PROVIDENCE.

THERE is no subject in the range of Christian theology more frequently misunderstood than this, or concerning which the tendency to unbelief is greater. And yet the inspired writers clearly teach the doctrine of both a general and a special providence.

Common sense also teaches us that man's affairs and surroundings must be so governed by laws, and so directed as to secure the end for which he was created.

The Scripture idea of Providence is beautifully described by the Psalmist: "He sendeth forth his commandments upon the earth, his word runneth very swiftly. He giveth snow like wool; he scattereth his hoar frost like ashes. He casteth forth his ice like morsels; who can stand before his cold? He sendeth out his word and melteth them; he causeth his winds to blow and the waters flow." And, "He maketh his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and he sendeth his rain on the just and the unjust."

The wild storm in its fury, the thunderbolts of heaven, "the pestilence that walketh in darkness, and the destruction that wasteth at noonday;" famine, pestilence, and sword; fire, hail, snow, vapour and stormy wind, are instruments in the hands of omnipotent power and infinite wisdom, employed as God's agents, either as the messengers of His mercy or the ministers of His justice.

God controls and directs the powers of nature-not by violating or suspending their laws, but He works in, by, and through them in such a manner as that when "His judgments are abroad in the earth, the inhabitants of the world will learn righteousness."

It is impossible to tell how God controls these natural agents, but surely it is not more difficult to believe that He does control them than that He created them. This doctrine is attended with fewer difficulties than that theory which excludes God from His own works, subordinates His power to the forces of nature, and exalts law above the Law-giver.

POOR JACK.

A GENTLEMAN going late one evening from St. Martin's-lane to Bloomsbury-street, London, saw a number of ragged ladsbeggars, thieves, or both-standing in a knot, talking, laughing

and swearing. Just as he passed, one of them shouted some jeering piece of impertinence after him. He turned round and said kindly to the one who had spoken

"Did you speak to me, my boy ?" He shambled a little away, muttering

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No, sir."

The gentleman then stepped into the middle of the dirty group, saying, "Boys, listen to me; I have something to tell you-a short story.'

They were all silent in an instant; and then, in the plainest and shortest manner he told God's pity and love for them; after which he spoke to them of the life and sufferings and death of Jesus Christ. He said nothing of punishment or of hell. He only tried to tell them all about Jesus, using the words of the Bible as much as possible. As he told them how weary and hungry the Saviour often was, all was silence. Then, as the end came nearer, trying to make the last awful scenes seem true to them, he heard an occasional shuffle as one and another pushed nearer to hear how the good Lord had suffered for him. They listened with faces of awe, dirty enough, but solemn, to hear of His agony and bloody sweat, His cross and passion; and by-and-by he heard-and God heard toolittle vulgar sobs of uncontrollable emotion. Dirty hands wiped dirty faces, and their round eyes never moved from his lips as he told them that now, while he spoke to them, Jesus was standing amongst them, and that He loved them just as much as when He died on the cross for their sakes. The story ended, no one spoke. Suddenly the gentleman said

"Now lads, He loved us very much; ought not we to love Him? Who loves Him? Let every one that wishes to love Him hold up his hand. I do ;" and he held up his. They looked at one another. Then one held his up. A little mass of rags, with only one shoe, and a little grimy face, half hidden in a shock of hair, scarcely confined by an old battered hat with no rim, held up his dirty little hand. It was a touching sight. One and another followed, till all the hands-just twelve in number-were up.

The gentleman then said slowly, "You all wish to love Him. Now, dear boys, hear what He says to those who love Him. If you love me, keep my commandments.' Then going straight up to him who had first held up his hand, the gentleman, holding out his, said, "Shake hands on it, that you will promise me to try and keep His commandments." At once the little black hand was put in his, and the gentleman shook it

hard, saying, "God bless you!" So he went round to all. He then gave them three shillings, to be shared among them for bed and bread, and said, "Good-night." So they parted.

About three weeks after this, the same gentleman was going under St. Clement Danes' archway. A little ragged shoe-black was kneeling at one side. After the customary "Clean your boots, sir?" the boy made a dive forward, and stood grinning with delight right in front of the gentleman and his friend. The former had not the least notion who he was, so at last he said, “Well, my boy, you seem to know me; and who are you ?"

"Please, sir, I'm Jack." "Jack? Jack who ?"

"Only Jack, sir, please sir."

All at once it came across him who the lad was.

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I remember you now," he said. "Have you tried to keep your promise to love the Lord Jesus, and show how much you love Him by obeying Him?"

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Yes, sir, I have; indeed I have," he added with greater earnestness.

Inexpressibly delighted, the gentleman stopped and talked to him a little, making an excuse by letting him clean his shoes. "Can you read, Jack ?" he asked.

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Yes, sir; not over well, but I can make shift to spell out a page."

"Would you like a Testament of your own, where you could read for yourself the story you heard the other night ?"

There was no answer, but half a chuckle of happiness at the bare idea. There was no pretence about the lad. The dirty little thief had set his face heavenward.

"Come to

"I see you would like it, Jack," added his friend. my room at to-morrow, and you shall have one. Good

bye."

Exactly at the appointed hour on the morrow came one modest, eager tap at the door. In walked Jack. The gentleman shook hands with him, and made him come and sit by him.

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Jack, why do you want a Testament ?"

"To read about Jesus you told us of," said he shortly.

Why do you want to read about Him? Because you love Him, is it ?" Jack nodded once, short and decisively. There

was no doubt about the matter, not a whit.

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Why do you love Him ?"

Jack was silent. His little ordinary features moved in a

singular way, his eyes twinkled, his breast heaved. All at once he dropped his head on the table, sobbing as if his heart would break.

'Cause they killed Him!" gasped poor Jack.

His name was written, or rather printed, at his request, "werry large," in his Testament. The gentleman then prayed with him that the Good Shepherd might help and guide this poor little lamb in his dark and difficult path; and, with a little more talk about his prospects, they parted.

We need scarcely point out the secret of this happy history. Poor Jack believed that what the Lord did in dying on the cross, He did for him, even for him who was so sinful, so unworthy. The belief of this won his heart, as it always will win the hearts of those who really believe it. Nothing else was needed. This heart was now full of Christ and of His love, and he longed to tell other dying sinners of the way in which they too might be happy.

TOO LATE FOR THE TRAIN.

As

WHILST recently revisiting Scotland, I had to wait some minutes at one of the railway stations for the train-not yet due. I slowly walked along the platform, looking at the gaily-coloured engravings hung against the walls by energetic men of business, my attention was attracted by a sensation picture of a railway station, with its telegraph wires and its various lines of rails; the engine and carriages were just departing, and the door was closed, whilst several persons who had been heedless of the rapid flight of time, were in various attitudes of disappointment outside. Some of these people were looking at their watches to see whether they disagreed with the railway-clock; some were vainly knocking for admission; others, with carpetbags in hand and hurried steps, were rapidly approaching, hoping to be in time, till they saw that the door was shut, and all chance of departure was for the present at an end. The picture was headed in large letters:

"Too LATE FOR THE TRAIN."

The intention of the sketch was to show that had these people only bought their watches of the maker thus advertising, they I would not have been thus

Too LATE FOR THE TRAIN.

Frequently during the journey my mind reverted to the

picture, and the grand moral to be learnt by viewing it in a spiritual aspect.

I thought of the whole human family carelessly treading the various paths of life, unmindful of the rapid flight of time, till they unexpectedly reach the end of their career and are summoned to

"that bourne

From whence no travellers return."

And, alas! in how many instances are they unprepared for that last eventful journey.

The active man of business (who has for years been constant in his attention to the mill, the counting-house, the shop, or the farm) has improved his position, has increased his balance at the bankers, to the delight of his family and friends, and envy of those not equally fortunate. But meanwhile his attention to his future state has been neglected, feelings after good things have been choked by the cares of this life; his treasures are all laid up where the moth and rust doth corrupt, where thieves break through and steal; and where the treasure was, there was his heart also. The end of his life approaches, his seed-time for the heavenly harvest has gone by neglected; and, unprepared for his awful change, he leaves the world, exclaiming in bitter agony, "Too late, too late!"

The pale student, whose health has been injured while he dug deep in the mines of knowledge; whose mind has become acquainted with the history and manners of his race; who understands some of the wonders of the heavenly world and the mysteries of nature; but who now feels that

"The world is fleeting, fast decaying

From his weary, weary gaze,"

in bitterness of soul confesses that though he had studied the secrets of nature, the great Creator of the whole has been far from his thoughts. And while viewing, in the light of a rapidly approaching eternity, his fearful folly in neglecting to gain true wisdom-a knowledge of his state as a sinner, and the intercession of the Mediator Christ Jesus-he exclaims with his parting breath, "Too late, too late!"

The busy, bustling housewife, anxious about many things, careful only that her sons prosper and her daughters settle well in life, but who neglects the eternal welfare of herself and family, when suddenly prostrated by illness, confesses that she has neglected "the one thing needful," and dies, repeating, "Too late, too late!"