of Philippi) "sprang" forward and "came trembling," exclaiming, "Sir, you have saved a soul to night!"

Those who know by experience what it is for a soul to be suddenly awakened out of a long sleep of religious delusion and to find itself on the brink of eternal destruction, will not be surprised at the abruptness of this introduction. I immediately begged my visitor to be seated, and calmly state to me the object of his visit. He replied (while his countenance and tones of voice betrayed the deep emotions of his mind), "I have been long a professing Christian, and years ago became a member of a church in this town, regularly attending the Lord's table and other religious ordinances. But never before this evening did I seriously doubt the reality of my conversion to God. It is true," he continued, "that my dear wife, now present, became sometimes afraid that my religion was more in the form-than in the power of godliness,—and affectionately warned me, from time to time, of the danger of having a mere profession of religion where the heart was not truly given to Christ. But I ever slighted her warnings, believing that she had become prejudiced by other members of the church on the subject of my religion. When the series of the present services were first announced, I was glad; and resolved, not only to attend them from the beginning, but to devote time to assist other Christians in going about to induce many to attend who were indifferent to all religion. The addresses throughout I have enjoyed much; for, regarding myself as a Christian, I took home to myself all the comfort you addressed to Christians. But when you spoke to sinners -unpardoned and unregenerate sinners-and urged them by the value of their immortal souls to flee from the wrath to come, I never for a moment allowed myself to suspect that I might, in God's sight, belong to that unhappy class,—notwithstanding all my knowledge and public profession. Such was my condition hitherto, till, towards the close of your discourse this evening, you suddenly announced that you were about to speak of a class which you had not yet referred to—' SELFDECEIVERS!'

Here my visitor proceeded to give a very accurate outline of the part of my discourse which had so powerfully awakened his mind to the mournful fact of his being a "self-deceiver "—a mere professor of Christianity,-destitute of that saving change which can only be effected by the Spirit of God, through faith in Jesus Christ,-without which no man can enter into the kingdom of God.

"You then described," he continued, "the characteristics of

the true believer-born of God-as being essentially distinguished from the mere nominal professor of religion; and showed how far one might advance in the outward likeness of a Christian-without being one. You pointed out how many in all ages had built their hopes for eternity on the 'sand'on some outward reformation-some temporary change of feelings-on their belonging to this or that church-or on some imaginary superiority in character over others,-while they had never been truly convinced of their continuous sinfulness from the beginning, their utter worthlessness before God,—their just exposure to his endless displeasure-had never truly fled to Christ to be saved from their habitual sinful principles-had never believed the boundless love of God in the gift of His Son to die for them, so as at once to surrender to the will of the Redeemer, and be ready to part with all for his sake—had never received His Holy Spirit, in answer to prayer, to strengthen them to live to his glory; and, when they died, made the sudden, the tremendous discovery (when it was too late) that they were unpardoned!—unreconciled to God!-unregenerate,-lost for ever! Oh, sir!" he proceeded, with deep emotion, "you had no sooner begun so to describe the 'self-deceiver,' than I felt as if God were saying to me, 'Thou art the man !' All my imagined evidences of personal religion, on which I had congratulated myself, instantly appeared to me as a continuedself-deception. found I was destitute of every true feature of a child of God; that I had been trusting to my exemption from immorality and my attention to religious ordinances, above many others, while I had neither part nor lot in the matters of true Christianity. And this evening I came to the conclusion, that if I died as I now am, I am ruined for ever! I retired home after the service to consider my ways. There I could not rest; and I have now come, with all my heart, to ask the jailor's question, 'What must I do to be saved?' Is there mercy for me?"

Ere I had time to reply, his weeping wife (whom, I afterwards learned from her pastor, was a sincerely devoted Christian) added a few words from the fulness of her heart. "For a long time," she said, "I have had many doubts of my dear husband's decided conversion to God; but I prayed fervently to God that he would be pleased, by His Holy Spirit, to open eyes to see his true state in the prospect of eternity. And now," she emphatically added, now I see how God has indeed graciously been pleased to answer my prayers!

his

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I then hastened to point the conscience-stricken penitent to the "Lamb of God," whose "blood cleanseth from all sin," and besought him to be most thankful (while yet deeply

house of God together as friends, but they can and do take sweet counsel together: and here is one by whom she will not be misunderstood, and to whom she can venture to speak more freely of that bitterness which every man's heart alone knoweth, and of that joy with which a stranger doth not intermeddle. So, after giving her a sketch of the matter and divisions of the sermon she had just heard, she continued,

Oh, Jane, one part of it did so make me feel how hard my heart still is! I don't think there could have been another that was listening to it to whom it could have been so applicable as to me. All the while Mr. Herbert was describing the peculiar hardness of those who, being able to say, from their own experience of his grace and mercy, He is our God, and we are the people of his pasture and the sheep of his hand,' yet need the exhortation, To-day, if ye will hear his voice, harden not your hearts.' To think of the many unspeakable mercies he has shown me, and the continual tendency of my wicked heart to forget him, to depart from him! Surely every mercy he has bestowed upon me does so aggravate my sinfulness, that they, who have never yet really tasted how gracious he is, cannot compare with me. Why, there's that poor Martha Smith, if she had had half my advantages, what a devoted Christian she might have been by now!"

to

"Was she at church to-day?"

"No; and I find that Mrs. Wright tried to persuade her go with her, but she refused; and is, I fear, gone out with her father and mother, taking their pleasure on God's holy day."

"Well, that is very strange; she seemed so to long for the return of Sunday, that she might again hear something of that gospel which seemed such a new thing, such a surprise of mercy to her."

"Yes; I am quite disappointed at her absence this morning, and suppose I shall see no more of her to-day. But it's time we had our dinner; the bell at Mount House has rung some time, and it must be getting on for two o'clock."

While Widow Watson and her sister are eating their meal with gladness and singleness of heart, praising God, let us just look in at Mount House, and listen to what is going on at Mr. Manton's luncheon table. The family have just returned from church, and are taking their midday meal. Their footman William, and maid Sarah, are waiting on them, and, as is usually the case, are beguiling their intervals of attendance in listening to the conversation at the table.

"A nice sermon we have had to-day," says Mrs. Manton;

"I must say Mr. Herbert's manner interests me; rather too long, though." :

"Yes, his manner is rather taking, I own," says Mr. M"and that's the reason you ladies, and the less thinking part of the congregation are satisfied; but really, when a man does ramble about in the unconnected manner he did to-day, it's high time some one should give him a hint that there are reading and thinking men in his congregation, who have a right to expect that the weekly discourse on the subject of religion, which they make a point of attending and listening to, should be at least a connected and well-sustained argument upon such topics as the text obviously suggests. Whereas, our good pastor today, after leading us to expect a sermon on that rather wornout subject, the hardness of the heart as a hindrance to hearing God's voice, strikes off suddenly by some by-path of his own discovery, but which no one else can find an entrance to from his text, into a rhapsody on affliction and kindred topics; and, not content with this digression, winds up with some allusions so far-fetched, that I cannot even remember what they were. No, my dear," continued he to meek little Mrs. Manton, who was beginning to feel herself very ignorant, "though it may be our duty to listen to this sort of sermons, don't let us discredit our own discernment by calling them by any than their right name, mere unconnected, illogical, though certainly pious, well-meant rhapsodies." And having delivered himself of this piece of what he thought learned criticism, Mr. M— continued his meal with great self-complacency, feeling no doubt of his right to be esteemed a competent judge of such matters.

"There now, Miss Sarah," says William, when they have regained the kitchen; "who's right and who's wrong, I should like to know? You're always standing up for Mr. Herbert's sermons, and here's master, who is such a clever sort of man, and knows a deal better about such things than you do, says it's unconnected, illogical rap-rap-what was it?" said William, fairly exhausted by having remembered and uttered one word which he didn't understand, and then stumbling at the second.

"I don't understand what master said," said Sarah; "but when I was at school I could understand what Mr. Herbert said, and it used to make me feel very different from what I do now, and it's only when I'm listening to him on Sundays that I feel at all like my old self, and it seems like something speaking to one's heart."

"Oh! yes; it's all very well for you ladies, and the less thinking part of the congregation," said William; "but when

a man has lived among gentlefolks, and improved himself by listening to their opinions, he begins to know a little more about style, diction, retric, and ellykance, than the smockfrocks and clodhoppers of a country village."

William then proceeded to partake of his own dinner with as much self-complacency as his master, only too well pleased to find that the criticisms he had heard in the dining room were wonderfully efficacious in quieting certain uneasy feelings which the faithful setting forth of God's word had been stirring within him, and which, had they been fostered instead of being checked, might have led him to look into his own heart more narrowly; and, peradventure, to find that all was not as right there as he liked to think. That evening, instead of going to church, William persuaded himself that he might follow his master's example of only listening to such discourses once every Sunday, and spent the time of evening service in edifying an acquaintance with various reminiscences of his master's criticisms; and being much flattered by the deference with which his misapplied long words and incoherent phrases were received, concluded that for the future it would be quite as well for a thinking individual like himself to employ his Sunday evenings in rational conversation as in listening to unconnected "rapsudden," as he at last ventured to call it. Had his master spoken a word in due season, how good would it have been! But instead of this the idle word had been idly spoken.

"The words we say,

Into still air they seem to fleet;

We count them ever past,

But they shall last;

In that dread judgment they
And we shall meet!"

We will now follow Sarah, his fellow-servant, who, having obtained leave of her kind mistress to spend the rest of the day with her widowed aunt, set out directly after dinner for a small cottage at the other end of the village. Mrs. Turner, its occupant, had recently lost an indulgent husband, after a long and trying illness; the necessary expenses attendant upon this, and upon the humble funeral, had left the poor widow not only dependent upon her own exertions for the support of herself and little family, but even in some arrears of debt to her neighbours, who, knowing and appreciating her high principles, had been willing to give her the credit she was so reluctant to take. It was the first Sunday after the funeral, and the first on which she had been able to get to church for several months. She

THE ENGLISH MONTHLY TRACT SOCIETY, 27, RED LION SQUARE, LONDON.