have the day before me," with my bundle of small accounts. I had made one or two calls, when, in due course, I came to a bill made out to a poor woman for repairs to a mangle, the amount being three shillings and sixpence. I found the woman living in the back part of a thicklyinhabited neighbourhood. Her house was poorly furnished, and, to say the least, it was not kept scrupulously clean. The woman herself answered my knock at the door, and she told me, in reply to my request that she would kindly pay the bill, that her husband was very ill and had kept his bed for some time, and that she was very poorly off. She dwelt much upon the state of her husband, and, as she spoke, a sudden thought entered my mind; it seemed a kind of inspiration which I dare not resist.

"Would he like me to come and see him, and read to him ?" I asked.

"Oh yes; if you would do so," was the ready reply.

I promised that I would call again in the evening when my day's work was over; and soon after eight o'clock I went once more, but this time on a different errand, to my new acquaintance. On entering the house I was led up a dark and winding staircase to the room where the husband lay. It was dimly lighted by a flickering rushlight, and I could scarcely discern the man's features. I found, however, that he was an old sailor, and that he was suffering from a most painful and incurable disease.

I knew but little of the way of salvation myself, and was far from being able to teach others; but I felt the great importance of bringing before this poor man the Word of God, and I was truly anxious that he should be led to prepare to meet his God if he was not already doing so. Accordingly, after a little conversation, I asked if he would like me to read to him from the Bible. He thankfully accepted the offer; and after reading to him I knelt by his bedside, and offered a prayer from a small book of prayers which I carried in my pocket. When I left he thanked me for my visit with that heartiness which is so often found

among sailors, and asked me to come again. I did so, and from that time became his constant visitor. During the few weeks in which he lived I went to see him regularly. When he was out of pain he would charm me with his tales of seafaring life; and I would read and pray with him and his wife.

Poor Calways appeared most grateful for my visits.; and I trust that he received into his heart the seed sown by an almost unconscious hand, and that he believed to the saving of his soul. I rejoice to think that I never attempted to teach him; had I done so I might have led my friend astray. I simply read the plain Word of God, and left it to do its own work under the influence of the Holy Spirit.

As I continued to visit him I found he was gradually becoming weaker every day; and one evening I found him in almost a dying state. When I went home that night I fell on my knees when I was alone, and asked God that the poor man's soul might be saved; that if he was not already a true believer in our adorable Redeemer, he might be made such. That night was one to be remembered as one of great importance and deep interest in my own life. I had often prayed before; indeed I do not think that I ever passed a day without prayer; but, alas! it was then, as it is now too often, cold and formal. As I knelt, praying from my very heart, and almost in agony, that the dying man might have life eternal, I was made to feel very deeply my own need of the same precious, priceless gift, and to pray that by grace my sins might be forgiven, my sinful heart renewed, and my name written in "the Lamb's book of life."

Anxiously did I arise the following morning, and hasten to the well-known chamber once more before I went to my office. C was just alive, but hardly conscious. I read to him a few words-only a few. They are words which I well remember; indeed, the whole scene comes vividly before me as I think of it. In that darkened room, on the worn-out bedstead, with its faded hangings, the awful still

ness broken only by the difficult breathing of the sufferer, was one who was silently passing away. I knew little of death then; but I could see that his time on earth was now very short; the conflict was almost over. "That day" alone will reveal on which side the victory was won. At the side of the bed was the wife, too much worn-out and overcome to be able to weep. And I was then reading those blessed words of assurance and hope-the last words from Holy Scripture which fell upon the dying man's ear—‘ "I am the Resurrection, and the Life: he that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die."

It was time for me to be at the office, and I had to leave. A few hours after, when I again went to the house, the blinds were down, a shutter was closed-poor C

was

gone. I went up into the room for the last time to take one long look at the lifeless body as it lay there, looking so calm and peaceful, and then I left him, never to see my friend again till, as I trust, we meet in Paradise.

After the funeral, I called several times to see the poor widow, and wrote a few letters for her. A friend paid the little bill which was the cause of my first visit to the house for her. Soon after, she left the town and went to live with a daughter in Scotland. Whether she is still alive or not I cannot tell; perhaps she, too, has passed away, and has joined her husband in glory.

The circumstances which I have here related caused a lasting impression on my own mind; and since they took place I have been enabled to give up office-work entirely, and to enter upon work for God more fully. I must always, however, look back upon this as my first work and experience as a "Scripture-reader," and cannot cease to praise God for the way in which He led me to see my own lost condition and to look to the Lord Jesus Christ as my allsufficient Saviour.

I would say it without boasting, but surely this true story is another illustration both of the words, "I will bring the

1

blind by a way that they knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known;" and also of that promise, "He that watereth shall be watered also himself." 2

J. J. W.

The Loss of the "Habre."

UTY calling me to the Channel Islands in the depth of a bitter winter, with snow, sleet, and a "northwester" blowing keenly across the sea, threatening to cut pieces out of one's face, an incident occurred which gave rise to the following reflections. Starting from Southampton in the handsome steamship Havre, all went well till about six o'clock A.M. Having passed the "Caskets," a dangerous but picturesque series of rocks, standing prominently out of the waters about halfway between Alderney and England, we were in a fair way of reaching Guernsey in time for breakfast; but, just as we were sighting the rugged points of Alderney, a passenger observed we were on the wrong side of a dangerous reef, on which, two years ago, the steamship Waverley was wrecked. The captain, at his post on the "bridge," was keeping a sharp "look-out." All was, therefore, thought to be well. But, suddenly leaving his post, he went to the helmsman and whispered something which no one could hear.

In a few minutes the ship was turned suddenly round. The captain's order was therefore construed to mean "danger," for the ship had altered her course, and was bound, as it were, once more for England. As the sequel proved, it was too late. The fatal rock could not be escaped, and in a moment a sudden crash was heard. Passengers were thrown from their berths; terror

was depicted on every countenance; all was in confusion. Half-fainting women rushed towards the gangway; the hoarse voice of the captain gave orders, frantically, to “turn the vessel round;" while the chief mate (perceiving the danger) shouted, "For God's sake let her alone, or we shall all be dead men !"

The water soon put out the engine fires; for a moment consternation was uppermost in every heart, for fear that "the hour of doom had come."

One gentleman, an officer in the army, persuaded the crew to lower a boat; but no sooner had it touched the water than the women were thrust aside, and terrorstricken men attempted to escape. A threat to shoot the first man who entered the boat deterred them, however; and at length the women were safely lowered, and two sturdy seamen rowed them off to a distant rock, far out at sea. A second boat soon followed, and then another, until all were safe. A shipwrecked crew, but sad and cold and hungry, they waited three long hours, not knowing whether the rising tide would ultimately engulf them, thus making sport of their frenzy as death came on more slowly, and therefore more awfully, than if they had been suddenly precipitated into a watery grave. Fortunately, workmen were engaged upon the northernmost point of the Guernsey Island, and, catching the distant sounds of the shrieking women, as the waves mercifully wafted their cries of terror across the foaming deep, they gave the alarm, and as soon as possible a tug was sent out to the rescue.

A fisherman's boat had already secured the mails, and in less than three hours all were brought into harbour, amidst the vociferous cheerings of a joyous multitude, who had gathered to welcome the unfortunate but now happy voyagers. The ship became a total wreck. Everything on board went down to add to the secret treasures of the great deep.

After a careful investigation of the accident, the captain