resolved not to break silence. I watched every movement of his countenance, to see if I could read the emotions of his soul. Feeling that I was waiting for a reply to my last question, he made a slight effort to rise from his inclined position, and finally said, in a low and tremulous voice, "I hope my time will come yet!" Never did I hear a sentence fall from human lips which more deeply affected me, or which has been more constantly before my mind. It swept from me at once the fond hopes I was beginning to indulge that he yet might be saved; it seemed to ring the very death-knell of his soul. Going on to ninety years-unable to get up or lie down of himself—with his grave just before him-confessing his belief in all the great truths of the Gospel-and yet, when pressed to lay hold on Christ as an all-sufficient Saviour, turning away from eternal life, saying, "I hope my time will come yet!" The delusion seemed awful. But that time never came. He lingered on a few weeks. One spring of life failed after another. Soon all access to his mind was closed; and after lingering in perfect unconsciousness of all that was passing around him for a few days, his immortal spirit went up to the judgment. Reader, this is a true story. The excuse offered by the subject of my narrative as his reason for not seeking salvation, is a reason which, strange as it may seem, is offered by great numbers around us. We find it on the lips of youth, who, although persuaded of the truth of religion, will not surrender the pursuit of unsatisfying pleasure to embrace Christ. It is on the tongue of those in mid-life, who are so much concerned in the things of a day as to have no time for the things of eternity. And we find it on the faltering tongue of old age, when the candle of life, burnt down to the socket, is emitting its last lurid rays. But although it deceives from youth to manhood, and from manhood to old age, how few expel the deceiver! Often it so bewitches a man that he is absolutely pleased with the dexterity with which he cheats himself out of heaven. It asks for to-day, and points to to-morrow. It asks for this year, and points to the next. And thus, by piecemeal, it cheats us out of all time; and finally hurls us, without repentance and unprepared, into eternity. Dear reader, are you one of those who indulge this fallacious hope? Oh, listen to the voice which seems to rise from the grave of him of whom I have been speaking: "Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness;" "To-day, if you will hear His voice, harden not your hearts;" Behold, now is the accepted time; this is the day of salvation." THE MOTHER'S CHRISTMAS GIFT. Ir was the night before Christmas. The rich gifts of friends and of family affection had been coming in one after another— had been examined, admired, and appropriated. Some had been only the costly presents of wealth, hallowed by no heart offering. Some were grotesque, or untasteful, or otherwise inappropriate - showing that either the quick instincts of love or native tact had been wanting. But others were what the recipients said were "Just what I like best!" "Just what I most wanted!"—the gifts of love and tact combined. At last, at a late bedtime, all went off with their new treasures to Christmas dreams. Only the mother remained. Going into her little dressingroom, she seated herself by the fire, in no mood for sleep. Perhaps she was recalling the many Christmas returns of the happy childhood's life at home, of her kind husband's tender care, and of gratified affection in her children, dimmed by some sorrowful memories of changing fortunes, of sickness, and of care. Perhaps she recalled some Christmas-eves which had been merry with children's voices now long silent. But her retrospect must have been a happy, a grateful one. As she sat looking into the fire, a gentle young daughter, just entering on womanhood, came quietly in, and seated herself on a low cushion at her mother's feet. Then, in that silent hour, she told her mother for the first time that "she hoped she was a Christian." Six weeks ago," she said, “I asked God to help me, and I believe He has." Who can describe that mother's emotions? Was not that timid confession her most precious Christmas gift. 66 All her other gifts would wear out, decay, or fade before her, or she must one day leave them in death. Her silver, her gems, all her treasures of art and luxury are hers but for a time, but this gift is to be eternal. Gifts are of worth in proportion as they are the representatives of value or affection. This gift was the representative of "the pearl of great price," of "the treasure in the heavens that faileth not." Many times in a year in pleasant homes is repeated the question, for Christmas, new years, birthdays, anniversaries, or partings, "What shall we give mother?" Then memory is searched and invention racked to think of some new and valued token. Children, think of this daughter's Christmas gift to her mother! Have you ever offered such a one to yours? Could you offer one so precious to her heart? Will you not give her the forthcoming year this new, yet everlasting joy? PURENESS. "Approving ourselves as the ministers of God, in much patience, in afflictions, in necessities, in distresses, in stripes, in imprisonments, in tumults, in labours, in watchings, in fastings; by pureness."-2 Cor. vi. 4-6. O LORD, I bear an aching heart: Ease me of sin whate'er the smart: But give, O give me holiness. Wild is the tumult in my breast: I know not all I need to this, O Lord, to dust my faint soul cleaves: I know not all I say in this, O Lord! accept my stammering prayer; Break every earthly tie that binds, O Lord! I bear a weary heart, I know not all I ask in this, The Visitor's Note Book. "GO" AND "COME." "IF you want business done," says the proverb, "go and do it; if you don't want it done, send some one else." An indolent gentleman had a freehold estate, producing about five hundred a year. Becoming involved in debt, he sold half the estate, and let the remainder to an industrious farmer for twenty years. About the end of the term, the farmer called to rent, and asked the owner if he would sell his farm. 66 Will you buy it?" asked the owner, surprised. "Yes, provided we can agree about the price." pay his "That is exceedingly strange," observed the gentleman. "Pray tell me how it happens that, while I could not live upon twice as much land, for which I paid no rent, you are regularly paying me two hundred a year, and are able in a few years to puchase it ?" "The reason is plain," was the reply. "You sat still and said go! I got up and said come! You laid in bed and enjoyed your estate; I rose in the morning and minded my business." WORDS THAT DO NOT WEAR OUT. THE works of man seldom bear close inspection. You may take a needle which is highly polished, and appears to be without the slightest inequality upon the surface, you may put it under a microscope, and you will discover it to be a rusty bar of iron; but take the wing or foot of an insect, and put this under the lens, and you will discover no flaw, magnify it as much as you will, or gaze at it as long as you please. So, take the words of man. The first time you hear them, they will strike you; you hear them again, and still admire their sentiments; but when often heard, you are weary of them, and you wonder how it was that people could become so infatuated as to quote such feeble words, which by repetition lose all their power. The words of Jesus are the very opposite of this. You may ring the changes upon them, and never exhaust their music; you may think of them, consider them, by day and by night; you may, as it were, put them into a mortar and beat them with the pestle of contemplation, and there will be a fragrance and a perfume all the more discoverable when you have bruised and brought them down to the very lowest point of criticism. . I remember being in the Island of Lido, off Venice, listening to the music of the bells, thinking how charming it wasperhaps no melody could be sweeter; but on returning to the city the same day, the bells there ringing seemed to drive one mad; there was no sweetness, apparently, in any one; distance had lent enchantment to the sound. And so with the word of man. At a distance, it rings out melody only; but take it to pieces, and find out each separate quality, each separate thought, and you find nothing but dissonance. It is never so with the great words of Jesus. You can hear them ring very far when you are a sinner, alone on the mountain wilds, and they still ring of hope; and you can afterwards listen to each distinct word, each separate silver bell, and among all, say of each separate one: "I never thought there was anything so inexpressibly sweet as this outside of heaven."-Rev. C. H. Spurgeon. COME TO JESUS. As I sit looking out from my study window, my eye falls upon a casement that lights a room which has been called the "guest chamber" for four generations. Some of earth's greatest ones have slept and rested there, men that have made the world feel their mightiness: John Adams, Talleyrand, Benedict Arnold, General Knox, and one who was afterwards King of France. How the roll of fame" unwinds as we mention their names. But where are they now? As I look a little above the window of the "guest chamber," and beyond in the same direction, the white gravestones of a churchyard seem to solemnly answer, They are all buried. How short-lived a thing is earthly distinction! Could these notables of a past generation speak to us now, they would say with the wise man, "All is vanity and vexation of spirit." Earthly honours are too lean and too short-lived, too uncertain and too fitful, to satisfy an immortal spirit. God is the great want of the soul. Now hear this, ye soul-hungry humanity! That God I have, for "my life is hid with Christ in God, and my soul is satisfied as with marrow and fatness." "O the joy of knowing Jesus !" no tongue can tell it. Come, then, ye striving, restless, weary, hungry, fainting souls, to Jesus, and be partakers of the divine nature; and you shall live now, with joy unspeakable and full of glory, and live for ever in the realms of ever-increasing and never-ending joy. |