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following the sheep; how lonely she feels now because they are so long away. Abraham now and then, when Isaac is looking off, turns such loving, tearful eyes upon him on his fine form, on his soft, rich curls. They are toiling up, Abraham with slow steps, and Isaac loaded with the wood. "Father," said the boy, "here is the fire and the wood; but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?" How touching! That must have cut his father's heart more deeply than a knife could have done. Could his father say to him, "You are to be the lamb; you are to be slain, and to be burnt, my boy?" No, he had not the heart to do it then. With his head turned away from those innocent eyes, the father answers beautifully: "My son, God will provide Himself a lamb." Now they reach the place of sacrifice.

Everything should be done carefully, as for God, and in God's sight. And now all is ready. It is time Isaac should be told he is to die, We can fancy Abraham drawing his boy aside. There on the soft turf they sit, the father's arm thrown over the son's neck, while with trembling words he tells him all. When Isaac hears that in a few minutes he must lie bleeding and dying on the altar, what does he do? Does he murmur, does he tell his father he must not obey God? He is young and quick, and even now he could fling himself out of his father's arms and bound down the hill. No, he does not try to get away. He has been taught that God has been kind to his father and mother, and he has said to himself that he would serve Him as they have done. Is he the only boy who has shown he would sooner die than disobey or grieve God? Let me tell you of one.

A pious family from Europe, who had settled in one of the cities of America, had for their eldest boy a pleasant and gentle, yet a brave lad. One day he was out, and a gang of rough, cruel boys, that hated him, met him, and said, "We've found out where there is a splendid orchard with lots of fruit, and we're going to get some; come along, we mean you to go."

"What, steal! I couldn't do it for

anything," said the boy, throwing back his honest head.

"I say you shall," said one hulking fellow, in a rage," or else we will put you in the river and drown you, we will."

The little hero saw they would do it, but he did not scream; he didn't try to get out of their road. He stood up and told them, "I can't steal-you can kill me first."

And these lads laid hold of him who would rather perish than offend God, or be a thief, and carried him to the river and threw him in, and the water shut out for ever the sight of his smiling face.

Isaac allows his father to tie him down to the altar. It is time to ask how Abraham could bring himself to shed that boy's blood. Don't you recollect he said to the young men he left at the bottom of the hill, "We will come again to you?" Turn to Hebrews xi. 19, and you will find that Paul says Abraham could offer up his son because he believed "God was able to raise him up, even from the dead." Here is the secret: Abraham really believed that though the boy's blood should flow down the altar, and he should die, and his body be burnt up, yet God should raise him up, and they two should walk back together. He trusted God entirely. God gave Isaac to him in a wonderful way, and He had the right to take the boy again. If God had told him to kill himself, Abraham would have done it, rather than he would have killed his son. Many fathers and mothers have to give up their children. They are obliged to see them die, to see God take them. Yet they still trust Him and love Him.

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A dear little fellow, nine years old, was run over by a train near New York. A policeman picked him up, and on the way to the hospital he said, "Tell mother I'm going straight to my Saviour." His mother soon came to his bedside at the hospital, and he said to her, Mother, I'm going to Jesus. O! I love Him so much. Don't let them cut off my leg. But if they do, never mind, it won't hurt me as much as they hurt Jesus." When his father arrived, he gave him this message,-"Tell brother Eddy, if he feels lonely now, because he has no brother, to

learn to love Jesus, and He will be his Brother." These were his last words. Two hours after that he died. And his mother did she complain of God? No. When she got home, this is what she said,

"The Lord has taken my Charlie: "though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him.'"

It was this great trust in God-that God must mean well-which Abraham had. It was this that made his fingers able to hold a knife. In another instant his son's blood would have been flowing; but God, who did not want that life, who only wanted obedience, now stepped in. A voice is heard from above, "Lay not thine hand upon the lad. . . . for now I know that thou fearest God, seeing thou hast not withheld thy son, thine only son, from Me."

A ram they never saw before is now noticed among the bushes, and is laid struggling on the altar in the place of the quiet Isaac, and God's great and sweet promises are heard again.

There are many lessons in this beautiful story, and I want you to learn two.

1. God will always give us power to obey Him.-We can never have anything so hard to do as Abraham. God never told any one to climb to heaven without putting a safe ladder down for him. God tells us to be sorry for our sins, and to leave them. At the same time that He tells us to be sorry for sin, He gives us tenderness of heart so that we may feel as we ought, and it is His strong hand which puts away our wickedness from

us.

2. The story wonderfully foreshows Christ's sacrifice. Three days Abraham had that dreadful hill-top before him. For three years after He was baptized, wherever He went, Jesus could see straight in His way the garden where He should groan, and the hill where He must be nailed up, and mocked, and stabbed for us. God spared Abraham the pain of killing his boy, and spared the boy the fainting of death, yet He "spared not His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all." Can we keep our hearts from such a love? We are praying Him to take them, are we not? Amen.

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And then our hearts grew weary,

We ask'd amid our tears, "Why are the buds all faded

We trained for after years?
We hoped to see them flowers
Twined round our later life,
A precious gift from heaven
To cheer us in the strife."

Yet though our bowers are leafless,
Our garlands cease to twine,
The brightness of God's purpose

More radiantly doth shine;

And with a power we knew not then,
Our faith doth higher rise,
And sees the flowers we tended
Blooming in Paradise.

JANET.

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DIVINE PROVERBS ILLUSTRATED.

BY THE REV. BENJAMIN SMITH.

Health and Disease. PROVERBS xiv. 30: "A sound heart is the life of the flesh; but envy the rottenness of the bones."

A PARTY of tourists were climbing one of the Alpine ranges. Most of them were in very high spirits. One of the company was unfortunately suffering dreadfully from toothache. The pleasure of the day was, to him, sadly marred by the distressing pain, amounting at times to agony. But it passed away in a few days. The man was not suffering from heart disease or any mortal sickness. So he lived on to achieve much and enjoy much in future years. We learn here that there is in the soul something corresponding to "a sound heart." A sufferer's life appeared of great importance to his wife and children. He was so circumstanced that the advice of skilful surgeons could be obtained. The man's countenance was ruddy, and he did not look as though about to die. But there was decay in a bone which could not be arrested. All that could be done was to secure relief from excruciating pain during part of each day. The disease had been contracted by exposure in the performance of duty, and the patient had a good hope through grace. But he must suffer and die in consequence of that decay. We learn that in the soul there is something which may be compared to such disease. Indeed sin, in any form, may be thus fitly represented. Envy is the sin here specially indicated.

Our liability to this soul-malady.—The

disease may be avoided, and may be got rid of when unhappily contracted. Decay in the bone cannot always be averted, nor the vigorous action of the heart maintained. But the Good Physician will impart health to the soul, if we apply to Him. Still, we are liable to this soulmalady, and shall fall beneath the power of some spiritual disease, unless we come to Him, and follow out His directions.

Sometimes it is exceedingly pleasant to sit in the shade and gaze out into the bright sunshine, and on all that moves in the clear light. But it is not always, in ordinary life, pleasant to endure the adversity which is often spoken of as the gloomy shade, and to observe our acquaintances basking in the sunshine of continuous prosperity. In these circumstances we require much grace and sense to "rejoice with them that do rejoice." We appear to ourselves more like the destitute and homeless, who, from the wintry cold and darkness, are peering into some illuminated banqueting-room, the blinds not being fully drawn down, but the door closed against us.

There is also often an appearance of antagonism in the interests of our neighbours and ourselves. Hence those who dwell nearest to each other, unless their interests happen to be identical, are specially in danger of envying a prosperity which they are not allowed to share. While Altona was Danish and Hamburg was German, the citizens of those towns were liable to be jealous of each other's trading success. They could see, almost count,

each other's chimneys, yet were subjected to different tariffs. We are told that the good people at Hamburg, afraid that those whom they wished to have as customers might go to the adjacent town, called it, All-zu-nah, ("All too near.") Competitors at the bar, at the hospital, in the senate, and in the market-place, have great need to be on their guard against this soulmalady.

The results of this soul-malady.-Too frequently the innocent object of this unworthy feeling is made to suffer severely. The envious are impelled by the unholy passion within them to mar a glory which they cannot look upon without pain. Thus Joseph was persecuted by his brethren, and eventually sold as a slave into Egypt; and David was driven forth into exile by Saul, and pursued in the wilderness, having frequently to flee for his life. But whatever suffering the envious may inflict on others, they will most assuredly be tormented themselves by the fierce flame within their breasts.

At the close of the last century, a young man, named Joseph M. W. Turner, was emerging from obscurity. He was the son of a barber, and born in one of the courts opening into Maiden-lane, Coventgarden. He was, however, endowed with rare artistic powers. Conception, taste, patience, and skill were all his. Of course his path was, for a time, uphill. But he was continually ascending. Whilst in the prime of life, he had gained more money than was needed to supply his needs, and his fame was rapidly extending. Before he died, he was offered as much as £5,000 for a single picture, and his name had become famous throughout Europe. We might have supposed that the constant advance in wealth and position would have satisfied him. But this was not the case. All through life he was making himself miserable by aiming to be accounted greater than others, and fearing that his claim was not universally allowed. But poor Turner was daily so measuring himself with his compeers, and uttering censorious remarks concerning every painter who crossed his path, that he was constantly wretched. No doubt this aggravated the mental gloom amid which his life closed.

Envy was to poor Turner, amid wealth and fame, as the festering bone within.

Generous good-will imparts abundant comfort, while it does not exclude beneficial emulation of the gifted, wise, and good. That farmer would certainly become rich who could lawfully take into his own stack-yard all the waving corn he saw and admired in his journeyings. Fragrance would not be absent from the boudoir where flowers, judiciously selected from all the gardens and conservatories of the neighbourhood, were daily placed. That man will not be devoid of happiness who can rejoice with all whose gladness he perceives. Let us apply to the Good Physician that He may remove from us every soul-malady, and impart to us true soundness of soul. "Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me."

Due Regard for the Needy. PROVERBS xiv. 31: "He that oppresseth the poor reproacheth his Maker: but he that honoureth Him hath mercy on the poor."

OUR conduct towards the needy indicates our possession, or want, of loving reverence towards Almighty God. So it is here affirmed. How can this be made apparent? In ordinary life, we often honour one person for the sake of another. Perhaps we should speak with moderate kindness to any well-behaved child, but sometimes caresses and cake are added to kind words, because the little boy who has called with some message is the child of a dear friend. A gentleman of refined deportment and ample means may secure respectful attention in most circles, but not such as is given to one who is accredited as ambassador to the court where he resides. When a tradesman is informed by some manufacturing firm that " our Mr. Thompson will wait on you, when your orders and favours," etc., the tradesman is likely to receive Mr. Thompson not according to his personal merit or demerit, but in accordance with the estimation formed of the firm he represents. All this we can understand and explain. But how does our treatment of the poor widow round the corner indicate what is the

real state of our heart towards Almighty God?

The most needy are God's creatures.The Lord is their "Maker" as well as ours. At the first glance, there may be little to remind us of the universal Sovereign, but there is a relation between them. Hence if we, in very truth, honour Him, we shall not oppress them. Some do act unjustly towards the helpless, and yet employ language of the utmost reverence towards the Universal King, but their treatment of His suffering creatures indicates their lack of suitable reverence for their "Maker."

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Dr. Andrew Reed was a noble instance of honouring God by a due regard for the needy. He recorded: "I give, not because I have great means, but because I have few wants. I share my daily bread with the orphan and the idiot; for, in one way or other, they get the half of my salary." In 1812 he founded "The London Orphan Asylum," which cost £25,000, and though at that time Mr. Reed was not in a position to give a very large sum towards its erection or support, yet he gave in successive donations to that Institution £480; and, what was of far greater value, he contributed the zealous, unwearied, thoughtful services of thirty-three years without any fee whatever. Other asylums were founded as years rolled on, chiefly through his determined resolution and immeasurable painstaking. In 1846 he recorded, "Now I will go to the lowest," and he so far succeeded that in the year following "the Asylum for Idiots" was founded, and completed at a cost of £39,000, towards which he gave £1,400.

Dr. Reed honoured God in care for the needy, and the Lord largely blessed him during life and at its close. At the close of 1861, Dr. Reed was very ill, but in the following February his son said to him, "Father, you will be able in the spring to see the Asylum for yourself, if God spares you to recover." He replied emphatically, 66 No, the moment in which I cannot do good to the world is the moment in which I would leave it, and I think that moment has now come." On the 20th of that month the Anniversary dinner of "the Asylum for Fatherless Children "

was

held. Dr. Reed sent his son to inquire the amount of the contributions. When the son returned, the father was unconscious. Next morning, however, he was able to understand that a very large sum had been raised, and exclaimed: "Charity! whilst Christianity lives, charity cannot die."

On the morning of the last Sabbath the venerable saint spent on earth, he was placed in an easy-chair, with God's Word and a selection of hymns near him. He spoke much and exultingly of his sister Martha, who had preceded him to heaven. The fourteenth chapter of St. John's Gospel was read: of the declaration, “If I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto Myself; that where I am, there ye may be also," the sufferer said, "That promise is even now about to be fulfilled." Then to his son Charles he said, "Kiss me! Now we'll sleep." He spoke no more on earth. "And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye have done it unto Me."

The most needy have been redeemed.When the Missionaries of the Cross went to South Africa, they were astonished, as well as pained, to find that large numbers of coloured people, living in the service of European farmers (chiefly Dutch) were in a state of utter ignorance concerning religion. Even in the case of those farmers who daily read the Bible and prayers in their families, the coloured people dwelling beneath their roof were not allowed to be present. There was an extreme unwillingness that the negroes should hear the Missionary preach or be taught to read. These Dutch farmers, though calling themselves Christians, had certainly failed to learn Christ's lessons. Whatever regard they might profess for the King of kings, they failed to honour Him in the persons of these needy ones.

A negress who lived with one of these farmers became deeply solicitous concerning her soul. She had learned that her master and his family read words out of a Book given to men by the Great Spirit, and addressed their supplications to Him. She longed to be taught how to pray, but

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