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"Then please, sir, the Lord Jesus loves me, and sent me sixpence the other day, but it was in my frock and father sold it." The missionary looked down in perplexity as Annie stopped. He scarcely knew what to think of her story. "I didn't mind so much about the frock or the other money," went on Annie, "but I've thought may be the Lord Jesus wouldn't like me losing his sixpence;" and the tears came into her eyes.

"Who gave you the sixpence?" asked the missionary. "The Lord Jesus sent his servant with it to tell me that he loved me, and that I mustn't tell lies or knock the other gals down, cos he didn't like it. And I haven't," added Annie, "though I was very hungry yesterday and wanted to say the cresses was fresh."

"And you would not tell a lie because it would displease the Lord Jesus?" asked the missionary.

The child nodded. "Tell me some more about him," she said, pleadingly. "Nobody else don't care for me, but he knows I'm hungry and thirsty, cos he was sometimes; and he loves me too," she added, with a little smile of content.

"But why did you not spend your sixpence if you were so hungry?" asked the missionary.

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Spend i!" uttered Annie in astonishment; "I couldn't do that." It was useless to try and convince her that the money, though given by a servant of God, had no immediate connection with the Lord Jesus. She persistently maintained her own belief in the matter, and when she said that only looking at it made her think of what she must try to do to please him, he gave up the attempt. Bit by bit he drew from her the story of her poor, wretched life. She hid nothing, not even her frequent battles at the market with the other street-girls. But when she had told him all, she begged him in return to tell her some more about the Lord Jesus, saying she knew he could tell her everything, for she had heard him say "hungry and thirsty" while he was talking to the people.

The missionary looked down at the little hungry soul before him, and wondered what he could do to help her. At length he thought of a Refuge that had been opened for homeless girls, and he resolved to take her there; but to his great surprise Annie objected. She couldn't go till the next night, she said, at the same time counting over her few coppers.

"Why not?" asked the missionary.

"Cos I must have my sixpence, and I'm going to save enough to buy my frock."

"I will go with you now and see about it," said the missionary, and soon afterwards the two were at the door of the rag-shop bargaining for the rag of a frock. The sixpence was found, as Annie believed it would be, and she was ready to do anything for the missionary who had rescued it for her. By the blessing of God he not only rescued the sixpence but herself too. She went to the Refuge, and there learned to know more of the love of Christ. God fulfilled his promise, and filled the hungry soul with "good things."

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EASY TO FIND THE SAVIOUR.

OTHER, I've found the Saviour! I've been seeking him for years, but I did not know it was so easy to find him!" These words were uttered by a young man of much intelligence and promise, as he entered his father's house with a face radiant with hope and joy. An hour previous he had called on me as his pastor, and, in answer to my inquiries, had expressed his earnest desire to become a Christian, and his willingness to give up all to follow Christ. After some conversation I said, Now I will pray with you; and while I do so, will you not try to make the consecration?" We knelt; I presented his case to God; and when I ceased, to my surprise, he began to pray; and so simple, humble, and earnest was his petition, that I could not doubt it was the prayer of a true penitent. When we rose from our knees, he said, How easy it seems to come to Christ; I feel so different from what I did when I came here." He hastened home to tell his mother the good news in the language already given. Mingled with the inexpressible sweetness of a sense of pardon, was the feeling of surprise that it was so easy to find the Saviour. I seem to hear some anxious soul saying, "It is not so with me. I am a great sinner. I am lost. I cannot save myself. No mortal can save me. No angel has power to redeem me. My sins rise like mountains before me. I wonder God has not cut me down ere this. I have tried to make myself better, but feel that I am becoming worse

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and worse. I need an Almighty Saviour. I am lost for ever without his interposition. My Christian friends tell me I must go to Christ, and trust in him for salvation, for other foundation can no man lay than is laid' in the gospel, and there is none other name given under heaven among men, whereby we must be saved.' I believe this. I have tried to find Christ. I have sought him sorrowing for days and weeks, but in vain. I am afraid I shall never rejoice in him as my Saviour. 'Oh that I knew where I might find him!""

The obstacle, my anxious friend, is not with God. Satan tempts you to believe it is; but he never tempted you to believe a greater lie.

God says, "Come now, and let us reason together: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool." He invites you to this Saviour. God the Son loves you and gave himself for you. He also invites you: "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." God the Spirit strives with you, discovers to you your sin and danger; and urges you to fly to Christ. It is the Spirit that makes you anxious about your soul. God has given you abundant assurance of his willingness to save you. At infinite cost he has provided salvation, and he invites and urges you to accept it. And he calls upon every one who has felt the power of the gospel, or has only heard its glad tidings, to invite you: The Spirit and the bride"-the church-" say, Come. And let him that heareth say, Come. And let him that is athirst come. And whosever will, let him take the water of life freely." While such precious declarations and invitations are in the Bible, dare you say that your difficulty in finding the Saviour rests with God? Do you candidly believe that He who has done so much to provide the way of salvation, hinders your acceptance of it? Does not Christ say, Behold, I stand at the door ". of your heart-"and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me?" Does he, then, make it hard for you to find him? No, my friends as the Divine word is true, the obstacle is not with God.

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And yet something hinders. That young man who was surprised that it was so easy to find the Saviour, had travelled a long and dreary way ere he rejoiced in him.

A year and a half before his conversion he was the subject of the powerful strivings of the Holy Spirit. Again and again did he come to the inquiry meeting with dejected countenance, feeling that he was lost, but finding no light and no peace. His companions found Christ, and were happy in his love; but he remained in darkness. All I could say seemed of no avail. He was on the very borders of despair. His friends felt an intense interest in his welfare; his pious mother was almost overwhelmed with anxiety in his behalf; but weeks and months passed, and his testimony was that he could not find the Saviour. At length he concluded there was no mercy for him, and it was useless to seek Christ longer. He told an intimate companion that he was resolved to give up thinking on the subject of religion.

The next year, on a beautiful day in July, his friend led him to his pastor, hoping that he might be directed to Christ. I had known little of his state of mind during the interval, and was rejoiced to see him come on such an errand. He was in earnest; and was soon rejoicing in hope; and from that time forward was a burning and shining light. The religious life of but few has given me so much satisfaction.

And now, my friend, the obstacle not being with God, it is with yourself. It has been with yourself all these days and weeks that you have trembled in view of your sins, and have cried, "Oh that I knew where I might find him." Christ indeed commands you to strive to enter in at the strait gate; but it is not because he blocks up the way; but rather, because your own evil heart interposes serious obstacles to your entrance. Christ is not afar off. He is nigh you. His own declaration is, "Behold, I stand at the door, and knock." How could he be more willing to manifest himself to you? Ah! my dying friend, the difficulty is with yourself. It is fully expressed in the Saviour's own words, "Ye will not come unto me, that ye might have life." You make some reservation. You are not ready to consecrate yourself wholly to Christ. You are not entirely willing to forsake all to follow him. If you were, and if you would do it, this moment you would find him. Just as soon as that young man willingly and heartily did this, he found Christ and his mourning was turned into joy. You probably are not more anxious about your soul than he had been. You can hardly have

a deeper sense of guilt and danger, or be nearer utter despair; and yet his testimony was, "It is easy to find the Saviour." Yes, it was easy, when he sought him with his whole heart. He saw and acknowledged that the hindrance had all been with himself; and that but for this, he might easily have found Christ when he first sought him. Let me assure you that there is no power on earth or in hell that can prevent your finding Christ, if you seek him with all your heart.

My anxious friend, do not find fault with God. Do not believe the blessed Saviour utters what is untrue when he assures you that he is not only willing to save you, but actually knocks at the door of your heart, suing for admittance. Do not doubt that God has faithfully done his part; that all things are ready; and that all heaven would rejoice to see you safe in the arms of Jesus. Place the fearful responsibility of your remaining unreconciled to God, where it belongs-upon yourself. While you are mourning that it is so hard to find the Saviour, and are ready to complain or despair, you are verily guilty of great sin, and in great danger. You are keeping your heart from Christ. You are rejecting his mercy. You are resisting the Holy Spirit.

You may die unpardoned. You may grieve away the Holy Spirit and be lost for ever. Oh, add no more to

your mountain load of guilt. Refuse no longer to come to Christ. Confess your sins now. Ask God for Christ's sake to forgive them. Believe the words of Jesus. Tell him you cheerfully forsake all to follow him. Trust in him as your Saviour. Open to him the door of your heart, and the struggle will be over, the load of guilt removed. You will acknowledge it is easy to find him. You will rejoice in him as the "Chief among ten thousand, and altogether lovely." You will walk in his light and love all through this mortal life; and, awaking at length in his likeness, you will see his face and sing his praise for

ever.

SYMPATHY.

E who has had experience of great and sore trials, and has borne them well, is the most cheerful companion to a sorrowing heart. Having sounded the depths of affliction, he can best guide his friend in them. Desponding Christian, in the river of

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