"Then you'll read us some Bible stories, nurse, and ask us questions, and we'll say texts beginning with every letter in the alphabet, and Charlie will be quiet, and Lilly will be so good, won't you, Lilly?" and the little girl stooped to kiss the plump baby of a year old who lay at her ease in the cradle, kicking and crowing to the great delight of her indulgent elders.

Jane could not leave them, but she could lift up her heart from the midst of them to Him before whom all hearts are open, and from whom no secrets are hid, and ask for all she needed for them and for herself. She could sit among them as a little child, and read with them the story of God's love to sinners in the gift of his Son, and feel that by his grace she might share with them the assurance that "of such is the kingdom of heaven."

And

And was not the blessing of God in that nursery with the Christian servant and her youthful charge? though little Charlie did look very poorly, she was able to trust and not fear, and in the fulfilment of her duty to feel the sweet serenity of Christian peace, which alike strengthens for action if needful, or waits patiently on God.

In the meantime Burton, strengthening herself in selfwill, went to look at her nice Sunday clothes, then put them on, and admiring herself greatly, was resolved that other people should have an opportunity to do the same. It was her turn to go out in the evening, but if she could get to morning service she could spare the evening for quite another kind of occupation. It was a tradition to which she yielded reverence, that she ought to go to some place of worship on a Sunday; and it was understood in the family she served that any absence on that day was for that purpose, for holidays were given on other days for visiting and recreation; but here was an opportunity to silence conscience by a morning service, and be free to enjoy herself afterwards, and she was not going to be hindered by Mrs. Nurse with her selfish, upstart ways. So without going to the nursery again she gave a last look at herself in the parlour pier-glass and left the house, assuming all the airs which she fancied should distinguish a lady (alas for such ladies!), and determined not to go to the servants' pew, as no one would be there to notice her, and so pass for a lady indeed.

What benefit Burton had hoped to derive from flaunting with veil and parasol and trailing skirt before the congre

gation, and fancying herself "a born lady," may not be clearly defined; but when she arrived home she was startled by having her knock answered by a lady who was a friend of her mistress and a frequent visitor, who had kindly promised to look in upon the children, and on her way to morning worship had done so, soon after the house had been left to the sole charge of the nurse and children. Jane, with the baby in her arms, had answered the door, and deeply thankful to see the kind face of one dear to her mistress, she begged her to come and see them in the nursery. The lady was struck with the appearance of the little boy, and after observing him for some time decided to go herself for medical advice, and seeing the painful position of the nurse left to herself by the other servant, whose duty it was to have been there to give any needful assistance, she returned to the nursery, and with kind and unobtrusive tenderness ministered to the suffering child, and comforted the anxious heart of his grateful nurse. doctor ordered prompt measures, which Jane alone could not have accomplished, and by the evening they had the satisfaction of finding them effectual.

The

All hope of concealing her heartless conduct was set aside for Burton by the circumstance of this lady's presence, and she lost the opportunity of doing her duty and of securing the confidence of her master and mistress. Her "Sunday out" was unsanctified by communion with God or fulfilment of duty to man, and no thought of remembering "the sabbath day to keep it holy" could be urged in excuse of neglect, or soothe her conscience with the small comfort of a mere mistake between conflicting claims. The failure of duty to her earthly master might be pardoned and overlooked, for all must bear and forbear; but the fearful mockery of the omniscient Master, who searches the heart and sees into every dark corner of its abominations, can never find pardon or blotting out except at the cross of Christ, through faith in his atoning blood. Oh that such as this thoughtless and unfaithful one would consider their motives and bring them honestly to the test, when seizing upon the privileges of "Sunday out," which may bring rest and blessing to the soul for the ensuing week, or add to the condemnation for abused opportunities and profaned ordinances. No one who passes through our streets on the Lord's day can doubt the need of such self-examination. It is not only our duty to go to

the house of God, but to go there with right motives and desires. It is to insult and dishonour God to enter his sanctuary only to make an appearance in the eyes of our fellow-creatures. If we 66 remember the sabbath day to keep it holy," we shall be more concerned to worship him in the beauties of holiness than attract the admiration of poor sinners like ourselves. To neglect the "assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of some is," is to disobey God's command; but to meet before the throne of God, not to humble ourselves before him, but to display our fine clothes and excite the envy of those who ought to be our fellow-worshippers, must be most hateful in his sight. From such guilt let us watch and pray to be delivered.

PERISHING IN SIGHT OF SHORE.

IN the coast of Wales there is a lovely and placid bay, which runs inland for some miles between two rocky headlands. Standing on one of these headlands, and overlooking that calm expanse, as the summer's wind scarce raises a ripple on its surface, and the murmur of the waves is scarcely audible as they run up the yellow sand, it is hardly possible to realise the awful catastrophe of which, some years ago, that bay was the mournful scene. But there, on that very shore, on those grey rocks where the lazy seaweed sways with the undulating tide, a noble vessel, from a far-off land, freighted with treasures of gold and five hundred passengers, was driven, one memorable winter night, with all the violence of a wild and furious storm. There that company of homeward-bound voyagers took their last look of life; and there, struggling and screaming for help which none could afford, they went down to the death of them that are slain in the midst of the seas!

And what made that calamity so peculiarly heartrending was the circumstance that the wreck happened so near home, and the passengers by that ill-fated vessel perished in such close proximity to the shore. Nearly two-thirds of those who went down in the Royal Charter were within thirty yards of land, so that their cries were heard, and their arms were seen stretched out for help, which none could give. We are stunned and startled into something like seriousness for a time as we read of such a calamity happening so very near; and the mind ever reverts to that

melancholy feature in it, that the fearful strivings for life were witnessed by those upon the shore, who were powerless to render them any assistance.

We have sometimes fancied that a parallel might be drawn between a catastrophe like what we have just described and what is, day by day, and year by year, happening at our own doors. Souls are perishing around us, living without God and without hope in the world, and passing away from the midst of light and privilege into the abyss of perdition. And what lends to the consideration a melancholy interest is, that these souls are perishing, not far away in some heathen land-in some hostile and inhospitable country-but in the very centre of a Christian and enlightened community, none of them so distant but our voices can reach them; none of them so alien but they have still much in common with ourselves; none so lost and dead but that they are susceptible of sympathy and common kindness; none so guilty and polluted with sin but the blood of Jesus can make them whiter than the snow.

And shall souls thus perish beneath our very gaze? Must it be so? Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician for the lost? Is there no life-boat that can pick up the wrecked and ruined and bring them safe to shore? Is there no way of escape for the multiudes around us that hasten to their doom? Is all this dread destruction needful, unavoidable, inevitable, irretrievable?

There is healing for every dying soul. There is peace for the vilest through the blood of the cross. There is one of whom it is written, "As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up, that WHOSOEVER believeth in him SHOULD NOT PERISH, but have ETERNAL LIFE." And it is for us to tell this story to the dying sons of men, that they may hear, and look, and live. The life-boat of God's mercy is already launched, and it is for us to call to the sinking multitudes to lay hold on the hope set before them and secure eternal life to-day.

And shall we neglect a duty which is so plainly set before us? Shall we see men perish at our very doors, and refuse to point them to the source of life? Shall we gaze unmoved upon the fruitless struggles of the sinking host, and refuse to show to them their only way of escape?

"Did Christ o'er sinners weep,

And shall our cheeks be dry ?"

Shall we not rather gird ourselves to the work of saving men, and labour while there is yet time to win the lost to Christ, who came and bled and died for them?

"O Christ, who didst for sinners weep,
Give us to feel thy sympathy;
Help us to seek thy wandering sheep,
And win the perishing to thee.

Oh that we might the burden feel,

The groaning that we cannot speak;

The kindlings of a godly zeal,

The vile to save, the lost to seek.

Saviour Divine, to us impart

The tender love, the tearful eye,
The fervour of a longing heart

That would not have the sinner die.

Help us the precious seed to bear,

And sow in tears while here we roain,

Till we at last return with joy,

And shout the eternal harvest home."

CHRIST OUR PASSOVER.

PASTOR was recently seeking to lead an inquirer to Jesus, not alone as the only ground of salvation, but as the all-sufficient atonement for sin.

"I know I cannot earn my salvation," said the young lady in reply to a remark of the pastor, "but I dare not ask Jesus to save me as I am. My heart is too hard and cold, and I do not-with shame and agony I confess it but I know I do not love him as I ought to love such a Saviour. It would be an insult to ask him to bestow the benefits of his great salvation on one so utterly unworthy."

"Is it not a much greater indignity," asked the minister, "to doubt the truth of what he calls you to believe? He says, 'Come unto me, and I will give you rest;' but you doubt his willingness to do so. He says his 'blood cleanseth from all sin;' but you think your prayers, your tears, your repentance can do for you what that precious blood, poured out on Calvary, is unable to accomplish."

"No, no," interrupted the weeping penitent, "I know full well that there is no merit in my tears and prayers; but surely I ought to weep over the sins and follies of my misspent life, and until I do so I cannot expect God to have mercy on my soul."