set up for himself, and rejoice in his own glory; and so when he wanted to make a private heaven of his own, he found that he had made a hell. When he wanted to be a little god himself, he lost the life of the true God, to lose which, is to lose eternal life. And why? because his heart was not pure, clean, honest, simple, unselfish. Therefore, he saw God no more, and learned to hate him whose name is love.

A CHRISTIAN DEFINED.

God's description of a Christian man is clear and well-defined. It has about it so little of the vague and indefinite, that one wonders how any mistake should have arisen on this point, and so many dubious, so many false claims be put in.

A Christian is one who "has tasted that the Lord is gracious" (1 Peter ii. 3); who has been "begotten again unto a lively hope" (Ib. i. 3); who "has been quickened together with Christ" (Eph. ii. 5); "made partaker of Christ" (Heb. iii. 14); "partaker of the divine nature" (1 Peter i. 4); who "has been delivered from the present evil world" (Gal. i. 4).

Such is God's description of one who has found his way to the cross, and is warranted in taking to himself the Antiochian name of "Christian," or the Apostolic name of "saint." Of good about himself, previous to receiving the accord of free forgiveness, he cannot speak. He remembers nothing loveable that could

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All

have recommended him to God; nothing fit that could have qualified him for the divine favor, save that he needed life. that he can say for himself is, that he "has known and believed the love that God hath to us" (1 John iv. 16); and in believing, has found that which makes him not merely a happy, but a holy man. He has discovered the fountain-head of a holy life. H. BONAR.

PRAYING ALWAYS.

A CHRISTIAN cannot always hear, or always read, or always communicate, but hẹ may pray continually. No place, no company, can deprive him of this privilege. If he be on the top of the house with Peter, he may pray; if he be in the bottom of the ocean with Jonah, he may pray; if he be walking in the field with Isaac, he may pray when no eye seeth him; if he be waiting at table with Nehemiah, he may pray when no ear heareth him. If he be in the mountains with our Saviour, he may pray; if he be in the prison with Paul, he may pray; wherever he is, prayer will help him to find God out. Every saint is God's temple; "and he that carrieth his temple about him," saith Austin, "may go to prayer when he pleaseth." Indeed, to a Christian every house is a house of prayer, every closet a chamber of presence, and every place he comes to an altar whereon he may offer the sacrifice of prayer. SWINNOCK.

IMMEDIATELY AT LAND.

It

"I think I'll soon be at land, now. seems to me I hear his step on the water at nights. I suppose He comes for other people in the village. But some night soon He'll be coming for me. And I'll receive Him willingly, like the disciples that night; so willingly, and then immediately I will be at land; at land at last for ever."

Gracie looked far out to sea as she spoke, and the sun shone on her fair hair.

"You might read about that night again. I like to hear it over and over. Read it from my little old Bible; you'll find the mark at the place.'

I took the Bible, and it opened at John vi. One verse was underlined, and a date

was written against it, in a school-girl's hand-Gracie's hand.

"Then they willingly received him into the ship, and immediately the ship was at the land, whither they went."

"Isn't it beautiful!" said Gracie, her eyes shining; "just the moment they received Jesus on board they were at land. But do read it all."

I read the account of how Jesus departed to a mountain alone to pray; how the disciples were tossed on the sea with contrary winds, and it was now dark, and Jesus had not come unto them; and then of his coming; and how, when they willingly received him, immediately they were at land. And as I closed the book, I added, "Then are they glad, because they be

Do you

Then putting her arm around me as I knelt beside the sofa, Gracie went on more calmly "That has come true to me once more before in another way. remember just after-after mamma died, how unhappy I was? It wasn't only that I was grieving after her. But I felt as if she was quite lost to me, gone to a place where I could never go. And all the light and sweetness she had when she was dying showed me what I missed by neglecting Jesus. She will never pray for me again, I thought, and I'm sure I never can become good without her; I did feel so lonely and at sea."

My poor little Gracie," I said involuntarily, as her words recalled to me the woeful look her fair pale face had worn for months after her mother's death.

She gave a faint smile and went on. "Then one Sunday at last, when uncle John was preaching about 'He came unto his own and his own received him not,' such a light broke in on me; and I do believe God helped me that day to receive Christ to be all and do all for me. At the close of the sermon, uncle John said,

There was a wild, stormy night once on the Sea of Galilee. A company of terrified men were tossed up and down there in a small boat. It was dark and tempestuous. Suddenly, over the sea, One came to them, and it is written that they willlngly received Jesus.-When poor souls are tossing on the water of God's wrath, and it is now dark, how willingly, when Christ reveals himself, they receive him.' Then such thoughts of him came over my heart, and I said to myself, He is come to me in this sermon. I will receive him. Lord Jesus, I willingly receive thee. Then, oh, what peace and quietness came to me! I seemed to have reached such a sure dwelling-place. It was the second half of the verse coming true: immediately I was at land."

"And was that Sabbath day the date beside that verse?" I asked, after a little pause.

"Yes; and how I've thought and thought of it since. You know I used always to like sea verses, long ago when

we were at school. And then, when I've been away so much with papa, in the yacht, I've thought at night of all the verses that speak of the sea over and over. I used to have such ideas about them, too. They seemed so true at sea, when I could hear the waves. I wonder if that's why my thoughts run so much about the sea, now I'm ill? I often catch myself praying as if I were at sea; and so I am in one way, but He will bring me to the haven where I would be."

"Gracie, do you remember reading me this chapter one evening? It seems long ago now, and yet it isn't long either. We were sitting on the old seat on the White Crag, just above the sea."

"I remember," said Gracie. "It was before mamma died, and I wasn't a Christian then; but somehow, bits of the Bible sounded beautiful to me in an indefinite way. You remember we said that night that we hoped we should both get to 'land' at last. It seemed a very far off land then, as if we were going forth on a long voyage, and it would be ages before the end would come. It's not so far from one of us, now. It has only been a little bit of a voyage for me, after all, and it's nearly over.'

And then, dreamily, with her quaint way of mixing things seen and heard with the things which eye cannot see nor ear hear, Gracie sang:

Two or three weeks passed away, and the last day arrived. It was a quiet Sabbath evening when He came for whom Gracie had been waiting. She lay propped up with pillows, her thin cheek a little flushed, and her long fair hair pushed back. Her father had been reading to her from her own little well-worn Bible, a few words at a time, as she was able to bear it. Now, however, she seemed to be drifting away from us. When we spoke, the words appeared scarcely to reach her. We felt as if calling to one at an increasing distance from us.

"I can scarcely hear, papa dear," she said at last; "but I think I could hear you sing, though you are a good way off It's getting so dark, too, it must be time for prayers; you know we always have them early at sea. It's very dark,

now.

and the waves make a noise; but do sing, papa. We must have evening prayers.'

Her thoughts were wandering now. She fancied herself at sea again, and the darkness was fancy, too. The afternoon was wearing on, but there was still bright sunshine in the room. Her father put aside his own grief, and sang to his dying girl the first verse of the beautiful evening hymn they so often sung at prayers together. It seemed to bear a deep and touching meaning now:

Sun of my soul, thou Saviour dear,
It is not night if thou art near:
Oh! let no earth-born cloud, arise
To hide thee from thy servant's eyes!

"Thank you, papa dear. It's so nice to have prayers again at sea. Don't you hear the waves against the ship? What

a deep sound they make. I never heard anything like that sound. It won't be a storm, papa, will it? Oh, I hope not, I hope not."

And in a weak, trembling voice, Gracie sang;

Row, brothers row, The night falls fast.

"How it falls. How dark it is getting. And Jesus still on shore. * *

can't see his face; my sins, my sins! Lord be merciful to me, a sinner!" said poor little Gracie, suddenly breaking from her dim wandering words about being far at sea, into the sharp short cry of a dying sinner for mercy.

I repeated slowly, "The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin."

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She smiled as the words reached her ear. "From all sin, from all sin. And that's how he can bring us to the desired haven. It's a good while now since I laid my sins on Jesus; but I think some one was tempting me just now. You see with being at sea again, and going to land soon, get a little confused." She was wandering back to her old idea now.

"You remember about the disciples that night? Jesus Christ is coming for me now over the water. It doesn't matter being so dark. I'm sure to see him. It's been only a little bit of a voyage, after all, you see. When he comes into the ship, immediately we'll be at land. Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly."

She was speaking now as if we were all nearing the good Land together. We heard her speak, and felt, somewhat drearily, that we should be still outside, perhaps long after Gracie was safe in her Haven.

A few minutes later she said, "Please kiss me now, and then each of you take one of my hands till He comes."

We each took one of the small, cold hands. She lay quite still for a while. Then there was a slight movement, and she murmured faintly:

By

London:

A Commentary on St. Matthew's Gospel, designed for Teachers, Preachers, and Educated English Readers generally. EUSTACE R. CONDER, M.A. Elliot Stock, Paternoster-row. THE plan of writing neutral commentaries seems to gain ground; this is one of them, and on the whole is as fair as neutrals can be. You can without much effort ascertain what opinion is held by the writer, reminding us of Kotzebue's opinion of an Englishman's secret. "The Englishman," says Kotzebue, "conceals what he should divulge, and divulges what he should con

ceal." On the whole, however, this is an admirable commentary, replete with instruction derived from almost every source open to the investigation of the critic, the archæologist, the historian, the naturalist, the modern traveller, and the theologian. If the latter does not quite come up to our standard, we rejoice to find it so little below it. The following lines on the Beatitudes have our hearty approval:—

"Not present pains nor evils,
Not sorest tribulations,
Not tyrants, no nor devils,
With all their fierce temptations,

"Not aught of man's endeavour,
Nor death, nor powers above,
The ransomed soul can sever
From Jesus and His love." (p. 48.)

We say to all who want solid learning and extensive information, get Conder's commentary, and it will amply repay the outlay of money and time. To the Sunday-school teacher it will prove an invaluable boon. Our space forbids more at present.

Broad Churchism: Rev. C. H. Spurgeon and "The Christian World." A Letter from one of the Old School. London: Houlston and Wright.

A VERY ably written pamphlet. The author shews that many of the reviews and articles in the Christian World are dangerous in their tendency, and blames Mr. Spurgeon for his strong recommendation of that publication. (We understand that Mr. Spurgeon has since reviewed this review in the "Sword and Trowel," and has withdrawn his recommendation of the Christian World.) The contrast between the review of Robertson in the Baptist Magazine and that in the Christian World is indeed striking if not astounding; the Baptist Magazine shewing his writings to be full of deadly poison, and the Christian World holding them up as gems in divinity. There has in our judgment been in many articles and reviews in the Christian World an apparent tendency to Broad Churchism; we hope that it may be more apparent than real, and that the warning voice of "One of the Old School" may prove beneficial to the conductors of a journal that, on the whole, is worthy of the high position it has attained We commend to the Christian World the opinion of our American cousins on "Ecce Homo," subjoined, and let the two reviews be contrasted.

"ECCE HOMO."

"A sensational book in theology. A darkly mysterious book as its author imagines, about which the world will puzzle itself with long conjecture, wondering what manner of man the author can be. He little dreams that his portrait is a good deal more distinct than if he had printed it at the top of every page. The book is only rationalism, attempting to pass itself off for something better; or at least seeking that its real character shall not be discovered. It is perhaps difficult to say whether the author attempts an imposition, or is merely under a delusion.. The book treats of Christ,

but the Christ of the bible is not in it. He is not the companion of John, so much as of Renan." Examiner and Chronicle. New York, June 14th, 1866.

Footsteps of a Prodigal; or, Friendly_Advice to Young Men. By WILLIAM G PASCOE. London: Elliot Stock, 62, Paternoster

row.

WE have here Eight Lectures on the inimitable parable of "The Prodigal Son." The talent displayed in these lectures is far above the average, the style is ornate, the descriptions graphic, the narrative well sustained, often beautiful, tender and pathetic. We certainly differ from the author on some points, but have no heart to criticise where so much is excellent. His description of a fast young man very forcible.

is

"A fast young man! He is a lovely picture to some eyes. He leads the fashion. If anything is stirring in the neighbourhood where mirth and laughter, songs and revelling can be found, he is conspicuous among them that attend. If anything is carried on that needs a greater stock of impudence than is common with men, he can always command it. He is a fast young man. He is fast in acquiring habits that old debauchees take years in arriving at. He is fast in learning slang phrases, with which his speech is spiced. He is fast in breaking loose from home restraints at an age when every sensible young man values a father's counsels and a mother's prayers. He is fast in leading

others not so far advanced as himself into mischief, debauchery and vice. He is fast in polluting virtuous hearts, and in bringing desolation into once happy homes. But there are other things in which he is fast. He is fast in sowing the seeds of disease in his constitution, and in inducing premature old age. He is fast in driving out the forms of virtue from his soul, and in filling up their places with the filthiest forms of sin He is fast in getting ready for the condemnation of God, and is fast in going to perdition!"

His description of the returning Prodigal and of the Father's love are truly beautiful, but we give a part of his description of the Elder Brother, a character alas too often met with in our own day.

"We can easily picture him as too precise ever to be in a hurry, too exact ever to be too late, too dignified ever to laugh heartily, too cold ever to get into a perspiration, and too stiff ever to shake you warmly