for the Home where we would like to be when this life comes to an end, or putting off and putting off we may find ourselves too late; and remember this, when once it is too late it matters little whether we were only five minutes behind time or had never made up our minds to go at all.

"That brings me to something else. It's quite possible we may to all intents and purposes be travelling in the right direction. No fault can be found with us in any way, all religious duties are strictly performed, and we obey, at least in outward appearance, the commands of God, so that our fellow-passengers set us down as earnest, humble-minded Christian men and women like themselves. But there may come to be seen a difference when we reach the gate at the end of the way. A few days ago, there was a poor idiot lad who somehow or other got upon the line, and all went well with him until he reached the journey's end. Then he saw the others handing in their tickets; he hadn't one, so he pulled out some pretty painted cards with birds and flowers all over them, and he couldn't understand why they wouldn't do. 'Look, look, pretty!' he said, 'very pretty; I bought them all myself.' You laugh, but I tell you many more than you think for are doing that same thing every day. They say it must be all right with them because they go to church -when it's convenient-and say their prayers, and sometimes read a chapter, and manage to keep up a respectable appearance. Very good and very true, no doubt, but they're like the pretty painted cards, you mustn't trust to them for passport. There's only One"-and John's voice grew very wistful and reverent "there's only One who can give us the right to enter the heavenly world, and that is the Lord Jesus Christ, and unless we use His name and trust to Him and not to our own deservings, we can never hope to enter in.

"Many of you know that's true. Then why not this very night come to Christ, just as you are, for there are no different 'classes' in His sight; 'all have sinned and come short of the glory of God.' And come, too, in all your helplessness and want, because He needs no payment for His

grace. He that hath no money, no goodness of his own to plead, will find in Him full and free salvation. Then come

now

"For time is earnest, passing by;
Death is earnest, drawing nigh;
Sinner, wilt thou trifling be,

Since God is earnest, waiting thee.'

"Ah, yes, God is earnest. People find it hard to believe that they think it only concerns themselves whether they find salvation or not. They're like a young boy I knew who ran away from home and thought only of the troubles he got himself into, until one day he came back to his parents in sorrow and shame, and couldn't understand why his mother's hair had turned quite white, and his father grown so old and sad. You see they had been thinking of him in all his wanderings-ah, and more than that, they had searched for him and sent messages after him in all directions. And God does not love His children less. Just listen to what is said of the rebellious Israelites of old: And the Lord God of their fathers sent to them, by His messengers, rising up betimes, and sending, because He had compassion on His people and on His dwelling-place.' And think too of the tears of the Lord Jesus which He shed over the city He had loved, and which would not repent, and then let us take care that instead of such hardness of heart as that, there may be joy in the presence of the angels of God over us sinners turning back from our evil ways."

John Davidson sat down at the end of his few informal remarks, and again there was a little stir among the people; but the evident sincerity of his manner had gone home to their hearts; and, with Sam Macey to set the tune, the concluding hymn was sung with more than usual feeling. Then as the meeting broke up, Mrs. Grainger watched the small crowd disperse with very interested eyes. Mrs. Mason and one or two others she knew had been amongst the audience, but who was that grey-haired man who had slipped out as quietly as he came in ? She turned to Tom with the inquiry,

but Tom shook his head, he did not know. Sam Macey, however, was equal to the occasion.

66

Oh," he exclaimed, in disdain, “ he's a good-for-nothing sort of fellow, a ticket-of-leave man or something of that sort. I think it's shameful he should be allowed to mix with more respectable folks."

Joe Macey turned sharply round. "Sam," said he, earnestly, "you've no right to say a thing like that. Whatever our pride may tell us, he is as much cared for above as you and me, and more too if he's humble and sorry! Don't you remember what John said about the son who ran away, and about his parents' love for him, though he was so unworthy of it all?"

And then, as Joe moved away again, Tom was heard softly repeating to himself some of his favourite lines:

"Even so, who loves the Lord aright,

No soul of man can worthless find;
All will be precious in His sight,
Since Christ on all hath shined."

Rich: Better

R

EADER, have

you ever

seen, or, what is far better, have you ever studied 'The Saint's Everlasting Rest'? Or The Call to the Unconverted,' or 'The Reformed Pastor,' or 'Mr. Baxter's Dying Thoughts'? If you know any of these fervent and edifying books, you have made acquaintance

with

one of the noblest spirits of our modern Christianity, and learned something of religion from one who felt, as few others have

done, its reality, and who knew how to press its claims on the heart. And it cannot but be interesting, knowing thus much of the writer's heavenly mind, to recall a little of his earthly life, and see in what school he so well learned the lesson of setting his affections on things that are above.

It was on a November forenoon, when the people were at church, and in a little village of Shropshire, in the year 1615, that Richard Baxter was born. Like many another place in England, Rowton was full of ungodliness and its accompanying ignorance; but among the careless people there were some devout, and one of these was Richard's father. Following the good old custom, he not only waited on the public ordinances, but taught his own household, as

he best could, the elements of Christian truth, and pointed out the way by which his children might go to the better land. As he grew up, the boy became anxious and interested, and though now and then led astray by evil company-he robbed an orchard, or told a lie-it was ever against the instincts of a better mind. Some of his most useful friends in these early days were books; and it lessens our wonder at his own later zeal in making so many, that he had found in his own experience such benefit from their Some he had read with deep interest, though with less

use.

pleasure than he could have wished, when one day a travelling pedlar sold Richard's father a copy of Dr. Sibbes' 'Bruised Reed.' The wise and tender little book, like all that ever came from its gifted author, was full of Christ. It was a godsend to the thoughtful boy. He read, and considered, and prayed; and soon, quietly following the path every minute becoming clearer to him, he found that his heart was at length "resolved for God."

Then came another step. He had found out Christ; could he not become a minister, and spend all his life in preaching the Gospel? The question seemed hard to answer, for his father could not send his son to the University, and there were many difficulties beside. In point