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other, unprecedented compassion and love. The one was an act of holy avenging zeal, the other of meekness and patience that were never equalled; the one exhibited force of feeling in its most passionate development, the other a power of endurance absolutely divine; the one seemed the pitiless infliction of justice and law, the other the very apotheosis of mercy. Yet the vindication of the law of God was infinitely more terrible in the latter than the former. Sinai itself did not express the majesty of law with one half the awful solemnity of Gethsemane or Calvary. And as to power, the arm which dealt death to Zimri and his paramour was that of a poor mortal; the Power which sustained the dying Saviour was that which built the heavens. Yet we freely grant the one strikes us as active, the other as passive. But it is the passive form of virtue which under God has wrought such incalculable wonders, and is destined to subdue the world.

The spirit of man is alone accessible to motive. The most powerful motive that can be brought to bear on the hostile spirit of man is love. And where is there such love as is to be found in the bleeding, dying Lord? where such suppressed power as is in the divine Martyr, who stood so calmly at Pilate's bar? Where, as in the great Victim who, though upholding all things by the word of His power, sank down in death-like weakness on the cross? This is it which has already achieved exploits. The weakness of God in Calvary! Not Jesus standing in the boat and rebuking with godlike power the winds and waves. Not Jesus taking the loaves and fishes and mysteriously multiplying them for the reclining thousands. Not Jesus even when, standing by the graveside, He called to the sleeping dead. Nor yet as Son of God acknowledged by the voice from heaven. But Jesus, the poor Outcast, dying amid preternatural wonders, for man, the sinner's Salvation! The Omnipotence of Love wrestling with the world's guilt, and laying deep the foundation for the sinners trust! Jesus crucified! that has broken millions of hearts and healed them too.

A TRUE STORY.

FOR THE LITTLE CHILDREN.

Ir is not many years ago since When I was eight years old, we I was a child, and a very happy lived at the top of a hill which we one too, for I had good health, kind often ran down with our hoops, parents, brothers, sisters, and play- because at the bottom of it there mates, which I think you will own was a very nice wood which we were, or ought to have been, enough could go to play in, and gather the to make any child happy. But one wild hyacinths-bluebells, we chilfault of my own spoilt my happi-ren called them. One of my eldest ness on some of my merriest and brightest days. I had many other faults, but I want to tell you about this one in particular-it was the fault of disobedience.

sisters was married, and her little boy, who of course was my nephew, was staying with us at the time I am writing about, when one Satur day, being our school holiday, I

had promised one of my school- made a coward of me, as it will of the oldest and strongest when they are doing wrong. Then the time came when we thought we had better go home, and then came the trouble which I remember so well.

Getting up the bank had been easy work, but going down would be much more difficult, especially to me, as I was much smaller than Jennie. We had to stop and think how we should get little Sidney down. At last Jennie said to me,—

"I will get down first, then you lift Sidney down to me; after that you must get down by yourself.”

fellows to go for a walk with her; but when on the Saturday morning she called for me, my mamma said, "I am very sorry, Amy, dear, but you cannot go out unless you take Little Sidney with you.' Now Sidney was the little nephew I spoke about just now, and I knew if he came with us, being such a little fellow, we could not go into the woods-which was where we had made up our minds to go; but although I tried to persuade mamma to let him stay at home it was no use; mamma still said I must either take him and not go in the woods or else stay at home with him. Well, as Jennie had come for me I thought I would go and make the best of it; so, after promising most faithfully to my mother that we would not go into the woods, we set out down the hill; far better would it have been for us if we had gone quite a different way, but we did not think of that. When we reached the bottom of it, there before us was the wood, so pleasant and inviting in its greenness, that we felt a strong temptation to go in; yet how could we after promising we would not? But we were weak in our own strength, too weak to resist much; so before many minutes had gone we had climbed the bank, which was steep for us, and were in. Jennie was four years older than I, and I remember trying to quiet my conscience with the thought that as she was oldest the blame must be laid on her; but conscience never will be quieted as long as we are doing wrong, and I felt that the sin was all mine. We played about for some time, trying to enjoy ourselves, but I don't think How grieved my dear mother we succeeded very well: I know I looked when I told her all about did not, for I was so afraid of being my disobedience and its found out that I started with fear quences; but how kindly she talked at every footstep I heard along the to me and led me, as she always road; even the very crackling of the did, to seek a higher and stronger dry leaves and sticks under my feet | strength than my own-the love of

I thought that would do and said "yes to it, so she went down easily enough; then I lifted Sidney; but Jennie was not quite near enough to catch him, he slipped from her hands and fell forward with his forehead on the ground. The poor little fellow began to cry, which frightened us very much, especially when Jennie lifted him up and pointed to a large bump on his head, for we knew we should be found out through it. I should have to tell my mother how it came there. But that was not the end of my troubles, for I was not yet down the bank, and as I thought I could jump down better than climb I did so; but I fell too, and oh, how bitterly I cried when I felt a sharp stone run into my hand, and on holding it up saw the blood flowing from it very quickly. The stone had cut me across the under part of the wrist quite up on to my hand on a part that was always tender, which made it the more painful. My clothes were covered with dust, and I must have looked a pitiable little object as we went home.

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God our Father, who never refuses year has brought me new and His help to the smallest and greater happiness, and above all weakest of those children who ask others that of feeling that God for it; and as I was truly sorry for is truly my Father as I am my fault He did help me.

trusting in Christ's death and resurrection for my salvation. But in all my happiness my eyes often fall on my hand and wrist, and there I see a long, white seam which other eyes cannot see unless it is when I turn it round to my

Jennie has been dead some years now. I trust and believe that she died in the hope of going to live with her Father and His holy Son Jesus. Little Sidney is little no longer, but a tall young man just entering business, and I, his aunt, cannot little friends and tell them how it but thank God that my disobedience hurt him no more than for a few days.

I am still a happy girl, for there are left to me nearly all the blessings of my childhood; and each

came there. In the very cold weather it still aches as if it were done only a little while ago; but that is not so hard to bear as when my heart aches at the thought of the sin which brought it there.

AIDS TO COMMUNION; OR, SACRAMENTAL

MEDITATIONS.

BY THE REV. W. P. BALFERN.

VII. THE LOST OPPORTUNITY; OR, THE REPROOF OF SORROW. "And he cometh the third time, and saith unto them, Sleep on now, and take your rest: it is enough, the hour is come; behold, the Son of man is betrayed into the hands of sinners."

MANY earnest hearts have often been disconcerted and distressed by the lukewarmness and indifference of those who have listened to them -the people have seemed to sleep; lips have spoken to them touched with a burning coal from off God's altar, but the fire appeared to consume the speaker only, leaving the hearers so frozen by listlessness and inattention that it has often been feared that strength and earnestness have been spent in vain. Earnest men, however, who have been thus distressed and tempted to cease their efforts on such grounds should turn to the experience of Christ. None ever spake out of such anguish and earnestness, or with such touching eloquence, as did this prince of preachers, of whom even his adversaries declared that "no man ever spake as this man." Into His lips grace was poured, and through them love too poured forth the richest and most costly fragrance of undying sympathy, but all fell for a time on ears which were closed and hearts that would sleep. He only asked in His extremity for the watchful, wakeful sympathy of His disciples, and that more from solicitude for their welfare than His own, and it was denied. Surely if human nature is as rich as some say that it is, surely if any of the sweet spices of love and gratitude remain, they will now flow forth for the refreshment of the Great Teacher who is now being so bruised that they may appear! It is no merely conventional preacher either who has

been speaking through this night of anguish to these sleeping men; if ever earnest words and pleadings fell from human lips they did from his. There was no room for verbal finery in Gethsemane; the sermon preached that night by the Man of Sorrows should have been to them at least the best, for it was the simple impassioned language of a broken heart, forsaken, and alone with God-the fragrant oil of love; torn, distracted, hard-pressed, but sympathetic and invincible love; love which would toil and wrestle and hold its own to the last; love which would die but must speak, and with strong cries and tears plead on until the break of day; but all this expenditure of love fell on ears that were closed and hearts asleep, and seemed to awaken no response to help and cheer. And this voice too was quiet; it was little more it may be than the scarcely uttered sigh or sob of a sorrow too great for words. The Great Preacher did not cry or lift up or cause His voice to be heard in the streets; and many a gentle, pregnant word born of sore travail, and secret thought and prayer, the child of grief and power, often seems to fall stillborn on human ears because, though the fire burns within, the lips which speak are feeble, and the public voice declares there is no earnestness or power because there is so little noise. And in this world it must be so, for its spirit has not changed since love of old came a third time to its disciples and had to say, "Sleep on now, and take your rest; it is enough, the hour is come; behold, the Son of man is betrayed into the hands of sinners."

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Sleep on now." Yes, sleep. I have not been able to sleep; the burden of your sins—your sorrow-was too heavy for these eyes to close. Sleep, sleep on! You might have watched, and so have brought at least a little sympathetic help; but it is now too late; the opportunity has passed; the honour you might have had of watching with me is lost and gone. Sleep on, and take your rest. It will be but brief, but take it; you need it. I have had no rest; I can have no rest, for my work of suffering and sorrow is not complete. I am on the way to it; and such a way! I see it; I know it; I am prepared for it; I mean to face it,'and to face it for you, and that you, poor weary disciples, may have rest-a true rest. Sleep on, then, and take your rest. It is enough. Yes; I need not say more; the past agony is past; it will not return again; that measure of the cup is gone; the season of watchfulness and prayer in which you might have shown your love, and have cheered me by a sympathising look, a tender word that, too, is gone. It is enough; "the hour is come;" the hour for which I was born, towards which with weary feet for many a day I have journeyed, on which all my Father's glory and your eternal destiny hang.

"And the Son of man is betrayed into the hands of sinners." I go now to face a path which I must tread alone, and to drain a cup which other lips than my own cannot taste. Sleep on, then, now, and take your rest. You have followed so far; it is enough; your

ministry, your company, can go no further. The remainder all alone. "Lo, he that betrayeth me is at hand!" Blessed lips! Unfailing love! The little cup of cold water which might have refreshed was withheld; the eyes which could have looked were closed; and the lips which might have spoken were silent. But had it not been written: "And of the people there were none with him"? And more touching still: "Lover and friend hast thou put far from me, and mine acquaintance into darkness"? There was One, however, who though He bruised did not forsake; of whom it was written: "For he hath not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted, neither hath he hid his face from him; but when he cried unto him he heard.”

Some, perhaps, as they read the touching words of Christ, and think over the conduct of the disciples, may feel disposed to censure their conduct towards their Lord; but let us beware. This conduct

is repeated by many now; and if we inquire how, we reply: When Christians come to us in the Gethsemane of their sorrow, and we refuse them even a word of sympathy and help.

When, because the suffering is long and persistent, we cease to minister or, it may be, forsake the afflicted.

When hearts, broken by a sense of sin, or crushed by temptation, do not receive from us the constant, wise and loving instruction which they need.

When we allow the darkness of intellectual doubt and difficulty to cover the mind, making no prayerful effort to dispel it.

When we see men seeking by subtle casuistry to betray Christ in His truth, and to mislead the unwary, and we fail to expose their designs.

When we can witness from day to day and week after week, men asleep in sin, without making any effort to awaken them.

Conscious of our many failures in relation to these things, and that from day to day, surely the words of Christ should quicken our consciences, as we listen again to His touching words to His disciples, "What, could ye not watch with me one hour?"—and fear lest, in relation to any opportunity we may have to do good and declare our love, through failure or neglect, the Master should be able to say to us as to those of old, "Sleep on now and take your rest; it is enough, the hour is come; behold the Son of man is betrayed into the hands of sinners."

Oh, who shall write for us the biography of lost opportunities! A good thought may return, lost health be regained, and past failures, if rightly improved, may lead to future success; but a lost opportunity never returns. May this tender reproof of Christ remain with us, and may we lose no opportunity of ministering to Him in his people; and may we seek by more earnest and renewed efforts to "buy back the past because the days are evil!”

A word as to the spirit of reproof. Many seem to love the anatomy of sin, and delight to hold up the infirmities and failures of Christians

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