BIBLE TRUTHS. Sunday, July 5.—“ For it is better, if the will of God be so, that ye suffer for well doing, than for evil doing" (1 Pet. iii. 17). IT T seems very hard "when we have done well" to "suffer for it." But let us remember these two things: 1. It is better to suffer for well doing than for evil doing. We have the comfort of a good conscience. How much greater would our sufferings be if we felt that we had brought them upon ourselves by our misdeeds! That man is in a sad condition in whom sin and trouble meet together. 2. Remember, as the apostle says, that this suffering comes upon us only "if the will of God be so." He either sends it or permits it; and he does so in love. It is his will, and therefore we may be sure that it is all right. If we had brought it upon ourselves, we should scarcely have the consolation of the promise, that "whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth." Some day we shall be able to praise him for these trials, which now seem so difficult to understand and so hard to bear. Even now let us try to thank him that by his grace we "suffer for well doing" rather than for evil doing." "Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take; Are big with mercy, and shall break SUNDAY, July 12.-" Likewise reckon ye also Or if the age, yet life like wickedness. wicked man reaches old death comes at last; and when the end of life is reached, what fruit has a man of his sin then? "Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die" And the death of the sinner is but his entrance into that "lake which burneth with fire and brim the right of redemption. We were dead in trespasses and sins. We had deserved to die eternally. If he had put his law into execution, we should long ago have been in hell lifting up our eyes in torments. He has spared us. He has redeemed us. He gave his dear Son to die for us. "Ye are not your own; ye are bought with a stone, which is the second death.” price; therefore glorify God in your body and in your spirit, which are God's." The apostle says the same thing here. Through God's goodness you received life at first; through his sparing mercy you have not been cut down; through his saving grace you have been made alive again from the death of sin; therefore "yield yourselves yourselves to be dead indeed unto sin, but alive unto night spent in drunkenness and vice how does a man feel next morning? With empty pocket, God through Jesus Christ our Lord. . . . Yield yourselves unto God, as those that are alive from the dead" (Rom. vi. 11-13). WE belong to God by the right and aching head, and guilty con of creation. Anything which we make we call our own. How much more do we belong to God, seeing that he created us out of nothing. Body, soul, and spirit, all we have, and all we are, belong to God. But we are his yet more by science, can he bear to look back upon his night's work? Or can he look his friends and neighbours in the face without shame? And sin is fatal too. "The ungodly man shall not live out half his days." There is nothing shortens a man's "Why will you in the crooked ways Of sin and folly go? In pain you travail all your days To reap immortal woe." SUNDAY, July 26.-" And if children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ" (Rom. viii. 17). BY OY faith we become the sons of God and the brethren of the Lord Jesus Christ. We are no longer servants working for wages, but children obeying our Father from a principle of love to him. Heaven comes to us not as a reward, but by inheritance. The heir to an estate receives it not because he has bought it, or worked for it, but by the free gift of his father. The great question for each to ask is, " Am I a child of God?" If I am, then I am an heir of heaven, a joint-heir with Jesus Christ. A great and good man reading these words exclaimed, “Heir of God.' What an inheritance! 'Jointheir with Christ.' What a title!" It is indeed a glorious inheritance, "They alone are truly blessed, SECOND THOUGHTS. HERE is an old proverb, "SeTHER cond thoughts are best." This is often true, but not always. If you get into a passion, and determine to do some great harm to the man who you think has injured you, pray wait, and think again before you do anything. Most likely your second thoughts will be better than your first, because they will be cooler. Here the proverb is true. But second thoughts are not always the best. For instance: if any one ask you to join him in doing something which you see at once to be wrong, do not think about it any more, but say No, at once. If you listen to his words, and turn the thing over in your mind, perhaps you will begin to wish to do it, and to try to persuade yourself there is no harm in it; and very likely you may end in doing it, though the thing is still just as wrong as you thought it to be at first. In this case second thoughts are not best. They are not best in any case in which conscience tells you at once that the thing is wrong. Conscience generally speaks first in such cases; and the voice of conscience ought to be attended to. daughter have brought grief and shame upon their parents, because temptation was parleyed with, and the first thought, that warned of evil, was not obeyed at once. When Joseph was tempted by his mistress (Gen. xxxix. 7-12) his first thought was, 66 How can I do this great wickedness, and sin against God?" And when the temptation pressed him sore, he did not stay to think again, but acted at once on his first thought, "and fled, and got him out." That is how temptation should be met. Do like Joseph. If you see a thing to be wrong, have nothing to do with it, do not give it another thought. Or if you do, let your thought be a prayer: "God, help me! God, strengthen me! God, keep, me for Jesus' sake!" LAST WORDS. THE apostle John, in the book "O what prospects are before me in the blessed world whither I am going. Will not share you my joy, and help me to praise, that soon I shall leave this body of sin and death behind, and enter on the perfection of my spiritual nature. Sweet affliction, now it worketh glory, glory."-Samuel Pearce. "I have no more doubt of going to my Saviour than if I were already in his arms; my guilt is all transferred; he has cancelled all I owed."-Isabella Graham. “I sce, indeed, no prospect of recovery, yet my heart rejoiceth in my God and my Saviour. Such transporting views of the heavenly world is my Father now indulging me with, as no words can express.' -Doddridge. "My heart is full, it is brimful, I can hold no more. I know what that means, 'the peace of God which passeth all understanding.' I cannot express what glorious discoveries God hath made to me. How lovely is the sight of a smiling Jesus when one is dying." of Revelation, says, "I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me, write, Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from hence--Janeway. forth: yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours; and their works do follow them." We lately gave some instances of dying Christians who felt in their own souls the truth of this promise. We now give a few more cases of the same kind :— "Rejoice with me; I am going to a place of everlasting joy. In a short time I shall be with the Lord Jesus."-Ecolampadius. Many have gone wrong by not waiting for second thoughts; but I am not sure that more have not done so by not acting on first thoughts. Many a hasty word has been spoken, and much anger and strife have been raised, and many a blow has been struck, because second thoughts were not waited for. But many a conscience has been wounded, many a person has fallen into sin, many a son and | Brainerd. "I long to be in heaven, praising and glorifying God, with the holy angels. Tis sweet to me to think of eternity. I am almost there. I long to be there." "I am ready to die, through the grace of my Lord Jesus, and I look forward to the full enjoyment of the society of holy men and angels, and the full vision of God for evermore."-Carey. "This is heaven begun. I have done with darkness for ever. Nothing remains but light and joy for ever."―Thomas Scott. After reading such cases as these, who would not say with good Bishop Ken-- "Teach me to live, that I may dread GOOD-BYE. THE COTTAGE AT THE FIRS. NAN CHAPTER VII.-GOING TO SERVICE. ANCY GODWIN grew up a comely-looking lass, with a healthy bloom and a pleasant, cheerful expression on her face. At the age of sixteen she was almost as tall as her mother, whose constant companion she was throughout the day, helping her in the household work, as well as in getting forward with the week's washing and ironing. Nancy had long ceased to attend the day-school, and by her regular industry at home had been able not only to relieve her mother, but also to add something to the weekly earnings; but she still continued in her class at the Sunday-school, and did not think that because she was no longer a child, she should turn away from instruction which had been of so much use to her. She knew, moreover, that by remaining in her class she was encouraging others to remain, who but for her example would have left; and her parents approved her conduct, believing that their daughter could never be too old to learn. One afternoon, when Godwin was busy, and Mary had gone with the market basket to the village shop to buy some provisions, Mrs. Mold, after serving hor with what she wanted, called her into the little back parlour. She then told her that the housekeeper from Cray's Cliff had been over inquiring for a tidy lass of good character to fill the place of nurserymaid. The place seemed likely to suit Nancy; and Mary thanked Mrs. Mold warmly for her kindness. "Of course," said she, "you will with your daughter, and I have no doubt you will arrange matters comfortably." go Mary Godwin, with the basket on her arm, walked home in a rather pensive mood. She had for years been training her daughter for service in a respectable family, and she could but rejoice that so good an opening had presented itself; but now the idea of parting with Nancy brought a sadness with it, and almost filled her eyes with tears. She did not tell the news at once to her child, as you might have fancied she would, but went out in the garden "No, John, good news, only that I don't Nothing was said on the matter either to Nancy or the other children that night, but after they were gone to bed the father and mother talked it over between themselves. John saw that it would be a trial to Mary to part with her child at first, and indeed he felt that it would be little less so to him; but, accustomed as he was to recognise the hand of a guardian Providence in all that concerned him, he did not fail to acknowledge it now. "We cannot expect to keep our children always at home," he said; "let us be thankful that in this our first parting, we shall be separated by no great distance, and shall often see each other." "Then you think," said Mary, "that if Nancy offers for the place, she is likely to have it?" "I think," said John, "from what I know of Mrs. Mold, that the affair is already settled between her and the housekeeper, and that it now only remains with us to decide." So Mary took the first opportunity when she was alone with Nancy the next day to tell her of the change proposed. The young girl was delighted at the prospect, and began talking very fast of the pleasures and advantages she expected to reap in such a service; and she would have gone on longer, but the silence and sad tearful face of her mother suddenly checked her gladness. "You would wish me to go, mother," said Nancy, "would you not?" "Yes, dear, I suppose I ought to wish it; but I should like you to think seriously of a step which may prove the most important of your life." "O mother, I do think seriously of it too; but I cannot help feeling glad that I shall maintain myself and be able by-and-by to help you and father." At the evening gathering round the fire, the subject was generally discussed. Sam, the eldest boy, thought it a capital thing for Nancy; but the two younger children were not quite so sure of it, and did not relish the notion of losing their sister. Godwin was right in his guess with regard to the mode in which Mrs. Mold had forwarded the business. When Mary and her daughter called at Cray's Cliff, they found the housekeeper expecting them, and quite ready to accept of Nancy in place of the girl who was about to leave. The housekeeper asked but few questions; and Mary soon saw that she had already got nearly all the information regarding her daughter and herself too that she wanted; it was plain also that the friendly shopkeeper had spoken warmly and well of them, and had thus paved the way for Nancy's well-doing. There was no haggling about wages, Mary accepting at once the offer of six pounds a year. The housekeeper then led the way into the nursery, and introduced Nancy to the nurse, and then to the three children-a noisy spirited boy of seven, and two little girls a year or two younger, who were to be her constant charge. The following days were days of busy preparation in Godwin's cottage. When at length the time for departure came, and Nancy's little outfit was completed (not without many a little present from her village friends and neighbours, and a neat pocket Bible, a parting gift from her teacher at the Sunday-school), and her box was finally packed ready for the carrier, who would call for it early the next morning; then, for the first time, some misgivings rose in Nancy's mind, and a few big tears rolled down her face. She brushed them away, however, bravely, and hastening to help her mother with her work, spent the last hours of her last day at home in busy occupation. Cray's Cliff stood at about a mile distant from the church, which was on the other side of the village. As Mary Godwin walked thither with Nancy on the following morning, she gave her some sound advice regarding the line of conduct she should pursue in service. "Be sure, child," she said, "that you never neglect your own particular duty; you will soon know what that is, and it must be your constant care to attend to it, to do it always, and to do it well. If, without neglecting your own work, you can help others, do so at once and cheerfully, and never be asked twice. If you see anything wrong in others, do not join in it, but let them know that you disapprove of it: you can do this without tale-bearing, which you must avoid. If any one is angry with you, don't you be angry too, for then two people will be at fault instead of one. Be careful and exact in small things as well as in great, for domestic comfort, and sometimes the health and safety of children, depend very much upon strict attention to these. Try, too, to be punctual and regular: by good and orderly habits you will save yourself much trouble, and be able with ease to get through much more work. Whatever you do, be trustworthy, and you will be sure to get on. There is another thing I must say a word about: you will now live much better than you have been used to do, for you will sit down at such meals as you have never seen in your father's cottage; let me beg of you not to think too much of this, or to grow fond of good things: be moderate in all things, and let others see that you are so. You must promise to remember these things, Nancy; but above all, you must remember to pray to God to keep you by his grace, and to guide your steps aright." With these words Mary parted with her child at the door of her new home. Nancy Godwin did not find at first all the satisfaction she had expected in her situation as nursery-maid. She was not what is called quick, and therefore she did not make a great impression at once; but she was careful, ready, and obliging, so that all learned to like her by degrees. The children whom she had to watch over and tend, soon grew fond of her, and the baby would be quiet in her arms when it would be quiet with no one else. Her fellow-servants, who at first misjudged her, came to a different opinion in time, as each profited in turn by her obliging ways. At the end of three months, Nancy was quite comfortable in her new home, and she was so chiefly because she endeavoured to make others comfortable around her. THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY, 56, PATERNOSTER ROW AND 164, PICCADILLY. PRINTED BY R. K. BURT, HOLBORN HILL. MY COUSIN JACK. Y cousin Jack was always considered a clever fellow; indeed, father used to say that "he was too clever by half." When at school he could learn his lessons in less time than any other lad, and yet he was generally at the bottom of the class, and oftener in disgrace than any of his schoolfellows. He would play up till the minute the bell rang, trusting to his quickness to enable him to make up for lost time, or hoping by some clever trick to escape punishment; but he was constantly getting into trouble in consequence. And so it came to pass that I, though much duller and slower than he, was made pupil-teacher, and Jack, who hoped to get the place, had to be apprenticed to a trade. His master made the same complaint about him that his teacher had done before. He said that when Jack gave his mind to his work he did as much in a couple of hours as the other apprentices could do in a whole day. But Jack was talking and lounging about with his hands in his pockets, whilst they were minding their business, and, in consequence of this bad habit, he was always behind hand and constantly in trouble. When he was out of his time, the master said that he should be very glad to give him regular work at good wages if he would only be more careful and industrious; but Jack would not promise this, so he was turned off, and found himself without a place. He didn't care for this at first, for he had a little. bit of money left him by his father, and he thought this made him independent of everybody. So he set up in business for himself, saying he would be his own master and do as he liked. Jack was a great favourite among the lazy, good-for-nothing fellows who hang about the "Red Lion." He could tell a tale, crack a joke, and sing a song, better than anybody else; he was always merry, always free with his money, and never too busy to strike work for an hour or two at the call of his companions. If he had a job on hand for which a customer was waiting, he seldom refused to throw it aside, saying that he could finish it when he came back. So he soon came to be the great authority in the tap-room and at the street-corner. But meanwhile his business was neglected. The work which was done quickly was done badly. Customers got tired of calling at his shop and finding that "he had just stepped out." His glib tongue lost its charm, and people ceased to believe his promises or to regard his excuses. His money melted away, and soon his shop was shut up and his stock sold off. He had now to look out for a place of work, but no one would give him regular employment, and he was glad to pick up an odd job here and there. His chosen companions could not help him. His early friends had most of them cast him off. My father continued to befriend him, and my sister with whom he used to keep company, but who had been obliged to refuse himoften begged him to turn over a new leaf. But all was in vain. He went on from bad to worse, till at last he became one of the lowest, laziest fellows in the place. Soon after I got my present school, I went home at Easter for a few days' holiday, and Jack came to see me. I was in the little back room behind the shop; father was as usual sitting at his bench hard at work; my sister was busy shoe-binding behind him. I was shocked to see how shabby and dirty Jack had become. He began as usual to complain of his bad luck, and to say that he was the most unfortunate fellow that ever lived. Father listened to him for a good while in silence, and at last said "Jack, I was reading a book this morning, written many years before you were born, which told your fortune exactly." "No; they stand for three words, Charles." "What words, grandfather?" asked the boy-visitor, who was a favourite with the elderly gentleman, and who took the liberty of asking questions now and then. We should add, that this conversation took place in a merchant's private office. The merchant was a rich man, and what is better, a kindhearted, benevolent, and godly man. "What words, Charles? Why these:the first M is for Manners, the second is for Make, and the third is for Men." "Oh: Manners Make Men. I wonder what those words have to do with your seal, grandfather," said the boy. "I will tell you, Charles, and then perhaps you will not so much wonder. There is a story about those words which has to do with my own history." "A story about yourself! Please tell it." "It is a story of fifty years ago or more. At that time, one summer's evening, a person on horseback rode into a certain village, a great many miles away from London." "What was the name of the village, grandfather?" "The name? Oh, we won't mind about names; it was a place where rude and ignorant people lived, as the horseman soon found out for himself. He was a rather strange-looking man, and had a very awkward way of riding. Indeed, it was plain that he was not used to the saddle; and it may be the horse was not used to such a rider, for a contest was continually going on between the two, the horse being desirous of getting rid of his rider, and the rider labouring very hard to keep his seat." Like Johnny Gilpin and his horse,” said Charles. "Not at all unlike it, Charles: so that the lines in that poem might very well have been applied to the stranger and his horse; forStooping down, as needs he must Who cannot sit upright, while He grasped the mane with both his hands, And eke with all his might,' 'His horse, who never in that sort "Now the village people being, as I have said, rude, so far from pitying the poor horseman, or offering to help him in his trouble, began to jeer and laugh very loudly and the more restive the horse became, and the greater danger there was of the rider being thrown, the louder became their laughs and jeers. There was a little group of rustics, for instance, at the blacksmith's forge, who quite roared with merriment as the horse pranced by, and one of whom shook a chain, to frighten the poor animal and make him kick up his heels, as he said. There was a carter going by with his cartwhip in his hand; and he stood and laughed with the loudest, and smacked his whip half-a-dozen times to make the horse dance, as he said. There was a knot of schoolboys playing in the road; and they left off playing to laugh and shout and clap their hands at the fun, as they called it; and they called the rider very rude names as well, as he went by them, knowing that however angry they might make him feel, they were safe from receiving punish- | ment from his hands. "Well, the village street was long and straggling, and the stranger's progress was sometimes fast and sometimes slow, for the horse played almost all kind of freaks in backing, and plunging, and rearing, and kicking, and in going all manner of ways except the right. But in all the time it took to go the whole length of the street in this absurd way, no one offered to give the slightest help to the poor horseman, who was very red in the face with vexation, and with the exertion of keeping himself on his uneasy seat, the saddle. |