A wretched home and a sorrowful life was

his; for intemperance L

dwelt in that miserable house, and made it more wretched still. The kind, pious teachings of father and mother he never knew; for one or both were generally intoxicated; and poor little Martin spent most of his life in the streets, picking up an odd halfpenny now and then for doing some trifling job, which just helped to eke out the miserable fare he got at home-hardly enough to keep body and soul together.

What a miserable life! Who would have believed that thing good could ever come out of it?

any

But God, who, we read, is "rich in mercy," had put into this poor child's heart some great thoughts, and a longing to get free from the misery and sin which surrounded him in his home. He saw that all children were not like himself and on a Sabbath morning, when his father and

He was lingering near the door, and thinking to himself how different were these children from his poor, dirty, ragged self, when the door opened, and two neatly-dressed little fellows about his own age went in. His eager eyes followed them, and he said to himself, uttering one of his thoughts aloud, "Wish I could go in too,"-peering round the corner of the porch as he spoke.

"And what hinders you coming in, my poor boy?" said a kind voice close behind him.

"'Cos I'se so dirty, sir; I ben't fit," said poor little Martin, half frightened at the thought of being spoken to by a gentleman. "Well, you are very dirty,

mother were too often sleeping off the effects of their drinking the night before, poor little Martin's strolls often extended farther than usual from his home; and he had thus sometimes seen troops of neatly-dressed children going towards a building which he thought must be the school-house, of which he had heard some bigger boys talking one day, as well as of the school-treat which had been given there. So one Sunday morning, he thought he would follow some of the children, and have a peep into the school-house if he could.

certainly; but couldn't

you run home and wash your face and hands, and then we will let you in?" said the kind speaker.

"But I lives a long way from here," said Martin with a troubled look, as he remembered, too, that if he went home, nothing like a scrap of soap should he find there. Alas! drink had robbed that home of every decent necessary.

"Well, that is a pity," replied the gentleman. "But mind and get well washed by next Sunday morning, and tidied up a little; and then you shall come in and be taught like the rest. And here, my boy, take these and see if you can make them out," he added, giving the child two or three picture leaflets in bright colours. "Can you read?"

"Some words I makes out, sir," said Martin, as he took the leaflets, and a gleam of pleasure stole over his poor grimy face.

A burst of young voices in the morn

ing hymn told that school was beginning; and the gentleman hastened in, feeling sure that if the boy really wished to be admitted, next Sunday would find him there.

Listening to the sweet song of praise, Martin still lingered a while; and then, with his poor little heart full of resolves for the next week, he turned his steps homeward.

Cold and hungry he was, but he knew he would have to wait long before any meal was to be had at home. So creeping in, he contented himself with

taking a dry crust, which he found in the otherwise empty cupboard, and went to seek a boy companion who could read pretty well.

All through the week his uppermost thought was, how to be ready for Sunday morning; and he even prevailed on his mother, in her sober moments, to sew up the worst holes in his poor garments. By coaxing, and promises of the first halfpenny he could earn, he persuaded his companion to help him to spell out the meaning of the leaflets, which vastly increased his desire to learn to read well.

All that week Martin was unusually eager to find odd jobs, waiting day by day near the costermongers' barrows. "Where there's a will there's a way is always true; so Martin found it, and by the middle of the week he had earned several pence. To pay the promised sum to his teacher came first; and then, resolved to make sure of being clean on Sunday morning, he determined to provide himself with the means of this.

"A penny'orth o' soap!" said he in a resolute tone, entering the nearest shop of his poor neighbourhood. The claims of hunger pressed hard at the same moment; but he kept his resolve; and secreting the treasure deep in his trouser-pocket, he went forth to seek another job, and then he would allow himself "a penny roll and a hap'orth o' tripe." Poor child! his comforts were in small compass just then; but he made the most of them.

He waited long for another job; but none came, and he was just thinking to himself it was no use to wait longer as it was growing dark; "he would go home" (if home it could be called), "and see whether there was any hope of a meal for him-if not, he could but go out again;" when he spied a tall figure approaching with hasty steps.-Yes, surely it was he, the kind gentleman who had spoken to him, and bid him come to school on Sunday. Martin's heart beat fast; and with an earnest look as the gentleman passed, he did his best to make a low bow. Little though he knew of manners, he had the notion this was proper to be done. Hastening home from the city, the gentleman would hardly have noticed his little client of the Sunday before, but for the profound bow, and still more the eager, hungry look on the boy's face: "Well, looking out for a job, my boy?" he said, pausing for a moment in his quick pace.

"Ha'n't had none, sir; and it's getting late," said Martin, bringing the whole outline of his case into the one brief sentence. It told of hungry need, and all but hopeless disappointment as to the means of supplying it, to that sympathizing ear, which was not in the habit of turning coldly away from any human need.

"Here then, my boy; take this, and seck up your supper:-and mind you don't forget Sunday morning;" and the outstretched hand passed some coppers into the boy's hand.

"No, sir. And please, sir, l'se got the soap, and I'll be sure to come," said Martin, uttering the uppermost thought in his mind first, though it conveyed little meaning to the ear addressed. "And thankee, sir, kindly," he added, trotting a few steps by the gentleman's side to finish all he had to

say.

"Now I'se have some supper." The last words were uttered in such gleeful tone, as told the whole story of what had been his case a few moments

before the prospect of a supperless retreat to his wretched home.

The boy paused to look again at his treasure. Yes, there it was! Four whole coppers! It was long since he had been so rich as that! But providently putting two of the coppers into the same pocket which held the soap, he resolved within himself not to exceed the stipulated outlay for the "penny roll and the hap'orth o' tripe," and hastened to the nearest of the poor shops where these could be obtained.

As he drew near his own neighbourhood, there stood the little cart which had so often before attracted his longings-one of those merciful antidotes to the gin-shop, as some one has called them. "Potatoes all hot!" shouted the man, "All hot-all hot!" No need to expend much voice in attracting customers: for shaggy heads were instantly seen approaching; decent women, too, plate in hand, eager to add something comfortable to the evening meal.

And among such clients Martin was foremost. "Yes! he would just have one hot potato, in addition to his proposed allowance of bread and tripe."

"Here you are, my man!" said the seller, handing Martin a good-sized potato in return for his halfpenny. "Smoking hot! smoking hot!" he continued, varying his call, which was responded to by many another customer.

With fingers tingling from the hot potato, Martin hurried to the shop, resolved to have the sum of his enjoyment perfected; and retreating to the door-step of an empty house near, he devoured his morsels with an eagerness that only long-baulked hunger can give.

As he ate, and felt the warmth of the potato, something like a feeling of compassion stole into his heart, as he thought of his poor wretched mother and wondered if she had anything as comfortable for her supper. Alas! the "three-hap'orth" of gin was more likely to be it than anything else; for the habit of drinking was entailing that worst curse of the evil, a constant craving for more. The child felt, too, almost a touch of self-reproach as he thought of his mother, and the feeling straightway ripened into action.

"I'll take her two hot 'taturs," he said, as he thought of the two pennies lying with the soap at the bottom of his pocket, "sure she'll like 'em ;" and he hastened off to seek the man. But while he had been enjoying his meal, buyers had multiplied; and the last of the potatoes were just being handed to a customer, as he drew up to the cart.

"Just too late this time, my boy," said the man; "must come sooner if you want 'em."

Poor Martin was grieved at heart; for his wish to take the potatoes to his mother had grown stronger as he ran towards the cart. "I'll mind I get 'em next time," was his consoling reflection as he turned. away, "and hapen I'll get her a penny'orth o' tripe too," he added mentally as he thought of his own meal. Poor child! and what brought these stirrings of compassion into his heart, towards a mother who had shown little compassion for him? Ah! was it not the whisperings of that Spirit who speaks more or less distinctly in every human breast-drawing us towards the good, or warning us away from the evil?

66

their irresistible working as regards sin, will entail

CHIEFLY FOR YOUNG MEN.

THE Duke of Wellington, towards the close of his life, travelled by rail from Walmer Castle (his! residence at that time) to Folkstone, to pay a visit to his friend, Mr. John Wilson Croker. The duke, though far advanced in life and feeble, chose to walk from the station to his friend's residence, and that without a guide. On reaching his destination the brave old man, somewhat heated and wearied, declared, "He had found it a rough walk, and that the ground was intersected in a way he had not expected." "Ah!" replied Mr. Croker, "Then, it seems your Grace has forgotten how to judge what is at the other side of the hill."

The allusion was to a circumstance which had occurred some thirty years before. When travelling on the Northern Road the duke and Mr. Croker had amused themselves by guessing, when ascending a hill, what sort of a country they would find on the contrary slope. The duke made some extraordinary guesses, almost as correct in detail as if he had described the country from actual vision. When Mr. Croker expressed his great surprise, the answer of the veteran soldier was, "Why, it is likely, my friend, I should be successful in such work; for I have spent all my life in divining what was at the other side of the hill."

Upon reminding the duke of this incident, just as they were driving back to the station across the ravine which had impeded him on his way to Mr. Croker's house, the duke turned round to Mrs. Croker, who was also in the carriage, to explain to her the meaning of her husband's remark-adding at the close, "All the business of war, madam, and indeed all the business of life, is to endeavour to find out what you do not know by what you do. That's what I call 'judging what is at the other side of the

hill.""

This interesting anecdote gives us, we think, the key to the marvellous success of the Duke of Wellington's whole life, both as a military commander and a politician; he did not act merely from present appearances, feelings, and impulses, but took into his calculation the future which lay before him; and moreover, ever sought to make present facts, as involving necessary consequences, a sort of prophecy of the time to come, laying down his plans and conduct accordingly.

We believe that the duke's maxim and the duke's practice are worthy of the consideration of every one, and especially of every young man setting out in life. Life is an ascent, a climbing and a struggle which has a converse slope, spoken of in common phrase as "going down the hill." What this going down the hill of life will be, depends upon the upward path we take; and there are many to choose from. If it be the one that heaven dictates, it will be an experience of peace, happiness and honour. But if the path of life we fix upon be from the promptings of evil principle and sinful passion, however pleasant, safe and profitable in the present the immediate way may seem, there is an adverse power "on the other side of the hill"-the eternal laws of God's unchanging truth and righteousness; which, in

"TO RISE IN THE WORLD,"

as it is called; that is, to die rich, if not to found a family and amass a fortune. We do not by any means say that this is one of the loftiest aims you can set before you. Money no doubt is a useful and excellent thing, and rich men, as capitalists, advantage the whole community; yet, to an intellectual, moral, and spiritual being such as you are, there are a thousand things better than gold. Knowledge is better, purity, peace of conscience; above all, the approval of God, and the love of Jesus Christ the Saviour. But still, we do not deny that wealth is worth the seeking, when the pursuit and possession of it are compatible with those better things of which we have just spoken.

But then there are two ways of gaining wealth, of climbing to the heights of affluence; and each has its corresponding slope at the other side of the hill.

One way of "getting on in the world," is up the ascent of untiring industry, of enlightened prudence and unwavering integrity, of trust in God and steady perseverance. It may seem at times a path that is disappointing and slow, but you can with all certainty make sure that there is a good and pleasant region "at the other side of the hill." It will bring you with patience, to abundance, along with tranquillity of mind, the favour of God, and the respect of your fellows; and your old age will be one of influence and honour; for the saying of the Hebrew sage is still true, that "the hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness."

It would be easy to prove the truth of this statement; but we doubt not your own observation of the commercial world, and of society at large around you, will furnish to your remembrance many an illustration; and if not, in Sir Samuel Smiles' late work entitled Thrift you may, if you will, find "a starcluster" of demonstration.

The other path to worldly progress is up the crooked steeps of selfishness, of shifty expediency and dishonest manœuvre, of disregard to the laws of God and the claims of righteousness; in a word, of all the trickeries of craft, unscrupulousness and falsehood.

This latter course of action may appear, for a time, as of far speedier success; large gain, personal influence and public consideration may for a season speedily come to you. For those who, anyhow, will make haste to be rich must necessarily, "on this side the hill," far outstrip the plodders who will not be tempted to overpass the boundaries of righteousness and truth, to take a short cut to fortune.

But this side the hill is not the only onethere is another, and it is one which cannot be shirked but must be traversed. And the whole history of God's moral government in the world declares to us, with a constant and unfaltering voice, what that other side of the hill will be: disaster, sudden an irretrievable ruin, misery, shame and despair.

We need scarcely say, how very recent occurrences painfully illustrate the truth of this assertion; but as it is not Christian to trample on the wretched

and the fallen, however unworthy and criminal, we prefer to speak of another case-one which shocked the public mind some twenty years ago, but which has been set forth anew in a recent publication of very great interest, A. M. Sullivan's New Ireland.

JOHN SADLEIR

was a banker in Tipperary; he was clever, and, brought up to the law, was sharp and knowing. "He early noted how fortunes could be made out of the ruin of Irish landed proprietors in the Encumbered Estates Court." Caring little about the misfortune of others so that he enriched himself, he "promoted" a land company to buy up various properties at from seven to thirteen years' purchase, with a view of reselling them in more prosperous times at double and threefold the cost. Success led him to engage boldly in other speculations; and, "making a hit," as it is called, he felt spurred on to the most daring schemes and undertakings, "raising the wind" any way. He launched into Italian, American and Spanish railways, "was deep in iron," and it is said at one time "owned every cargo of sugar, in port or at sea, between England and the Indies."

Not content with wealth, he became an ardent politician and a demagogue-made himself troublesome "to the ruling powers" so that it grew to be worth while to the government of the day to purchase him; which they did by making him a Lord of the Treasury. His party, betrayed, turned upon him in fury and scorn: but a great position in the land, even a coronet, seemed to gleam before him; and he was deemed, by the many, a most successful and fortunate man.

One method employed by him, to gain funds to carry on his political schemes and commercial speculations, was wholesale forgery.

"Nightly after leaving the House of Commons, John Sadleir sat up late in the private study of his town house, 11 Glo'ster Terrace, Hyde Park; and morning often dawned and found him at his lonely labours. What were they? He was occupied in forging deeds, conveyances, and bills for hundreds of thousands of pounds."

As the result, "on this side of the hill," he was the man of splendid success, the millionaire-the Lord of the Treasury-the peer of the realm, that was to be the envied-the smiled upon-the worshipped and the flattered; in fact a spoiled favourite of fortune. But there was another "side of the hill," and when the time came-and that was not far off, for he was only in the prime of life-he had to traverse it.

In the second week of February, 1856, one of his financial schemes miscarried, and the drafts of the Tipperary Bank were dishonoured at Glyn's the London banker. A panic ensued in the various branches of his bank in Ireland: but his brother telegraphed that even £30,000, if remitted at once, would enable him to stave off the difficulty. Alas! it could not be raised. All his clever schemes and "artful dodges" had reached their climax-the path of dishonesty and falsehood had come to its close, and he must now descend the path of its consequences. Deadly pale, haggard and excited, he left the city where he had vainly called upon moneyed men to aid him, and returned, his soul "in the depths," to his splendid west-end residence. Entering his study he

seized a pen, and devoted half an hour to letter writing-woeful missives were they of a despairing heart to those whom it loves, but from whom it is about to be parted for ever. This done, he descended to the dining-room, "took from the sideboard a small silver tankard and put it in his breast pocket, where was already a small phial which he had previously, early in the day, purchased. As he passed through the hall and took his hat from the stand, he told the butler not to wait up for him." He went outit was Sunday morning-and, closing the door behind him, vanished in the silent darkness.

"When daylight came, on a little mound on Hampstead Heath the passers-by noticed a gentleman stretched as if in sleep. A silver tankard had fallen from his hand upon the ground, and it strongly smelled of prussic acid. A crowd soon gathered, the police arrived, they lifted up the body, all stark and cold. It was the corpse of John Sadleir, late "Lord of the Treasury," and the Irish banker.

One of the letters which he penned, during the before-mentioned half-hour, in his study was to his cousin, Robert Keating. We give a few passages from it; for it terribly describes "the other side of the hill" of a course of fraud and abandonment of principle:

"Dear Robert,-To what infamy have I come step by step, heaping crime upon crime.-I am the cause of ruin, and misery, and disgrace to thousands.—Oh, how I feel for those on whom all this ruin must fall!

I could bear all punishment, but I could not bear to witness their sufferings. It must be better that I should not live.--Oh, that I had never quitted Ireland! Oh, that I had resisted the first attempts to launch me into speculation! I might then have remained what I once was, honest and truthful.— I weep and weep now, but what can that avail?

J. SADLEIR."

Wretched man! misappropriating the last shilling of the Tipperary Bank, and plunging from fraud into deeper fraud to recoup his losses, he only wrought upon those around him a wider and more hopeless ruin. Scenes of mad despair-old men, confused and hysterical, going about like maniacs, and widows kneeling on the ground and asking God aloud, if it could be true that they were beggared for everwere to be witnessed in the streets of Thurles and Tipperary.-Yet one cannot but feel pity for the criminal, who, in his utter woe, dreading to meet his fellow, deems it an escape to hurry himself, with his own hand, into a dark and awful eternity.

My friend, what path in life are you taking; and judging from the whole verdict of the past in this world, how must you rule your expectation as to "the other side of the hill?" Before you advance a single step further, resolve this question. If you are doing as God and conscience approve, in God's name go on; but if not, pause, and if you find that even by a foot you have turned aside from the way of truth and righteousness, retrace your step, we entreat you, and shun the evil way: "Avoid it, pass not by it, and turn away." Learn, from John Sadleir, that one criminal act is ever succeeded by another; that at last retreat is impossible; and that at "the other side of the hill" is desolation and woe, the certain wreck of fortune and good name, and a night of despair without a ray of consolation.

(The second part to follow.)

From our Watch-Tower.

WATCHWORDS FOR JANUARY.

First Week.-My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God: when shall I come and appear before God?-Ps. xlii. 1. Second Week.-Christ hath once suffered for sins, the just for the unjust, that he might bring us to God.-1 Pet. iii. 18. Third Week.-Who gave himself for us, that he might redeem us from all iniquity, and purify unto himself a peculiar people, zealous of good works.-Tit. ii. 14.

Fourth Week.-Watch ye, and pray, lest ye enter into temptation. The spirit truly is ready, but the flesh is weak.Mark xiv. 38.

WAR.

WAR, famine, pestilence, were the three great judgments with which God threatened and visited his ancient people for their sins. War lately ravaged Eastern Europe, desolating fair lands, and bringing death and misery into many homes. We then escaped the dire calamity; but now, as we write, its first wave has reached ourselves; and soon in many homes of our land, weeping may be heard for sons of bright promise cut off in the flower of life, or (darker still) for prodigal sons cut off in the midst of their sins. Into politics we enter not, in this periodical, to say whether we think our nation is right or wrong, just or unjust, in the dispute that has issued in war. But this we do know, that war is a judg ment from God, and that very, very rarely is it so clearly a war of self-defence, or a war of defence of the oppressed, or a war of Divine retribution, as to exempt either side from the charge of sin in the inception, or in the prolongation of it. May God mercifully bring this war to a speedy close, and such a close as shall be for His glory and the advancement of His cause!

POVERTY.

It

The second of God's judgments-not exactly in the old form of agricultural and pastoral famine, but of commercial bankruptcy, with its results of lost fortunes and family reverses among the middle classes, and of extensive want of employment and scarcity of daily bread among the poorer, has also fallen upon us. has fallen upon us partly, perhaps, as the reaction from the unnatural stimulus which the recent war gave to certain industries; but at all events, and more decidedly, as the reflex result of mad speculation and luxury on the part of many among the richer classes, and of extravagant living and improvidence on the part of many among the labouring classes, during the years of plenty, with which we were lately favoured. When will many men learn Joseph's lesson of providence to the King of Egypt; and better still, the lesson of moderation in our desires for earthly riches, and of trust in God taught to His disciples by our blessed Lord? In Old Testament times, it needed often the spirit of inspiration to connect famines, caused by drought, with special sins; but it needs no prophet to point out the connection of our present distress with the sins of commercial gambling and fraud, of social extravagance and recklessness, and (let us add emphatically) of widespread

INTEMPERANCE.

Need we prove this last fact? Alas! it meets us everywhere -in street disorders, in blighted characters, in ruined constitutions, in impoverished and miserable homes. Of all the causes of poverty and want, this is beyond all question the greatest. Who needs to have this demonstrated? The question is, What is the remedy? or, What are the various remedies that must, under the guidance of wisdom and Christian principle, be applied to this fell moral disease in order to its being arrested? This subject must frequently, in one or other of its branches, come up in our pages. The widespread discussion of it has, in our opinion, issued in the establishment of several important facts and principles bearing on the solution of the question, and on men's duty in regard to it; facts and principles on which all reasonable and Christian men will soon be agreed, and must be prepared to These we shall endeavour to state and enforce, and to illustrate by new information from time to time in our pages.

act.

NON-CHURCH GOING.

WE cannot (writes our London Correspondent) shut our eyes to this fact, that the growth of our churches here is not as rapid as that of our population. What does this fact mean, and how are we to deal with it? Never has more work been done than during this last year. No, not even when Messrs. Moody & Sankey drew such crowds after them. More of those outside the churches have been reached, and not a few have been brought in. How then are the outsiders so multiplying? Whence do they recruit their ranks? Chiefly, I believe, from the new-comers to London from all parts of our country, and of the world. Many who were connected with Christian congregations elsewhere fail to attach themselves to any such here, and so fall into the crowd of non-church-goers; while on the other hand, many members of London congregations, especially young men, leave every week for all parts of the world. Hence the class of non-church-goers is increasing yearly. Now the classes of society which furnish the largest proportion of these are the most inaccessible to ordinary evangelistic agencies-I mean the middle and upper middle. Along with the prevalent scientific and literary scepticism of the day, the difficulty of approaching those classes with the gospel message by the living voice may largely explain this state of matters. There seems to be but one way to reach most

of them-namely, by individual Christians in their own condition of life speaking to them privately; brother saying to brother and neighbour to neighbour, "Know the Lord." In every rank of society true Christians are to be found alongside of persons who are living without God in the world: and these Christians, if they take advantage of natural relations, may, without going out of their way, do much to bring to Christ the tens of thousands in London who can be reached no otherwise. What is needed is much spiritual life and moral courage, -two things which every believer in Christ should possess. Will not Christians think of their responsibility in this matter.

To show what may be done when the heart is in the work, let me mention what one gentleman who came from one of the colonies to London on business for a year or two, did in a district inhabited by a middle-class population. After he had taken a house and attached himself to a congregation, he called on the minister and said, "What can I do for the Master?" Could he do anything among the people around him, many of whom were non-church-goers? He agreed to try. Printing a brief circular, in which he stated that he would be glad to call on such a day and have religious conversation with the family or any individuals in the house, and giving his name and address, he left a copy at each door. Then on the day named he called, and sent up his card. In the greater number of cases he was received and was listened to; and the result was that some families were won to church-going habits, and some individuals to Christ. Of course house-to-house visitation such as this can be successfully carried on only by exceptionally qualified persons; but every Christian should be encouraged to be ready to speak a word in season to individuals with whom he is brought naturally into contact. There is indeed a large amount of individual effort expended in evangelizing among the poorer classes which does not lead to satisfactory results; because those to whom the gospel is preached, and also are so far brought under the power of the truth, are not speedily brought amid church life. Solitary labourers, however gifted, fail, as a rule, to do work that lasts. It is becoming more apparent every day that the work of evangelizing the masses should be taken up by congregations and churches.

For the Children.

IRON-SHOD.

BY THE REV. THEODORE L. CUYLER.

THE safety of a mountain-climber depends upon being well-shod. Therefore the Swiss guides wear heavy shoes with sharp spikes in the soles. On a bright July morning a famous man of science started with two gentlemen to ascend the Piz Morteratsch, a steep and lofty snow-mountain in Switzerland.