will for the Divine, the saying "I shall" to the Divine. "Thou shalt not"? What are covetousness, unkindness, and a host of other sins we commit against our fellows, but divers forms of self-worship and of the sacrifice we offer to the Moloch of selfishness? What can so narrow the horizon and warp the soul as this same selfishness? A selfish man is like a person walking alone in a room surrounded by mirrors; look where he will he can only see himself. Within a few feet of him may be wailing lips, crushed hearts, duststained brother-travellers, with bruised feet and weary limbs and throbbing brain, or Samaritans fallen among thieves; but he hears not, sees not, or, if he hears and sees, cares not, and "passes by on the other side." Would that this deity, blind and deaf to all but its own interest, were dethroned from the great world's heart! It has already been attacked by Christianity, and the idol shall yet be broken. Instead of an absorbing and degrading selfishness, Christianity teaches thought, pity, action for others. It breaks down our narrow horizons, overleaps our poor, small hedgerows, and binds us with golden chains one to another. "All ye are brethren," is its proclamation, "render therefore to one another brotherly love, and sympathy, and help." In its palmiest days these have ever been its rich fruits. In the first ages, even the heathen took notice of this, saying, "See how these Christians love one another!" A revival of religion has ever brought in its wake a revival of this spirit. It was so in the great Methodist revival of the eighteenth century, as the following brief history will, I trust, make clear. Mark Bond was born at Barnard Castle, in the county of Durham, about the beginning of the last century. From the time that he was three years of age he seems to have been the subject of deepest religious impressions. Many times, though quite a lad, he would retire into secrecy for prayer to God. If his parents put him to bed without saying his prayers, as soon as they were gone he would rise and say them, otherwise he could not sleep.. How soon the evil and the good within us come into conflict! Mark Bond realised this, for when only seven years of age he was harassed with various temptations, but with one above all-the temptation to curse God. It was a marvellous thing for a temptation like that to come to one so young. Come it did, however, and with such force too that one day, when about seven years of age, he went into the fields and yielded himself up to the awful ascination. From that moment the blackness of a great darkness fell upon him, enwrapping him like a robe. Though he dare not give way to outward sin, he felt himself doomed to irreversible woe and misery. He had no friend to advise with him. A century ago spiritual matters were not so perfectly and commonly understood as now, for the number of men and women experimentally acquainted with religion was comparatively small. Every day for years carrying this awful incubus of anticipated woe, his life became a burden to him. Yet he dare not with his own hand throw off the mortal coil, or cut the silver cord, or break the golden bowl; but, there being a recruiting party in the town, he entered the army, desiring, and hoping even, that in the performance of his duties as a soldier, he might soon lose his life. He was utterly unlike his comrades in the army; he would not drink with them, nor follow their wild orgies. Melancholy seemed to have marked him for her own. He read much and was much in private prayer. Surely he shall not cry in vain out of his black darkness! Surely the Shepherd that goeth about seeking his lost sheep will hear the plaintive bleat of the enmeshed wanderer and save. It was even so, as we shall presently see. His throne In 1740, Charles VI., Emperor of Austria, died. and dominions were claimed by his eldest daughter, Maria Theresa. Her claims were resented by Bavaria and France, and, afterwards, by Frederick II. of Prussia. These, along with Charles Emmanuel of Sardinia, formed a confederacy against Maria Theresa. On the other hand, the English, the Dutch, and the Hungarians united for the support of her claims. Hence sprang up the Succession War of Austria. Among the thousands of our troops sent into this war was the company to which Mark Bond belonged. Engaged in the same campaign were three soldiers, John Haime, William Clements, and John Evans, who, having tasted that the Lord is gracious, were engaged in proclaiming the glad tidings of salvation, as best they could, to others. Mark Bond heard them tell their simple stories. He was as a man listening to strains of music too sweet to be of earth; but he heard and believed. He had at last found what he most needed. Oh! the peace, the joy, the sunshine, that came into his heart! The wandering sheep was found at last. Blest himself, he wished others to be blessed also. He could not keep the good news to himself; he longed to tell it to others. His heart was drawn out towards Sampson Staniforth, a fellowsoldier, and foremost among his comrades in all manner of evil ways. But his courage failed him. How could he venture to speak to a man who scoffed at all good, and was to the fore in working all evil? Still his heart's love was drawn out towards the reprobate one, and he felt he must speak to him. At first Staniforth scoffed and jeered, and made all sorts of fun. Then he would not hear him speak at all. Bond, perceiving this, tried to turn his thoughts towards others, but he could not; there seemed to be ever ringing in his ears the words, "Go to Staniforth!" They haunted him, giving him no rest. He tried again to show the wanderer the error of his way; but all his efforts proved futile, till, one day, finding Staniforth dejected, without food, or money, or credit, he asked him to go to preaching with him. "Ye had better give me something to eat or drink," said Staniforth (some of us would do well to take note of this; we are too prone to forget the bodily needs of men in our eagerness to win their souls); "for I am both cold and hungry." He gave him both meat and drink, and then took him to the preaching service about a mile beyond camp. For Staniforth it was a memorable time. In but a few minutes he was in deep distress on account of his sins; tears of contrition ran down his cheeks, and the cry rose from his lips, "God be merciful to me a sinner!" so mighty is the power of the Gospel to break even the hardest hearts. It was a glad time for Mark Bond. But his work was not yet done. Staniforth was seeking salvation; he had not yet found it, nor would he for many days to come. Meanwhile, Bond watched over him, companied with him, prayed with and for him, as if his own soul's well-being were wrapped up in that of Staniforth. He inquired into Staniforth's affairs, and, finding he had contracted some debts, said, "The followers of Christ must be first just, then charitable. We will put both our pays together and live as economically as we can, and what we spare will pay the debts." Could brotherly love be nobler, more unselfish, than that? So much care, thought, prayer, and love for Staniforth had its great reward. One night, when engaged on sentinel duty from twelve to two o'clock, Staniforth knelt under the silent stars in prayer for mercy. God heard him. The chains fell off, the clouds dispersed, the mourning heart felt the oil of joy poured into it, and the guilty one felt himself forgiven. It was a blissful time to Bond, when, next day, meeting Staniforth, he saw from his countenance and heard from his lips that God had at last met with him. These two remained together in the bond of love to the end.. Over Staniforth, Bond watched with a mother's solicitude and care. Side by side they fought in battle, side by side they prayed, read the Scriptures, and witnessed for the truth. They were as the soul of David and Jonathan. In them seemed to have returned the golden days of early Christianity, when Christians loved Christians as brethren, with pure heart, fervently; and with a love vastly selfforgetful, sympathetic, considerate, deep. Nor was this true of them alone. It was largely true of the early Methodists as a body. Whatever else they did or did not, they at least tried to obey the Master's command, "Love one another, as I have loved you." "There is no fellowship of hearts that hath not here an end." The fellowship of these two hearts was to be no exception to the rule. The year 1746 was fast drawing to a close, and Prince Charles, who was in command of the British army still engaged in the Austrian Succession War, thought it high time to seek winter quarters, especially as the French were cutting off his supplies. So he ordered that a strong party should advance in front of the army to keep the French in play, and make them think a general action was intended, until he beat a retreat, when he would send further orders. The advance body consisted of 12,000 men, and comprised the company to which Staniforth and Bond belonged. Safely arrived in his winter quarters, Prince Charles, too busy with his cups and his pleasures, forgot to send orders for the retirement of the body of soldiers that had covered his retreat. Though the soldiers, like more modern heroes whose praise the Poet Laureate so marvellously and graphically sings, knew "someone had blunder'd," they bravely kept the field all day against the whole French army, until, towards evening, the French bore down in fearful force, driving all before them. Mark Bond and Sampson Staniforth were in the front rank, when a musket-ball passed through Bond's leg. Staniforth, who was at his left hand, took him, with the assistance of a comrade, out of the ranks, Bond the meanwhile anxiously exhorting Staniforth, with true brotherly concern, to steadfastness in the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ. They laid him down gently and left him, themselves falling into the ranks again. Meanwhile, the French drew nearer, and the English were in full retreat. In the retreat, Staniforth again saw his dear friend. He had received another shot, through his thigh this time. But though feeble, faint, dying, slowly passing through the shadowy borderland between this world and another, his heart was full of confidence, knowing no fear. Heaven already shone in his eyes and wrote her peace on his brow. There Staniforth was compelled to leave him to die, as many a soldier was left that day, with no friendly presence to moisten the feverish lips, cheer the dying moments, and close the eyes in their long, last sleep. Alone, amid the groans of the wounded and dying, they left him; yet not alone, for God was with him. There he "fell on sleep." "He was not, for God took him." Thinking of that field of carnage, outside Maestricht, Staniforth, the man who had known him most intimately, afterwards wrote, "There fell a great Christian, a good soldier, a faithful friend. It seems as if I had lost part of myself; I could have wished that I had died by his side. I trust I have seen many perfected in love; but I have seen none so full of it as my dear companion. He was always cheerful, but never light; always in prayer, but a man of few words. Not a thoughtless look, nor an idle word could be observed in him. Even to this day, when I think of him, it is both with pleasure and profit." This history of a man only about three years a Christian points its own moral. If only the same zeal for the souls of the perishing, the same brotherly love, the same solicitude for the safety of the weaker brethren, and the same spirit of self-denial for the good of others, possessed our hearts individually, and were more characteristic of Christian Churches as a whole, how much happier, more useful, more influential for good, Christians and the Churches would be. It might be of interest to add that Sampson Staniforth afterwards bought himself out of the army, and commenced business as a baker. Therein he was much prospered. He employed his spare hours for almost fifty years in preaching the Gospel which had done so much for him, God greatly owning his efforts to the salvation of many souls. To the end of his life he thought tenderly and fondly of the noble, saintly, and loving Mark Bond. Hull. HENRY SMITH. THE CHRISTIAN PHILANTHROPIST. BEHOLD the man whose noble soul is filled He bears,- -no narrow district bounds his view. Who bears Jehovah's impress,-one who claims To be regarded as a kindred soul. Hence, without parley, he does good to all Save that of conscience and the smile of Heaven. I met him in the poor man's humble cot, |