not know how soon, but that I must do so, is certain. Perhaps I shall live many years yet, for I am in health, and have no symptoms of decaying strength; surely, then, it is not necessary to look forward to death while I am strong, and leading so active and busy a life? Yet, fight against it as I will, there is a question which forces itself into my mind, even in the midst of all my business-" Must I die ?" I try to drown the warning voice, but it will be heard; and, worst of all, there is but one answer to that question, and the answer is, Yes, I must die. Yes, I know it must be so, and this thought is followed by other inquiries which will arise: When must I die? Must it be soon? I rose this morning full of health and vigour, and so have some whom I have known, but who, before sunset, have been deprived of life by sudden illness, or an accident; so of course it is possible that the same thing might happen to me; but, if so, what would become of my soul? Ah, dear reader, this last question is easily answered. If you love the Saviour, are trusting only to His merits for salvation, and doing your best to serve Him, no matter how sudden your summons, He will say, "To-day thou shalt be with Me in paradise."

If you do not love Him, if you expect to get to heaven on account of your own fancied goodness, and live in forgetfulness of God, then hear what He says in His own Word: "The wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the nations which forget God." Reader, did you ever devote a few minutes to the quiet contemplation of death? Many an hour have you devoted to the reading of an entertaining book, or the amusing conversation of a cheerful company; but did you ever give as much time to deliberate and solemn reflection on the subject of your immortal spirit? Did you ever pursue such thoughts as these ?" Some day I must die; my body must lie in the grave, but my soul will live for ever. Where will it go, then, when it leaves the body? Who will receive it, and where will it be taken to? What shall I see when I open my eyes (so to speak) in another world? Shall I find that my soul has been saved through

the atoning blood of Christ, or that it is lost because I would care so much for the passing scenes of earth, and because I would enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season ?" "

Generally, in this world, when we find we have either made a mistake, or done wrong, we can alter what we have done amiss, and retrace our steps; but when, in the next world, we discover our mistake in having neglected to think of the concerns of our soul, it will be too late to rectify it. Life was the time given us to seek God, and give ourselves up to His service; but if this duty was neglected then, the opportunity is lost when we are called out of the world; for, when our appointed time is come, all our efforts to live, all our agonising prayers for but one hour longer, will be in vain.

I well remember, when a child, the feelings of awe, not to say horror, with which I heard the particulars of the deathbed of a stranger who came to lodge in a house near that of my father. The stranger was ill, and it soon appeared that the illness was a fatal one; but his terrified conscience could not face the thought of death. "I will not die! I will not die!" he used to exclaim ; and, as long as he had strength to do so, he used to seize the heaviest articles he could lift, and dash them on the floor, saying that he should not die while there was sufficient noise in the room to keep him from sinking into unconsciousness. Poor guilty, frightened soul ! What could wealth and position do for it in that awful moment when it was summoned before the God whose warnings he had neglected, and whose commands he had broken? Yes, "The rich man died, and was buried." I well remember the black plumes and the heavy velvet which decked, in sad display, the hearse that carried away the lifeless body; and it resembles still more the parable of the rich man," when I recall a death-bed I soon afterwards saw-that of a poor cottager whose last moment was rapidly drawing near, but whose faith in her Saviour was firm, and who said she was longing to go to Him that very day.

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Dear reader, it is not necessary to ask which of these two

death-beds you would wish your own to resemble, but it is necessary for you to ask yourself whether you are so living now, that death, when it comes, will be welcome as the messenger that shall take your ransomed soul to dwell for ever with the God you have served on earth, or whether you are so spending your life that, when death shall overtake you, you shall be overwhelmed with agony and despair. To the question, "Must I die?"-as regards the death of the body, God tells you, "There is no man living who shall not see death;" but, with regard to the death of the soul, if you ask if that must perish, God says, No. He offers you eternal life through His Son; He says, "Why will ye die?"

Little Sins.

ITTLE sins do greatly deface the image of God in the soul. Adam was at first created according to the similitude and likeness of God: he had the Divine portraiture drawn upon his soul by the creating finger of the Almighty; and yet we see how little a sin defaced it, and spoiled him of all his glory. In curious pictures a small scratch is a great deformity. Certainly the image of God is such a curious piece of workmanship, that the least scratch or flaw in it by the least sin deforms and turns that which before was the image of God into the image of the devil. There are more beyond comparison that perish and go down to hell by the commission of little sins than by those that are more notorious and infamous. Here perisheth the hypocrite and here the formal professor: here perisheth your honest, civil, neighbourly man, that is so fair and upright in his dealing, that you can see nothing that is gross and scandalous by him. Oh! but yet the blood of their precious and immortal souls runs out and is spilt for ever, through those insensible wounds that little sins do make.-Hopkins.

A Christmas Message.'

AR from home thy Christmas keeping,
Sad, through weariness and pain,
Thou, perchance, hast thought with weeping,
"Christmas-time has come again!"

Dreams of well-remembered places
Fill thy memory to-day;
Longing thoughts of loving faces-
Thoughts of dear ones far away;

Of the little ones who gather

Round the fire the boughs to weave;
Happy homes where mother, father,

Keep with them the Christmas Eve;

Of the days when thou wast singing
Christmas songs of other times,
While across the fields came ringing

Far and near the Christmas chimes.

Say'st thou now, "Those days are over;
Not for me those home delights;

Dark the clouds that o'er me hover,
Lone the days and long the nights?

"Chiming bells and happy voices
Fall but sadly on my ear;

All the world without rejoices;

They are glad-while I am here."

Are these thy words of sadness, mourner?
Are these thy thoughts, my lonely friend?

Oh, listen kindly to a message

Which to thy saddened heart we send.

They are words the wind came bringing
From the hush of a quiet room,
Where voices were softly singing

In the twilight's gathering gloom.

1 Taken by permission from a volume entitled "Chimes of Consecration, and their Echoes." Seeleys.

And so sweet and clear the music
Of the message glad and true,
That now in the Christmas season
We would ring it forth to you :-

SONG OF CHRISTMAS.

"Is there gladness in the house?

Now lift your song once more;
For Christ, the new-born King,
Doth joy and gladness bring,
And His people praise and sing,
And joyfully adore!

"Is there weeping in the house?
Oh weary, weep no more!
For you shines Christmas morn,
And Jesus Christ was born
To comfort those who mourn
Upon sorrow's lonely shore.

"Is there scarceness in the house?
Yet rise in hope once more!
For Christ, the Lord on high,
Who at Christmas-time came nigh,

Is listening to thy cry,

And He Himself was poor.

"Is there stillness in the house?
A shadow on the floor?

Are there voices hushed and low
Where the mourners come and go?
Oh listen! ye shall know

Christ, who wept, is at the door.

"Now let our songs arise!

And let our hearts adore;

For e'en in sorrow's hours,
In sunshine and in showers
The Christmas joy is ours,
Abiding evermore !"

Thus, my sister; thus, my brother,
We to thee would comfort send,

Softly whisp'ring of Another

Of a nearer, better Friend.