


This led the interesting individual, whose , house, and see the family prayer. I s short history I am about to relate, to call 80; and, as a kind Providence would hi on me. He was a plain, sensible, kind- | it, my neighbour again asked me to stop hearted man, and spoke the broad York the family prayer. This was just wha shire dialect. I do not know if he is yet wished. Nothing on earth would hi alive; but when I saw him, his hair was as pleased me so much. So the great bo black as a raven, his cheek bloomed with was brought, and the good man read, a health, and his eye was like a rainbow they all fell upon their knees. I did 1 the tears and the sunbeams sparkled in it. now kneel with them ; but 0, what I fe

After we had conversed for some time As soon as they rose I immediately left t on various subjects, at my request he house, without saying a word, and hasten related the following particulars :

home. As I was going up the hill I felt "I was born near the edge of yonder if I must pray that moment ; but thi lofty hill. My father occupied a small was no shed into which I could enter a farm, on which the family used to work kneel down, and the snow was thick up during the summer months, and in the the ground; so I walked on. But i winter we all wove cloth, for our own use conscience would not let me proceed. and for the market. There was no church voice seemed to say, 'Go to prayer, se near us, and we grew up in great spiritual the Lord; cry for mercy : begin at once darkness. The Sabbath was our holiday, So I pulled a large stone from the hed which we generally spent in playing at and placed it on the snow; and there, cricket and foot-ball. In this state I re that stone, I first kneeled down and call mained until I was about twenty years of upon God." age, when one winter evening I rambled Reader, look at him for a momet down from the edge of the mountain, to There he is on his knees. “Behold, call on a neighbour who lived a few fields prayeth!” Yes, with the snow for a ca below. He was a man that feared God, pet, and a stone for his cushion, and t and was accustomed to have morning and heavens for a canopy, and the moon for evening prayer with his family. When the witness, and angels for his attendants usual hour arrived for the household to there he first cried, “ Lord, have mercy assemble, he said to me, in our dialect, my soul!” Oh, what a night was that fi "John, ha mun stop to family prayer ?' I my friend! It will be remembered with raj consented. A chapter was read, and he ture after the moon has been turned int and his wife and children fell upon their blood, and the stars have withdrawn the knees, while I, as it was no business of mine, sat still and looked on. But I as From that day the weaver became sure you, sir, I felt very strangely; I never praying man; and when I first know hi felt so before. As soon as it was over, I he had been twenty years a deacon of left them without saying a word, and Christian church, and was well known walked to my father's house ; but the one of the most active, and zealous, a scene I had witnessed could not be for exemplary servants of Christ in all t gotten. I was struck to the heart. As I

neighbourhood. ascended the side of the hill I thought, I inquired as to his progress in the re this must surely be the worship of God. gious life. To which he replied, ") This is what I have never done, but it is ignorance of Divine things was so gre what I ought to do.

that I knew not what to do. I had 1 “ I hardly knew what to do, and I went been a drunkard, nor a swearer, nor had to bed as usual - without prayer. But it kept company with loose young men; b was the last night I ever did so. Almost I had been living without God. AU the first thing that came into my thoughts plans and habits, and thoughts and d when I awoke was my neighbour's family | sires, had been about this world, and ner prayer. At the proper hour I went to my row higher ; but now all things were ! loom, and commenced working, but I | come new. I was afraid to open my mi could not go on. I felt as if my heart to any mortal about it, but I could tell u would break; and I was forced to cover Saviour; yea, I could tell him all. M my work with a handkerchief lest the piece father had a barn, that became my favou which I was weaving should be injured by ite retreat. That was my house of praye my tears. I longed for night to return, and it was indeed the gate of heaven to m that I might go down to my neighbour's 1 soul. Often, often have I entered in


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