I endeavoured to explain to her that true happiness was independent of outward circumstances, and to be enjoyed as much in sickness as in health, for it was the gift of God, accompanying the knowledge of a natural state of enmity to Him, and rejoicing in a reconciliation through the death of his Son. She felt that to know and love this Saviour was just what she wanted, and for the first time it seemed to her, that her illness had indeed been a proof of her heavenly Father's love; for without it she would not have felt the longing she now did, to discover a source of happiness that would more than supply the excitements of her former life. She soon found that the same Holy Spirit that had guided me to her, revealed the truth as it is in Christ Jesus, and, though still a sufferer, she rejoiced in that happiness that the world can neither "give nor take away."

One morning found me entering a house whose solemn stillness contrasted strangely with the gay scenes I had often witnessed there. The servants were dressed in deep mourning, and moved noiselessly about, and I knew that death had laid its cold hand upon one of the inmates of that gay circle. I was taken into the breakfast room, where sat one whose widow's dress at once told her sad tale. No look of pleasure crossed her sorrowful face as she mechanically opened her numerous letters, and when she took me up, it seemed probable that I, like the rest, might be carelessly put aside; but, when she looked at my title, which was "To the Bereaved," I saw the tears start instantly into her eyes, and with deep attention she commenced reading my pages. I sympathized with her in her sorrow, and told her who was the Author of it; I spoke of the love of Him who chastens to bring sinners to himself; urged her to study his character, that she might learn to submit to his will; I told her the various lessons this solemn dispensation was intended to teach, and, with all the earnestness in my power, entreated her to seek for comfort, in knowing and loving the Great Disposer of all events. Many were the invitations from the word of God that I repeated, while I told her of the boundless love of that Saviour who had said "Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out." "Can this be true?" I heard her say, as she laid me down, and hastened out of the room. She soon returned with a richly-bound Bible in her hand, and looked again at me to see where she could find the beautiful words I had repeated. She did find them, and was astonished. Hour after hour was spent in the perusal of these long-neglected pages. In the bitterness of her sorrow she had thought that she had nothing left worth living

for. What new-found happiness was it, when, for the first time, she comprehended the great truth, that she was an immortal being, formed to live throughout the countless ages of eternity. She felt the true dignity of life, and breathed an earnest prayer that she might live to know and do her Heavenly Father's will. The traces of tears were still upon her cheeks; but she who a little time before, had thought that happiness would for ever be a stranger to her bosom, had now found the highest source from which true consolation springs. She no longer imagined it dwelling in the gay scenes where often she had sought it, but she felt that it was an influence shed over the heart by the Spirit of God. Still mourning the loss of her best earthly friend, she learnt to say, "The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord." There was another home I visited month after month, but its inmates were too much occupied to pay any attention to me, and my words of warning, instruction, or remonstrance, were alike disregarded.

One day upon my arrival, I observed more than usual excitement in the house, and, as I was thrown into a lady's basket lying on the table, I silently watched the busy preparations for a large party. Evening came; the rooms were lighted, young and graceful figures mingled with graver and more stately forms. Music lent its charms to that gay scene, and I wondered as I looked into the bright young faces around me, if they always beamed with happiness as now.

I was left to my own musings, as no one regarded the little pink tract lying quietly in an ornamental basket, until at last I saw a bright eye fixed upon me, and immediately a small white hand took me up. A few words only were read, but they brought a more serious expression upon that young lady's face, than I had yet observed upon any in that numerous assembly. She closed my leaves, and, carrying me along with her, soon left a scene in which she now seemed to feel no interest. Arrived at home, she hastened to her room, and at once commenced reading my pages with an earnestness that showed how deeply she was interested. The morning found her with new sorrows, for she had learnt to see herself a guilty sinner; but also with new joys, for she had laid their heavy burden at the feet of Him who had loved her, and " given himself" for her; and with hopes that extended beyond the present life, and objects that had a high and holy aim, she resolved to begin life afresh, and from this time the language of her heart was, "I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus."

I have another friend whose interesting story I will relate to you. A young man, into whose mind had early been instilled the precepts and doctrines of religion, and who had seen its beauty exhibited in the lives of those around him, left the home of his childhood for the first time, and associated with strangers. Gradually he forgot his early impressions, and soon became wholly absorbed in the pleasures of the world; even the outward forms of religion were disregarded, and the hallowed associations of the sabbath were broken.

Years passed away, and he was still the same, when circumstances removed him to another town. Here his associates were similar to his former ones, and, while he devoted some hours each day to business, night after night found him frequenting scenes of gaiety and dissipation with even greater avidity than formerly, when again he had to change his residence, and he found himself in a country place, completely separated from the excitements of a large town.

The sweet fresh air, the sunshine, and the flowers, had no charms for him, for the voice of nature had been stifled in his heart, and from a side table in his room, I watched him spend many hours of each succeeding day in idleness, and heard his frequent sighs after the pleasures now beyond his reach. Everything around him had been examined over and over again, in the vain hope of finding something to amuse; but, though I had been often in his hands, he only looked at my pink cover, and replaced me, until one day he opened me and carelessly turned over my leaves. My narrative related to circumstances well known in his family, and awakened associations that at once roused him from his indolence. He sat down and read me through attentively, and I saw that longforgotten recollections of his youth were crowding upon his mind. His father's counsel, his mother's prayers, once more sounded in his ears, and with shame he remembered how both had been despised; and then came thoughts of One, to whom in the happy days of his childhood he had been taught with reverence to say "Our Father, which art in heaven," and he remembered how his commandments had been broken, and his blessing unsought. He knew that the word of God abounded in offers of mercy, but he dare not search it to apply them to himself. He knew that Jesus Christ died to save sinners, but he thought it was not for such as him to obtain peace and pardon through his blood, and days of deep despondency succeeded; but the Spirit of God brought to his mind these words, "God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him shall not perish,

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

but have everlasting life." Hope arose in his mind, and, while he scarcely dare "lift up so much as his eyes to heaven,' his prayer was, "God be merciful to me a sinner." He thought not alone, as he had been doing for days together, of his own unworthiness; his mind became suddenly filled with wonder and delight at the boundless love of the Saviour of sinners. He read of it; he went where he could hear it spoken of; and, while he had no other means of making it known, he would send me to tell the glad tidings to some thoughtless associate of days to which he never looked back without deep regret.

And now, my reader, whoever you may be, let me ask what impression my words have made upon you, as, month after month, I have laid before you subjects of the deepest interest, such as should dwell upon your mind and influence your lives?

I have told you that you are guilty sinners by nature and by practice, and that your natural heart is at enmity against God, the Giver of every good thing. You may look with an eye of admiration upon the wonderful works of the Most High, and, feeling the influence of their surpassing beauty, think that through nature you worship nature's God. But such worship as this alone will not satisfy the Most High. He requires that you feel yourself in his sight a sinner, separated from Him, and needing some means of reconciliation. Great beyond all

comprehension, is the extent of love that led the King of kings to give up his only beloved Son, that through his death sinners might find access to the Father; and having appointed such a means of salvation, can you wonder when I tell you it is the only one that will be accepted, and at the great day of judgment the only one that any will dare to plead before him?

Often have I repeated to you the beautiful story of One "who was rich, yet for our sakes became poor, that we through his poverty might be enriched;" how he passed his early days in the home of poverty, and, in all probability, labouring for his daily bread; and when his divine mission was proclaimed, he chose his companions from those whom the world would despise. Neither pomp nor wealth was his object; he had a higher aim; he came to save a lost and ruined world. How great were his sufferings while on earth none can tell. We know that while the "foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, the Son of man had not where to lay his head." We know that he "was despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief;" but the extent of such suffering and degradation to him who had dwelt in the bosom of the Father from all eternity, cannot be known to human feelings.

I have told you of the great benevolence of his character,how he "went about doing good," "giving sight to the blind," and even raising the dead. His life was a perfect illustration of the holy precepts which he taught. Had he only lived, would you, could you, have refused to love the very perfection of moral beauty and holiness ? But this is not all; the tears that he shed, showed the sorrow he felt that sinners should be for ever banished from the presence of God; and the depth of his love and compassion was shown when he voluntarily took upon himself the sins of the whole world. Their fearful weight he felt when great drops of blood were forced from his brow; yet even then he did not shrink from the cruel death of the cross, but meekly said, "Not my will, but thine be done." The angels in heaven must have been filled with amazement, when they saw the Son of God bowing himself so low; one universal feeling of praise and adoration would pass along that countless multitude, as they gazed upon Him who " thought it not robbery to be equal with God; but made himself of no reputation, and took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men.'

And it was for you that the Son of God came to this world, and for your sins he died this cruel death. And once more, I would solemnly ask in his name, Will you turn to him and live? For myself, I ask for no attention; I am small and insignificant; but I do claim it for him whose messenger I am, and in whose name I come. He is saying to you now, "Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest;" and if you would be saved from everlasting condemnation, it must be by believing on the Lord Jesus Christ. He invites-nay, he entreats you to come unto him, that you may have everlasting life; and will you turn from such importunity, knowing that this Saviour is as willing as he is able to save, for it is said that he "delighteth in mercy?"

You may be in the full vigour of health, but you know not "what a day nor an hour may bring forth;" and were you suddenly to be called into the presence of the Most High, how could you appear before him? If you turn away from the righteousness of Christ, what will you plead in its stead? Life is hastening onward, and the great day of reckoning may perhaps come sooner than you contemplate, and you will have to answer to him who has the destinies of all in his hands, for the offered mercy you have rejected, and the heavenly love you have despised. Ten thousand voices that have called upon you to know and serve the Lord, will rise in painful review, but their well-remembered sound will but be a cruel mockery, for the day