It was Sunday morning. The chimes in the church had summoned the villagers to public worship. The service had already begun.

A solitary female form quietly entered the church as the concluding notes of the Morning Hymn died away. It was evidently her wish to be unobserved; her features were concealed by a veil, and with a light step she tried to reach unperceived the first vacant seat near the door.

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But the eyes of many in the congregation were turned towards her. Though unknown to all, she had already become an object of interest to not a few. For several successive Sabbaths she had come from the neighbouring city, and visited the church in a similar way.

It was evident from the dress and manner of the stranger she was a young person of respectability and wealth. She had been observed always to enter the church after the service had commenced, and to leave it ere it closed, as though she wished to be unnoticed and alone; but while there, seemed attentive and devout, and at times was so affected that she could hardly help sobbing aloud.

The minister was a faithful preacher of the Cross. His subject on the present Sabbath was the efficacy of the Saviour's atoning death. In the introduction of his sermon he referred to the blood of the Passover sprinkled on the door-posts in Egypt, that saved Israel from the destroying angel's sword, and then to the still more precious blood of the slaughtered Lamb, that takes away the sin of the world. As he proceeded in his discourse he reminded his hearers of the love the Saviour showed to his countrymen-how for them he lived and laboured -how he preached to them, and prayed for them, and wrought his miracles among them, and wept over them, and then, when they put him to death, he cried, "Father, forgive them, they know not what they do!"

The congregation listened with the deepest attention;-a death-like stillness pervaded the assembly. But there was one who felt every word go to her heart. Amid the silence that prevailed her emotion could no longer be concealed;-a piercing cry rang through the church; the stranger had fainted and fallen from her seat. Those nearest at hand raised her up and carried her out.

Mrs. R., the minister's wife, who was one of the excellent of the earth, had observed the stranger's attendance at the church from the first, and felt a more than ordinary interest in her religious welfare. During the past week especially she had made her the subject of fervent prayer. When she saw her carried out she immediately followed, and requested she should be taken into the parsonage-house close by, and she would attend to her herself. After the rest had returned to the church, Mrs. R. gazed on the beautiful form that lay pale as marble before her. She felt that there was some mysterious Providence in the stranger's appearance at church, and that the occur. rence that had taken place might tend to unravel it. She left no means untried to restore her; and when at length she opened her eyes

and moved her lips, Mrs. R. bent over her, and listened to catch what she said. She heard the words-" His blood be on us and on our children. Alas! alas! I am a poor child of Israel! What shall I do!" She trembled with emotion. Her words went through Mrs. R.'s heart; she could not refrain from tears. The mystery was now explained: the unknown was a daughter of Israel; her features; too, confirmed it. But a Jewess so young and beautiful, and evidently rich, and so deeply affected with the sermon she had heard, could not but enlist the tenderest sympathy of the pastor's wife.

As the stranger saw the tears of love that fell from the eyes of her Christian friend as she bent over her, "Where am I?" she said, in a bewildered tone. "Are you an angel? But angels weep not if they did, they might well weep over a child of Israel."

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Mrs. R. pressed her hand, and said, soothingly, "You need not fear; though unknown, you are in the hands of one who deeply feels for you." With this assurance she became more calm, but again exclaimed, O, those words-"His blood be children. O, that they had never been uttered! Mrs. R. tried to show her that there was a very words contained the utmost blessing, and told her how among those who crucified the Lord of Glory many were pardoned and saved.

us and on our What shall I do!" sense in which those

"Your words," replied the stranger, "are very kind; but if you knew who I am."

"No matter," said Mrs. R., "who you may be, there is salvation for you in the name of Jesus. For He is the Lamb that takes away the

sins of the world.'"

"How can you be so kind," said the young Jewess," to one unknown to you? You overwhelm me with your love! I seem as if I could freely open my mind to you, but I am afraid."

Mrs. R. assured her with a smile she had nothing to fear, she might rest satisfied she was her friend.

"What!" said the stranger, "would you not hate me if I were to tell you the people I belong to! Could you love a daughter of Abraham?"

"That you are a child of Abraham," said Mrs. R., "an expression which escaped you a little while ago plainly told me, and I trust you are treading in the steps of Abraham, the father of the faithful. I know you are seeking Jesus. Is it not so ?"

The stranger for a moment was silent. But her boks expressed her grateful feelings for the love of her Christian friend, that seemed balm

to her bleeding heart. She then said, "Yes, I must open my mind; you shall know all, perhaps it will quiet my troubled breast."

"I am Thirza S.," she began. Mrs. R. was amazed when she heard that she was the daughter of the Jewish banker of that name in the City. "You seemed surprised," she added, "to find me here, and indeed I wonder at myself, when I think of what has taken place within the last few weeks. For this I can truly say, I do believe that Jesus of Nazareth is the promised Messiah. And oh that I had a part in His atoning death! I only wish Him to be my Saviour! Oh, if I had had Christian parents!

Mrs. R. comforted her with the assurance that He had said-" Whosoever cometh to me I will in nowise cast out." "But how," she inquired, "have you become acquainted with Christ Jesus? That still remains a mystery to me."

"It is an equal mystery to me," said Thirza. "I well remember that I received my first impressions, when but a child, at a Christian school. My father, who is a strict Jew, and hates the very name of Jesus, little thought that at that tender age I was capable of such impressions, or certainly he would not have sent me there. I read the New Testament with the rest of the children, learnt portions of it by heart as they did. I recollect how deeply the history of Jesus interested me, and how keenly I felt the narrative of his sufferings and death.

"When I grew up I was sent to another school, and all these impressions seemed forgotten. For my worldly education no expense was spared, and my father instructed me in the Jewish customs, which he himself strictly observed. With anything like religion my heart was unaffected, I felt no need of it. I was the only child. With a fond father and all the means he had at his command, you may easily imagine no amusements, however costly, were denied me. Everything that could gratify and give me pleasure was lavished on me. I am ashamed to think of the years I have spent in the vanities of the world. Yet, though not happy, I was so satisfied that a serious thought never entered my mind.

"At length a fearful calamity befel us. My mother, my dearest mother I so much loved, suddenly died. It is now just five months since she was buried. The stroke was more than I could bear. It seemed to destroy at once the happiness of my life, and for ever.

Thirza could not proceed, her heart was full, her tears stopped her. Mrs. R., as she wept in sympathy with her, kindly said, "The Lord hath done all things well-He has taken away one comfort to give you

another and a greater. He has dried up the stream of your earthly happiness to lead you to Himself—the fountain of bliss. Is it not so, dear Thirza?"

"Oh, that it were so," she said; "then I could bear the loss of my mother. That would be a recompense! But only listen:-The death of my mother made our house desolate, which had always been the scene of family joys. My father was deeply troubled at his loss, and my heart clung to him with still greater affection than before. I saw him comfortless, seeking comfort in me; for you may readily think how his tenderest affections centred in me, the only object of his love. It was our only comfort to sit and talk together of her we so much missed. My father had some relief in his business affairs, that occupied much of his attention and time. But I the greater part of the day was left alone to brood over my sorrowful thoughts. One day we had been talking about my dear mother. When my father was gone I sat alone. My tears freely flowed. I felt as if I were in a solitary world; all within me was dreary, all around desolate. My heart seemed as if it would burst with grief. I looked around, and involuntarily said aloud Whither can I go for help?' I know not how, but the words rushed into my mind, 'Come unto Me all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.'"

"What!" exclaimed Mrs. R., " what was that but the Lord drawing you to Himself! O, He is infinitely kind!"

"Yes," said Thirza, "I now believe it was the Spirit of God that brought those words fresh to my mind, which had lain slumbering in my breast from my childish school-days. I was overpowered with their sweetness, and wondered where I had read or heard them, and was at a loss to know whose words they were. At last it occurred to me that I had read them in the Christian books at school, and it was Jesus who had uttered them. This alarmed me; I felt terrified at the thought. Yet they were so precious, I could not forget them. Do what I would, they still sounded in my ears-Come unto Me! come unto Me!' It seemed as though they contained the balm of life for my wounded spirit.

"You know, Mrs. R., how blind our poor people are, and my father never failed to instil into my mind feelings of hostility to Jesus and the Christian faith. You may easily imagine what was the distressed state of my heart. I tried to banish the words from my mind, but could not. I said to myself, they are not for me. But still they would not leave me. My soul was thirsting within me, and there was