He listened, and a happy smile
Stole o'er the sick man's face:
“I thank you friends; it brings to mind
Another time and place.

“All helpless I as when you found
Me lying in the sun,

A friend came by and saved me then,
Well,-just as you have done.

"He saved me from the raging fire,
He saved me from disease,
And for his sake I left my home
Away across the seas.

"Your name is Fred, you say; and yours?"
"Rufus," the old man said.
"Perhaps you'd like to hear His name
Who first came to my aid.

66

They pass us by, we only hear

The fiery tempest's roar."

Why," said the trapper, "this beats all; I'd rather go to church;

I half wish now we'd gone away

And left you in the lurch.

"Just go to sleep, my friend," he said;

"I don't believe that talk

Is good for you. Fred, keep your watch,
I'll go and have a walk."

The missionary held his peace,
He said no more that day;
The next he said, "Rufus, perhaps
You'd like to go away,

"And take just for an hour or so
A walk across the plain,
Because I'm going now to speak
Of Jesus Christ again?"

"Speak on, my mate, but not too much; I do not feel alarm

On my account, but you still weak
May do yourself some harm."

He spoke again of Jesus Christ,
And of His goodness told;
Then turning to the trapper said,
"Friend, you are growing old;

"And can't live very long on earth,

Not very long at best,

And some place then your soul will need Of refuge and of rest.

"That's all. Now you may take your walk, I've nothing more to say."

Nor said he more of Christ on that
Or any after day,

Until he left the place where he
Had health and safety found,
When just about to part from us
He gently turned around,

And looking back, "Not thus I quit
The refuge of my soul,

Nor will He ever leave me who
Hath made my spirit whole.

"Fred and friend Rufus, different ways
We take across the plain;

There's one way yonder (pointing up);
Say, shall we meet again?"

He waved his hand, we parted then,
For different regions bound;
He for the Indian settlement,
We for our hunting ground.

That night as we lay down to sleep,
The trapper turned, "Friend Fred,
Tell me some sinner's prayer to God,"
The old man softly said.

"The Lord's prayer when a little child
Was one I used to know,
But I've forgot it and the rest,

It is so long ago.

"So long ago since any prayer

Fell from these lips of mine,

That now, when I would like to pray,

I do not know a line."

I told him of the publican

Who was from sin set free,

And that his prayer was this, “O God,
Be merciful to me."

That is how sinners need to pray,

For here's another prayer:

'Tis in the Psalms, the cry of one
Entangled in sin's snare:-

"After Thy loving-kindness, Lord,
Have mercy upon me;

For Thy compassion's great; blot out
All mine iniquity."

I heard him muttering words of prayer
Far on into the night;

I heard him when the daybreak came,
Amid the morning light,

Asking for mercy of the Lord,
And pardon of his sin;

And praying that although so late
The Lord would take him in.

For days 'twas thus with him, and oft
His ways and words were strange;
He seemed to cherish but one thought-
At last there came a change.

He bade me teach him hymns and psalms,
And then all day he sung;

And there was gladness in his voice,
As he again were young.

The season passed, we were to part;
I found that he was bent

On travelling westward till he reached
The Indian settlement.

"I wish to go," the old man said,
"The missioner to see ;

I wish to tell him that his Friend
Hath saved and rescued me.

"Our paths are different upon earth,
As up and down we roam;

But Fred, my lad, there's but one path,
One path that leads us home."

He raised his voice and cried "Farewell,"
And then I heard him sing,

In clear full notes, a hymn of praise,
That made the forest ring.

'Twas of Jerusalem his home,
The hymn he loved the best ;
I listened till the music died

In silence in the West.

Still seemed there echo of his words,
Although the man was gone :
Our paths on earth are manifold,
The path to heaven is one.

I know it now-that way is Christ;
I hardly knew it then,

Save by the hearing of the ear,
The words of other men.

O, friend, who hath my story read,
Believe this word is true,-

There is no one but that same Christ
Can save and ransom you.

Pray unto Him the sinner's prayer
And He your soul will bless,
And clothe it with the glorious robe
Of his pure righteousness.

Ask Him for pardon of your sin,
Ask for the Spirit's aid,

To tread the heavenward path, trust Him,
And do not be afraid.

For He will lead you in the way
Where all the ransom'd go,

And in the fountain of His blood

Will wash you white as snow.

R. R. THOM. Author of 'Little Will,' &c.

No Spending Money.

OOR John Brunton had always been in the habit of looking at the dark side of things, and he was now in great trouble.

After forty years' faithful service with the same master, he had been thrown out of work. Mr. Pollard, whom he had served so long, was an upholsterer, and John had been his foreman.

This is how it happened that John was out of employment. Mr. Pollard had retired from business. Before retiring, however, he had given John the first offer of it,