being out of reach; but the smaller plants, the rose and bramble, and hawthorn, and others, sleep snugly within the prickly chevaux de frise with which they have girded themselves. It is pleasant to know, however, that there is no malice in the thorns of the roses: they prick and warn, but they do not, like the nettle, sting and poison the aggressor. 'Defence, not defiance,' is their motto; like the famous Quaker, they do not fight, but merely say, with some emphasis, to the intruder, Friend, thee isn't wanted here '!

S

SEEKING THE FACE OF THE LORD.*

BY THE REV. ALEXANDER MACLAREN, D.D.
'Thy face, Lord, will I seek.'-PSALM XXVII. 8.

WIFT and immediate as the thunder to the lightning, the answer follows the invitation. If the resolve to seek God's face be not made by us at the very moment when we become aware of His loving call, it is very unlikely to be made at all. The first notes of that low voice fall on the heart with more persuasive power than they retain after it has become familiar with them, even as the first heard song of the thrush in springtime, that breaks the long, wintry silence, has a sweetness all its own. The echo answers as soon as the mother voice ceases. But how many of us hesitate and delay, and content ourselves with intentions to answer, and so by lapse of time lose our very consciousness that God is speaking to us at all. Some of us are as dead to the perception of His gracious call, just because it has been sounding on uninterruptedly, as are the dwellers by the waterfall to its unremitting voice. It is always dangerous to delay for one moment the

* From The Secret of Power, and other Sermons. By the Rev. Alexander

Maclaren.

uprising of the heart in any resolution which we know to be right. Any unnecessary interval interposed between the perception of duty and the doing of duty, weakens the perception and the resolution as well, and lowers the whole tone of a man. So do not let us tolerate any lingering hesitation in ourselves in yielding to the Divine summons. The only safety, the only peace, lies in prompt obedience and an immediate answer.

There is also brought out here very plainly the complete correspondence between the Divine command and the devout man's resolve. Word for word the invitation is repeated in the answer. This man's obedience is no partial obedience. He does not take part of God's call and yield to that, leaving the rest to be dispersed in empty air, but all the breadth and depth of the message that comes to him from God is contained in his announcement of his purpose. Like the sailor at the tiller, he answers his captain's directions by repeating them. 'Port,' says the officer; 'Port it is,' says the steersman. 'Seek ye My face;' Thy face will I seek.' The correspondence in words means the correspondence in action. How unlike the half-andhalf seeking, the languid search, as of people listlessly looking for something which they do not much expect to find, and do not much care whether they find or not, which characterizes so many so-called Christians! They are seekers after God, are they? Yes, with less eagerness than they would seek for a sovereign if it rolled from their fingers into the mud. And so need we wonder that so many of us have but little consciousness of a found God to brighten our lives?.. What a contrast that clear, self-conscious, firm resolution is to the hesitations and indecisions so common among us! How few of us could honestly crystallize the aims that guide our life into any single sentence! How far fewer there are who could do it in that sentence! We try the impossible feat of riding on two horses at once. We resolve and retract, and hesitate and compromise. The ship heads now one way, and now another;.. because our hand is so weak on the helm that we drift wherever the wash of the waves and the buffets of the wind carry us.

own.

for

God sows His invitations broadcast; we have to make them our He issues His commands to all; I have to make them the law my life. The stream flows deep and broad from the throne of God;....but I have to bring it into my own garden by my own trench, and to carry it to my own lip in my own cup. The Gospel tells us that Christ died for the world; I have to appropriate' that, as our fathers used to name it, by saying He gave Himself for me. So when that merciful voice comes to us there must be a personal response to it. Let us each reply, Thy face, Lord, will I seek.'

Nothing in all the world is so blessed as to hear that wonderful beseeching call sounding in every Providence, travelling to us from every corner of the universe, speaking to us in the light of setting suns, and in the hush of midnight skies, sounding in the break of waves on the beach, and in the rustle of leaves in the forest depths. Everything assumes a new meaning and is apparelled in celestial light, when we are aware that everything is a messenger from God to guide us to Himself. And nothing is so joyous as to yield to that most tender summons; while, on the other hand, its non-acceptance breeds and brings discord and unrest into our whole being. To stifle it wholly is impossible; conscience will ever and again stir. When we feel most secure, and have deadened our ears most effectually as we think, some word or look, a chance line in a book, a sunset, a phrase in a sermon, the meeting of a funeral, some fleeting gladness, sets the chords vibrating again. So, there is constant inward strife; or, if not, so much the worse: for the man who has lost the capacity of discerning God's voice, has lost the most of what ennobles his nature. But that is heaven on earth, nobleness, peace, and power, to stand as at the point of some great ellipse, to which converge from all sides the music of God's manifold invitations, and listening to them, to say, 'I hear, and I obey. Thou dost call, and I answer, Lo, here am I.'

THE RACE FOR LIFE; OR, A MISSIONARY'S

ADVENTURE.

BY THE REV. EGERTON RYERSON YOUNG.

ALEC, I am afraid we are lost.'

'Yes, Missionary,' replied Alec, 'we are surely lost.'

Thus spake the Missionary, and thus answered his only companion, a faithful young Indian lad, who had accompanied him on a long trip in the wilds of the North-West. At the time when the above brief conversation occurred, we were far out on the frozen surface of Lake Winnipeg. The date was January, 1876. The thermometer, as we found out a few days after, when we reached a Hudson Bay fort, was forty-eight degrees below zero. A furious blizzard was raging, and the air was so full of blinding, drifting snow, that it was impossible to see many yards in any direction. The roar of the storm was like that beneath Niagara's overhanging cliffs.

The distant landmarks were hid from sight, and the Missionary and his comrade had become bewildered amidst the eddying storm, which seemed to come now from one quarter, and then from another; and they knew not which way to go.

What were they doing out there in that fearful storm? you ask. We had started on one of my long winter trips, to visit the few little bands of Indians who were struggling for an existence on the Eastern Coast of Lake Winnipeg, and who were always glad to welcome the Missionary, and to hear from him of the love of the Great Spirit, and of His Son Jesus Christ.

Their country is very wild and rough, and is very different from the beautiful prairie regions of the North-West. There are no rail

Y

roads or any other kind of roads, and the only way of travel is by canoe in summer, and dog-train in winter.

To keep down expenses, which in those northern Missions are very heavy, I had started out on this long trip with only this young Indian lad as my companion. But as he was good and true, I thought we could succeed, as I had been several years in the country and had faced many a wintry storm and had slept many nights in the snow.

We had with us two splendid trains of dogs. My leader was a lively cunning Esquimo dog, as white as the snow. His name was Koona, which is the Indian word for 'snow,' and he was well named. The other three dogs of my train were my favourites from Ontario. Two of them were gifts from Mr. Sanford, of Hamilton; the other was kindly sent to me by Dr. Mark, of Ottawa.

The other train, driven by Alec, was composed of some sagacious St. Bernard's, obtained for me by the kindness of Mr. Ferrier, of Montreal. The largest and most enduring dog of the eight was Jack, from Hamilton, whose place was second in my train, and he is to be the hero of this adventure.

We had left our camp-fire in the woods early in the morning, and turning our faces towards the north, had hoped that ere the shadows of night had fallen around us, at least sixty miles of the frozen surface of Lake Winnipeg would have been travelled over. For a time we were able to push on very rapidly, keeping the distant points or headlands well in view for our guidance. Lake Winnipeg is very much indented with bays, and in travelling we do not follow the coast line, but strike out directly across these bays from point to point. Some of them run back many miles into the land, and several of them are from ten to thirty miles wide.

The dogs get so accustomed to these long trips and to their work, that they require no guide to run on ahead, but will, with wonderful intelligence, push on from point to point with great exactness. On and on we had travelled for hours; the cold was very great, but we did not mind it much, as we could easily jump off from our dog-sleds and run until we felt all the glow and warmth which such vigorous exercise will give. After a while, we noticed that the strong wind which had arisen was filling the air with the fine dry snow, and making travelling very difficult and unpleasant. Soon it increased to a gale, and we found ourselves in a real North-West blizzard, on stormy Lake Winnipeg, many miles from shore.

Perhaps our wisest and most prudent plan would have been at the commencement of the storm to have turned sharply to the east, and got into the shelter of the forest as quickly as possible, but the bay we