second pistol-shot struck their canoe, whereupon they made swiftly back to the shore. The provisions are almost run out, only some biscuit is left. The ration is fixed now at half a biscuit and two glasses of water per man. We had seen cocoa palms upon the island, and hoped to land and bring off some nuts, but we had to sail off with bleeding hearts and all the pains of hunger. The island belongs to the Martyr group; the natives were copper-colour, powerful, and hostile; those in the canoes were armed with bows and javelins. 25th July.-Light breeze with rain. We collected about forty quarts of water, not very good but drinkable. During the rain the men lay down on their backs with their mouth wide open and their hats stretched out, for the pains of thirst were becoming intolerable. Happily, the showers were plentiful, and the wet clothes helped to make our thirst more bearable.

27th July. We saw an island to-day.

28th July.—Seven of the men swam through the surf to-day for water and provisions. One of the negroes, Joe, sat on a palm, plucking the fruit, when a savage came up and hurled his javelin at him. Joe seized the javelin and hurled it with all his might against the savage, who fled immediately, and the men were obliged to re-embark with the utmost speed, leaving behind them two pitchers for collecting water. It was high time, for as soon as the savage had given the alarm a multitude of canoes pushed off from the island and began to pursue us. We happily escaped, but were not much better off on that account. Our only eatables were a very few biscuits, and we had no water whatever. Hunger and thirst tormented us with unspeakable agony. Again, one of the canoes followed the chase longer than the rest. We let it come nearer. The savage made signs that we should do well to remain quiet and go with them, but we hesitated to trust these signs of confidence, and feared that our confidence would cost us dear. We rather fled away, and preferred hunger or death to their savage hospitality. The men are losing their respect for the captain, and pay no obedience to orders. In presence of common danger, common privations, and common suffering, we all feel on one level, and whatever we do is determined by majority of votes. These decisions are sometimes fearful. A couple of biscuits which are kept over, lie in a corner covered with a piece of sail-cloth, and we have unanimously voted that whoever purloins the least bit will be punished with death. The rations have been reduced to a quarter biscuit per diem; and if in making the division one piece be a crumb larger than another we determine whose it is by lot. One of the men turns away his head and calls out the names in succession, another at each name having pointed with his finger to the special fragment. We are almost mad. Our bitterest moments are when, on looking at our daily decreasing provisions, we turn to the depôt of the two biscuits in the corner. Every day we count our store, and every day we reckon afresh how far we can prolong our wretched existence.

29th July.-The breeze which helped our flight yesterday, continues. About midday we came upon another island, but hesitated to approach lest

in the morning. The longboat is making water, and more than we would like.

1st August.-Stormy. Much rain. Both the boats are full of water, and the entire crew are sick. Changeable weather until nine P. M.

5th August.-A new suffering was now added to all the rest. In proportion as our privations increased, we were visited with a horrible plague of vermin, a living testimony to our destitution. The men need only pass their hand through their hair to see it covered with thousands of loathsome insects. Every day the men washed head and beard. But there were neither razor nor scissors on board. From time to time the hair of the head and beard was singed away with a lighted stick, to rid the men of the frightful plague; but the vermin appeared again straightway in incredible numbers. Sleep came more and more seldom. A man would often pass five or six days without closing an eye, and it never happened when we did sleep but that the same dreams were repeated. Each time it was a well-laden table, a substantial dinner that stood before us, and to which we set ourselves with the greatest joy and lively shouts. There is not one of us who has not dreamt this ten times at least. The waking up to the truth of our misery is horrible.

11th August.-One entire month at sea. The bad weather continues. Our situation is unaltered. Frequently the men cry out aloud for death.

13th August.-Wretched weather; storm; an angry sea. Every moment it seems as if we shall be lost. The boats are tost about like toys on the great waves. We doubt if they will longer hold

out against the violence of wind and waves. Every one is certain of death. We take heartrending farewells of each other; some are casting their arms round others in moments of despair. The bravest are in tears and bewail their unhappy families that must be cast into poverty when they perish. Yet every one resists the elements to the utmost. A mast is rigged up, and the boats hold their own.

14th August.-The storm continues.

15th August.-The sea is still rough. The people fall visibly weaker.

16th August.-The weather calms down towards evening. For good or evil we push forward. Rain. The hunger and thirst are terrible.

26th August.-To-day the jolly-boat, which is the faster, determined to leave us in order to reach the sooner some hospitable coast. The mate, who was in command, refused to part from the captain, and swam over into the long-boat. The other five set off after receiving their moiety of the provisions, an explanation from the captain, and some of the ship's instruments. There are now thirteen in our boat. The biscuit is almost done. We have one compass. But we have not yet lost hope.

27th August.-We sighted the Pelew Islands, and must have sailed 17 degrees to the west since we

left the Hoyvlen Islands. Some were for landing, others were afraid that they would fall into the hands of the savages and be killed, for no one has strength to make the least resistance. So we have sailed past.

1st September.-We are all thoroughly exhausted by weakness and weariness. No one can row any longer, and the winds are contrary. We have tried every means to stay our hunger. We have eaten the most of our shoes and clothes; we have broken off bits of wood from the sides of the boat, and tried to nourish ourselves on them; we have eaten what I dare not describe. We are now at the last extremity. It is suggested to kill one of our number rather than that we all perish; the suggestion is approved. We determined at first to cast lots for the sacrifice, but it was overruled. After long consultation, killed a negro, by name Bandally Enssam, who had come on board at Sydney. The grounds of our decision were, that he was now fit for nothing, being a burden to the rest, and that as he was alone in the world, his death would hurt no one, and bring no one to poverty. Had the lot fallen on the captain or mate, we would no longer have had a commander, and left to our own uncertainty, it was pretty certain we could never reach a harbour. The rest of the crew were married, fathers of families, or had parents or other relatives. When this determination was come to, every one sought to delay the execution. Nobody had the courage to carry it out, and we comforted ourselves by the hope that we would see a sail. 5th September.-It is over. We waited until We knew that we were on the track of the China ships; but our pains and misery redoubles, and new sources of agony appear. He was killed to-day. Shortly before sunset, six men flung themselves upon Bandally. One of his countrymen cut off his head. I dare not speak of it at length. The men were weak and distracted by the horror of their work. But at length-oh, how long it lasted-the head was cut off with the saw, and flung into the sea. The hunger had reached its most horrid paroxysm-a kind of intoxication seized upon the crew at sight of the blood. They could not wait till the loathsome food was cooked, but must eat it raw. When all was devoured, they began to quarrel about the bones, for our hunger was only half-stilled. At last the bones have been divided by lot.

now.

8th September.-To-day we saw a sail in the near horizon. It for a long time took away our breath. Every one stared with fixed eyes upon the ship. We believed ourselves saved. The ship sailed on, in spite of every effort to reach it or draw attention to us. She was only about four miles off, a large vessel; and we spliced our oars, and hoisted up the last rags of our clothes as a signal. Sorrow, anger, despair, seized on all as the ship held off. At last as she was disappearing, we all joined our feeble strength in one final cry of anguish. It was useless, and we sunk down in the boat, while for a long time there was no other sound but bitter sobbing.

14th September.-Two months at sea. The hunger and thirst have again reached a horrible paroxysm. A second offering is demanded. The voices fell upon another negro, Juan Ignatio. The un

happy man lay asleep against the mast. By the voice of the crew one was appointed executioner. It was determined not to have the death so horrible as before. The man drew near with a loaded pistol, turned away his head, and drew the trigger. The pistol missed fire. The negro started out of sleep, looked suddenly round, saw the pistol presented at him, divined what it was, and sprang forward to throw himself into the sea. As he moved, the pistol went off, and the ball lodged in his brain. He sunk down with a low cry, Santa Maria! All was over. Part of the body was eaten just as it was, bleeding and fresh. The rest was cooked over a fire that we kindled in the boat on a kind of hearth.

16th September.-The human flesh had almost killed us. After the glutting which followed the long fast, horrible diarrhoea set in in its saddest forms. We were all so sick, that we believed we must die. We have held out two months, and no one has died a natural death. Notwithstanding we have no provisions, no shelter, no clothing, and a leaky boat.

18th September.-The negro's dying cry is ringing in our ears. We hear it in our dreams. It seems to come over the sea. Always the Santa Maria! This is our captain's birth-day. Miserable, mocking thought! . . We see the coast again. We have caught fish; they were eaten raw. One of the men pointed out an albatros lying on the water. It seemed of immense size. We drew near, and found it had been long dead, and was partly eaten by worms; but it was a dainty dish after what we had had, and in a moment it was devoured.

19th September.-One fish, about the size of a herring, is in such abundance, that the captain alone has caught 500. Besides, we have skate and dolphin and white-fish.

21st September.-We landed this morning. The natives were ranged some distance from the beach, armed with spears, and bows, and axes. We felt we could no longer journey by sea, and had rather perish by the savages than by each other. They are Papuans, and we have come to New Guinea.

29th September.-The Papuans did us no harm. They even sold us eatables for such fragments of clothes as we had left. We remained with them four days. One of them, to whom the women and children especially paid the greatest respect, had a printed prayer pasted on his back. As far as we could make out, he had received it from the Dutch missionary at Dory, a station on the north-west coast of New Guinea. We thought of a plan of escape, and tried to induce some of the natives to lead us to Dory. On his last journey but one, Captain Uyttenhoven had rescued many persons from shipwreck, at much personal risk, and in acknowledgment of his bravery and humanity, the king had bestowed upon him the Leopold cross. The captain hung it round his neck, and explained that it was a mark of honour from the king. It appears that the Sultan of Tenora, who is the lord of all the small island-chiefs, had received a similar decoration from the King of Holland; and so soon as the natives saw our captain's, they showed us the greatest honour. They have transported us from one tribe to another; brought us to the Sultan ; and now, sent on by his orders, and everywhere

well treated, we have reached Dory. Our feet are swollen and wounded-our stomach almost refuses food. We have been seventy-nine days on the water since the shipwreck. Some of us cannot live; we feel utterly weak and incapable.

The missionary treated them with all care. However, one of the sailors, Bergston, died from the effects of privation. Another and the captain fell so sick that their grave-clothes were prepared, but they recovered. It was six months before they felt themselves strong enough to move on. They then set out in a native pirogue which the missionary procured for them, and left Dory on the 11th April 1859, accompanied by some of the natives. On the 22d April they reached the little island Salvati, when they received a present of sago from the Rajah, and from a chief man, a

large pirogue. On the 12th May they landed in the island of Gebi, when they all fell sick, and the ship's apprentice, Crabeels, died. They had had nothing to live upon but sago and water. Notwithstanding, they set out again in four days, and reached the island Halmahern, which they crossed. This journey was painful and tedious. The guide they had was doing some sago business on his own account, and led them from one negro hut to another; so that their journey lasted weeks, though it is but a matter of ten days. They then arrived at Ternato, where there is a Dutch resident, by whom they were hospitably received and sent by steamer to Java, from whence they shipped themselves for Amsterdam. They landed at Amsterdam on the 21st October, and the day after returned to Antwerp, after an absence of almost two years.

Ox the last night of the year an old man sat in his room alone. The earth was cold and still as a white corpse laid in its shroud. The moon "looked round her with the heavens all bare." The leafless trees stood out in sharp and stiff relief against the clear and cloudless sky. With in the room the silence was profound; not a sound could be heard louder than the slow breathing of the old man, or the fall of the burning embers in the grate. His head leant upon his hands as, gazing into the glowing recesses of the fire, he wandered back in memory along the path which he had journeyed since childhood. Hour after hour passed, until the whole world seemep asleep, and he alone awake. At last, the clock from the old church tower slowly beat eleven, and as its echoes died away in the clear air, his attention was attracted by a shadow which slowly shaped itself into the form of a man older and more venerable than himself. Was he in a dream? It could not be ! All was so real and palpable. The venerable stranger with white hair, a long beard, and garments of faded green, ornamented with withered flowers and gatherings from autumn fields and orchards, having a pure white cloak hanging from his shoulders, approached, and gazed into the face of the inhabitant of the lonely and silent chamber. He carried a number of large volumes which he laid on a table, and then stood up and folded his arms as if waiting to be questioned. Who art thou? and why art thou here?" was asked, with a subdued and trembling voice. "I am," replied the mysterious visitor, with a hollow, death-like sound, like a wintry wind muffled by falling snow-" I am the Old Year, and I am sent to you with these volumes in order that you may peruse them." These volumes! what are they?" "They are the records of thy life which I have been watching every day during my own existence. Here are twelve large volumes, each volume is a month, and it contains several week-sections, each section being again divided into chapters, which are the records of a single day, itself occupying many pages." "My life! Imposible! who has written it? Who could have writ"One half of it has been written by an

ten it?"

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unseen hand, but the other portion by yourself." "That cannot be! I never saw those books before; I never wrote a line in them, stranger." "I am no stranger. If you only look at me attentively, you must recollect how often we have met. You have had to do with me every day and hour for a long time, and whether you knew it or not, intended it or not, recollect it or not, you have, nevertheless, with your own hand, and by a very mysterious process, which I have no time now to explain, written your autobiography." "I pray let me look into one of the volumes ?" Certainly. Here is one of last month. Turn up any week or day in it, examine it, and prove the truth of what I say." "I confess yes, it surely is my hand! How wonderful truly! I was not aware until now that this was possible." "Well, then, since you are so far satisfied of this fact, perhaps you would like to take a glance at the contents of the volumes? They are of very little interest to any other person in the wide world, but to yourself I would suppose they must have a greater interest than any history ever written." "Give me, then, one of the volumes." Which, pray?" volume of January last year.' is." "Yet, I remember-no! I would rather another volume. Let it be February-butalas !—" "What mean you?" "The fact is, I feel it very difficult to make a selection. On the the whole, I would rather not read any of them when I begin to think of the past." "But, mortal, you must read them all! ay, all, word for word, line by line, on a coming day, when time shall be no more; consider therefore whether it may not be better for you to read them now.” "Wherefore?" "I shall tell thee wherefore by and by. In the meantime, READ!" said the Old Year, with a stern countenance which pierced the soul of his hearer. "I have no time to argue, for I must depart. Quick!" "Give me, then, any one. I dare not, I cannot choose for myself." The Old Year selected one volume apparently at random, and presented it to his listener, saying, "Open any of its pages, and I shall explain to thee its meaning." The old man took the volume and opened it. left side of the page was written with one kind of

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"The

"Here it

The

ink, the right with another. The records of a single hour occupied a page. "Read, consider, question," said the Old Year. "Tell me, then, O Year, what are all these things I see on the pages to the left hand, written with pure bright characters." "These pages always record whatever has been given to thee from on high, day by day, hour by hour. All thy temporal mercies, for example, such as thy food, clothing, home, money, etc. And you will observe several notes below which record how these things were provided, and who laboured and suffered in order to bestow them on thee. Pray read a single page, and see what has been done for thy perishing body." "But I perceive that many of these same mercies are repeated." "Yes; because renewed from day to day.' "But I would take a year to read over this Record! For I see ten thousand things marked here as given: 'Friends,' 'relatives,' 'deliverances from danger,' afflictions,' comforts in trial,' 'talents,'' gifts,' 'opportunities of receiving good,' and of doing good,' 'teachings by conscience,' 'advices,' and other things innumerable." "Thou art right. Didst thou not receive all these things? Were they not given to thee?" "I admit it; but I never thought there were so many things given me by God." "If you look here at the end of each day, you will be amazed at seeing the summing up of God's gifts." "But there are some things I cannot understand in this record. What mean those strange characters?" "They represent things given and done by God in wisdom, mercy, and love, which cannot yet be understood or explained." "And what are those days with such large full pages?" Holy days, given specially for thy good. In these are recorded also what God said to thee on such days for thy good." "It cannot be! There thou art wrong. Seldom have I cared to hear what he said." "Be it so, but yet He said it, and said it to thee, and here it is, all down!" "And can it be, that all which has been done for me, and given to me, is here?" "All!" "And what is on this other side? It seems to be written by my own hand." "It is so! In those pages thou hast thyself written all which thou hast been and done every day and hour during the past year. Begin and read at the top of any page; read down; turn the leaf, and read on until the day is ended. Learn what thou hast thought of thy God or thy fellow-men! Search any day for evidence of the reality of thy love to either! Learn thy character as a responsible being from what thou thyself hast here recorded. Come, read thy life! Remember there are no lies here; no false names given to thy motives or to thine actions; all here is truth. Every falsehood and hypocrisy is here revealed; all that has been done from selfishness, pride, and vanity; every call to duty, and how it was met by thee; all thine inner and outer life; every farthing of thy money spent is noted down, with thy motives for spending it; what use thou didst make of thy time, thy talents, thine influence; every sin of word or deed, all are here! Come, turn up any week-day or Sabbath-day, or any day during the year, and read what thou hast thought, proposed, said, done, or left undone. READ!"

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The old man grasped the volume. Some chap

ters he passed rapidly by. But he searched for some days whose records he thought might be most favourable to himself. As he read both pages, his face got pale, his hands trembled. He closed the volume, and said, "I cannot stand this history! It is too true! I never saw it before, or thought of it! Are these the only volumes?" "These! why, there are as many for every year of thy life!" "And where are they?" "All gone, where these must go in a very short time, to be laid up in the Universal Library above; there to remain with those of all other men, until each life is read at last by its own writer in the hearing of the world, and in the light of the Great Judgment." The old man fell on his knees, and cried, "Oh, I see nothing, nothing, in those volumes, but goodness, mercy, wisdom, patience, love-everything on God's part that is worthy of Himself; but on my part !-woe is me !-day by day, week by week! Alas! how dreadful! My life has been wasted on merely selfish ends. I have been rich towards myself only, and not towards God, and therefore I have been poor indeed. I have been proud, vain, blind,-without God, without Christ in the world. I beseech you, destroy the volumes!" "That is impossible," said the Old Year; "they do not belong to me now. As they are written, even so must they remain, until we meet again. No power could destroy one of thy thoughts or actions." "What can I do? oh, tell me!" The Old Year said, "One half-page remains yet to be written, for it is near midnight; and all thou hast said, and art now, shall be inscribed in it. But another Year is about to come

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to the world. That New Year has probably received, it may be twelve volumes, it may be only a single page. Thou wilt thyself fill the allotted space, whether small or great. So live, then, each hour that the page which records it shall narrate the life of a true and good man. "But, oh! how can I blot out the past?" That cannot be. But if thou livest the present well, and evidence is afforded in this new book of thy true repentance for the past towards God, with real faith in Christ, then those old books will be so marked by the blood of Jesus that they will not cause thy death. Farewell!"

The clock struck twelve, and the Old Year vanished. Then lights flashed into the room, and the old man in the chair had vanished also! But a father and mother approached a little bed, where lay a boy, who had just started from his sleep, to receive a warm kiss and embrace from his beloved parents, and to hear a loving prayer offered by them of "God bless you, darling, and may you have a Good New Year!" The boy returned the embrace with all his heart, but he could not forget his dream, when he thought he was an old man, sitting at the fire-side; and so he prayed more sincerely than ever, and said, "I am resolved, God helping me ! so to live, that, when the books are opened at the end of my life, their pages may not put me to shame, or utterly condemn me, but so that Christ may be able to say, 'Well done, good and faithful servant.' May God so teach me to number my days, that I may apply my heart unto wisdom."

NORMAN MACLEOD.

ANGELS and spirits made perfect have an ample existence. Before and around each one of them stretches a continent of duration bright and unbounded; their years are endless. And as regards his lease of earthly life, man himself had once a goodly heritage. We look back and we envy the long leisure of the patriarchs, and then when from the millennium of Adam and Methuselah, we revert to our own threescore and ten, we are apt to feel pensive or panic-stricken. So narrow are the limits that it looks as if nothing could be done, and, in point of fact, the handbreadth" is usually all but exhausted before we advert to its minuteness, and are startled by observing that it has already wellnigh vanished away.

Yet, brief as is this earthly life, it is precious. It is the grain, small as a mustard-seed, from which grows the tree of immortality. It is the pearl of great price which wisely invested will be found again, treasure in heaven. It is the small estate which a timely and conscientious husbandry will exchange for an inheritance, rich as the resources of omnipotence, and enduring as eternity.

This is a solemn hour. Through the Lord's sparing mercy we are safe within the precincts of a new year; but, amidst the gladness and mutual congratulation, we cannot forget that this must be to many the last of all their years. Perhaps it may be the last allotted to him who now reads these words; perhaps the last to some of you in this little group who listen. It is a solemn hour, and, with the curtain unlifted over a mysterious and eventful future, he must be frivolous indeed who does not pause and ponder. Besides, it is the evening of the day which God has made. There is nothing to interrupt us; we have no festive engagement, nothing to call away our thoughts from the momentous inquiries which the season suggests, or from the work for which life itself is given. It is a solemn hour, and rightly improved, may make this first Sabbath of the year a 66 day of salvation." Let each of us ask himself, "Do I know whom I have believed?" and before we retire to rest, as we commit our souls to Christ's keeping, let each of us consecrate and insure the future by devoting himself anew to that Saviour-Sovereign, whose friendship is life, and whose service is the sweetest of freedom.

Ps. xxxix. 5.

Our

Yes, our days are an handbreadth; but even the present moment, if we accept God's proffered mercy, will secure a blessed immortality. days are an handbreadth, and yet they are long enough, under the guidance of God's own Spirit, to commence the education for a higher sphere. They are long enough to lay the foundation of ever-during excellence, and to acquire those holy tastes and pure affections to which the Father's house will afford abundant objects and unlimited expansion.

And if our earthly days are so few, let us turn to the best account the priceless remainder. Suppose you saw a man walking along the cliff, and a golden coin drops from his pocket, and rolling over the verge spins down the steep into the dark unfathomable sea; and as you tell him, he plunges his hand into his pocket, and comes out with a great and bitter cry; for all his fortune consisted of some few sovereigns, and in his carelessness he had put them into "a bag with holes," and most of them are gone. The bag was sealed which the Most High placed in your hand at life's outset, and you were not told how many years it contained; but you were told that the number was not great, and you were exhorted to be very careful, for a single "mite "a moment lost, could never be restored. And what say you now-now that twenty, thirty, fifty of these golden years are gone? Must you not confess that you have taken little care of them? and to-night, listening to the sound which the last one made as it tinkled over the brink, and went down into the abyss, do you not feel, "I have lost a year?" Lord, help me to redeem the time. So teach me to number my days, that I may apply my heart unto wisdom.

The time is short; the estate is small. But it is instructive to recollect how much has been accomplished by men who had a lease of life no longer than their fellows. The days of Thomas Cranfield were an handbreadth, and yet they sufficed to teach thousands of Sunday-scholars, and to introduce into the Church of Christ two hundred members. The days of George Whitefield were an handbreadth, and yet they enabled him to proclaim the everlasting gospel in every region where the English tongue was spoken, and to gladden with the hope full of immortality myriads who till then had sat in death's dark shadow. The