spreading of other's need before the mercy-seat, but it gives no instance of the rejection of such cries. Limited in position we doubtless are, but in prayer we may traverse the length and breadth of the world. We may visit every missionary station, and bring every labourer before God's notice. We may enter every sorrowing home, and supplicate the balm of consolation for every wounded spirit. We may mark the rioting of unblushing vice throughout our land, and we may crave God's checking hand to bring it to conclusion. We may mourn over the prevalence of error so rampant in these days, and we may wrestle with God that gospel light may shine from every pulpit. Such intercessions will not impoverish us. Job's prayer for his friends was to him great gain (Job xlii. 10).

Let us strive too this year to be exemplary. In all meekness and humility we should stand as sign-posts pointing unto Jesus. Many eyes are always watching us. May they discern that our religion is an intense reality. It is not true humility to place a mask upon Christian features. We should desire that our light should so shine before men, that they may see our good works, and glorify our Father which is in heaven.

Here I pause; not because New Year topics are exhausted, but because you asked a letter, and I must not give a volume. But I should not pause with satisfaction without adding a scriptural wish, that the Lord's care for His vineyard, as depicted by Isaiah, be yours-"I, the Lord, do keep it: I will water it every moment; lest any hurt it, I will keep it night and day" (Isa. xxvii. 3). May we enjoy the blessedness of Canaan's happy land-"A land which the Lord thy God careth for: the eyes of the Lord thy God are always upon it, from the beginning of the year even to the end of the year" (Deut. xi. 12). May the prophet's words be realized to us- "From this day will I bless you" (Hag. xi. 19).

A NEW YEAR'S WATCHWORD.

"COME, LORD JESUS."

"COME, Lord Jesus: "oh! I want Thee to be present with me here,
As alone I could not venture on the changes of this year;
For I know not what may happen ere I reach its closing hour:
Oh be with me, blessed Saviour, and sustain me by Thy power!

Come, Lord Jesus, every morning-May my spirit feel Thee near,
Ere I enter on Thy service; in my daily household sphere
Make me loving, gentle, patient; whatsoe'er the work may be,
May each duty tell forth plainly that Thy child has been with Thee.

Come, Lord Jesus; for those duties are too much for one to bear: Then, if Thou art close beside me, I with Thee their weight can share;

And if Sorrow e'er approaches, with her sable wing of night, Then come closer still, my Saviour, and enfold me in Thy light.

And if Joy should sometimes cheer me, with her bright and happy face,

Then be present still, Lord Jesus, with Thy never-failing grace; Keep me humble in her sunshine; may my joy with Thee be shared,

That I be not, through presumption, with her loveliness ensnared. But if yet a third should seek me, with a message from Thy throne, Even Death himself,-then, Saviour! let him not appear alone, But oh! come Thyself, Lord Jesus; for I should not dare to go With a stranger through that valley, which is very dark, I know.

Come, Lord Jesus, oh come quickly! for the year has opened

now,

And be present at this moment, as in prayer I humbly bow;
And if Thou shouldst come, blest Saviour, in the gladdest sense
of all,
May I then arise to meet Thee, as I hear Thy trumpet call.

CHARLOTTE MURRAY.

THE OLD MAN'S PRAYER.

"OH mother!" said an old man of eighty as he turned wearily upon his dying bed after long hours of unconsciousness,-"Oh mother, what a good thing it is to have a good hope through grace! And so, his face radiant with the "good hope," old Thomas B. passed away, ending his long and weary pilgrimage with a smile of unutterable peace as he entered at last the haven so long desired.

Sixty-five years before, anyone standing near the doors of our county infirmary might have seen, one wintry morning, a lad of fifteen carefully lifted from a cart, that had brought him twelve or fourteen miles of terrible jolting for a poor fellow with a compound fracture of the thigh. Brightly and thoughtlessly had Tom started off that morning to his daily work at the cloth mill. It is true he had to get up very early in the dark winter mornings to tramp through the muddy lanes to the mill. But what did he care for that? He was young, and full of life and spirits. Almost all the boys he knew did the same thing, and many of them were his daily companions. Noise enough they made! and many a mischievous trick they played; for boys then were very much like what they are now. Tom whistled and shouted, and ran and leaped as merrily as any of them that morning; little thinking how long it would be before he would walk that way again, or that that very night he should sleep far away from the home he had never left before, and the dear mother who was all the world to him, though he often worried her by his careless boyish

ways.

The great factory bell was ringing as Tom entered the yard, and speedily he ran up to the workshop with half a dozen of his young companions, and the busy day's work began.

If you have never seen the interior of one of our cloth mills, I think you would feel almost bewildered by the noise and the movement all around, and wonder, as I bave done, how the boys and girls who seem so giddy and thoughtless out of doors can learn the care, quickness, and precision necessary to the good performance of their work. Some of their tasks are easy enough; but others require intelligence, skill, and experience; and to all, at first, the whirling wheels, and the clang and clash of machinery is almost terrific and utterly incomprehensible. Sixty years ago perhaps the workshops were less crowded, and the machines few and simple compared with those of today.

Tom certainly thought he knew all about it, and would have laughed if anyone had warned him to take care. How it was no one ever knew, that, close to the very spot where he had worked safely for many a month, before he had been at his place two hours on that morning his leg became entangled in a strap that passed over a drum near the ceiling of the workshop. A shriek of terror, a wild pang of fear and

pain, and an instantaneous flash of certainty that if it drew him to the top, there was no room for his body to pass between the drum and the roof! Yes, and even in that instant a sudden revelation to the heart of that unthinking boy that he had sinned, that he was all unprepared for death, and the cry from his inmost soul, "O God, spare my life." And at the same moment the strap slipped from the drum in a most unexpected way, and just as all in the room shudderingly expected to see his young life hopelessly crushed out, he was violently thrown to the ground; saved from death, but fainting and terror-struck, with a badly fractured thigh. Poor Tom! they were all fond of him; for the lad had a merry heart, and a kind and pleasant temper. Very tenderly did rough hands raise him, and lay him on a couch of sacks of wool until the master could be consulted. He must be sent to the hospital at G, there was no doubt; for the home was very poor, and his mother herself an invalid. Some tears rolled down the boy's face, as he heard them talk of all this and settle it without consulting him. The master sent him a cup of tea from his breakfast table; a kindness he always remembered, telling his children in after years of the real silver spoon in the saucer!

He was in terrible pain now, and longing for his mother. Nothing could have added to his misery so much as to know he was to be sent away to an hospital, a place about which he had a vague horror, as having something to do with all sorts of dreadful accidents. But he was in no condition to oppose or question anything. His mother came and wept over him; he was lifted into a cart, and then came the long ride. It was all like a dream to him, for the overpowering pain made him very faint. The doctors came, with grave, kind faces, set the broken bone, and bandaged his leg to a splint; he was laid in a bed in a long room where many others were lying, and very soon, worn out with pain and fatigue, he fell asleep. When he woke the short day was over, and many of the sufferers slept peacefully in the dimly-lighted room. Tom woke with a start, wondering where he was and what had happened, and then all the events of that strange day came back to his remembrance.

In the next bed an old man lay; and as the lad moaned, a kindly question told Tom there was one near who felt for him; and it soothed his heart. The old man was restless and feeble, and the night seemed very long to them both. But by and bye the stillness was broken, and the boy's attention attracted by the old man's voice-at first in low and broken sentences, and then in a continuous outpouring. Tom listened and wondered. To whom was he talking? and what was it about? It seemed as if some one he loved was very near, and it was certain that as he went on he gathered comfort, help, and courage. Very soon Tom knew that this was prayer to God, the like of which he had never heard before. He had gone to church many a time, and had learned the Lord's prayer at school; but this was something quite new and strange to him. His father and mother never prayed at home. He thought it was something for Sundays, and for church; but this old man was speaking pleadingly and confidingly as to a dear and mighty Friend who cared for him! It thrilled the boy's heart, weary and suffering as he was; for the conviction sprang up "this is what I want," as he listened to happy thanksgivings for

pardon and peace, and heard the old man softly whisper, "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me," adding, "Yes, dear Lord, I know thou wilt be with me."

Tom shuddered as he thought how near he had been to that dark unknown valley of death, and felt that he knew nothing of this happy confidence. By and bye the voice ceased, and the old man slept. The morning broke at last; and poor Tom felt sick at heart as he looked at the opposite row of beds, and felt how stiff and full of pain he was, and thought how long he should have to lie there. The doctors were very kind, and so was the nurse; but a weary time lay before him, and much pain and discomfort had to be endured. Often his pillow was wet with tears, though he tried hard to conceal them; and his mother would hardly have known her light-hearted mischievous boy had she seen him lying there. The old man from the first took a kindly interest in him, and they became fast friends. His prayers in the night were soon quite familiar sounds to Tom: but he never listened to them with indifference. They were so real, so simple and heart-felt, that they took a strong hold of the lad, especially when he heard his own name brought in.

All through his long life he never forgot the solemnized feeling that came to him in those long nights of pain, when he heard the feeble voice of his old friend pleading with God that he might be saved, and led through his pain and trouble to the Divine Friend who loved him and died for him. When he was able to sit up, and to get about the room with crutches, the old man rejoiced with him; and when at last he was pronounced cured, and had permission to go home, the parting was quite a trial to both. "My boy," said the old man, "I shall never go out till they carry me to my grave. My time is almost come to go home, but it'll be to my heavenly home. Now, mind you seek the Lord; don't forget 'twas He as saved your life, and you're bound to give it to Him."

Thomas B. went home. Henceforth he was a more thoughtful lad, more quiet and steady in his ways, and increasingly a comfort to his mother. The good seed had been sown in good ground, and silently it grew. First the blade, then the ear, and by and bye the full corn in the ear were seen. The services of God's house became deeply interesting to him, and he was always in his place, not only at the hours of public worship on the Lord's day, but at smaller social meetings. His pastor thought him very hopeful, and Christian friends watched him with interest and prayer. Gradually the hope grew up in his heart that he was a child of God: and when on one Sunday his aged pastor, preaching from the text, "Children, have ye any meat?" glowed into fervent enthusiasm as he spoke of the Lord Jesus as being alone able and willing to supply the deep hunger of the soul, Thomas felt that his whole heart responded to the testimony, and came away filled with a peace he could no longer keep to himself. And it was well that his lips were unsealed by irrepressible happiness. in time for the first work God gave him to do.

His mother had been for years suffering increasingly with what proved to be a white swelling in her knee, and she too had to be sent for some weeks to the county infirmary. When she returned it was with

the terrible certainty that she must lose her leg. Her heart was overwhelmed, and in her anguish of mind she could only turn to her boy, always good and kind to her. Day after day she counted the weary hours until he came home from his work; and night after night he knelt by her bedside and prayed for her, opening up for her the treasures of God's word, and fortifying her heart for the dreaded day. Her leg was removed, and she lived for nearly twelve months after the operation. The efforts of her Christian son were crowned with blessing. Other friends came to see her with kindly sympathy and help; but it was to him she owed under God those new thoughts of self and sin, of Jesus and of holiness, that led her first to deep sorrow of heart, and then to humble and peaceful trust. She died in faith, having a good hope that her sins were forgiven for His name's sake in whom she had learned to rejoice.

Thomas married, and for a time life was bright and pleasant. He helped in the sacred music on Sunday, and came home with beaming face to tell his aged father-in-law, who lived with them, all about the sermons and the hymns; storing his retentive memory during those years with food for the long winter of age that was to come. But as the years went on, troubles came thick and fast. Sorely were his faith and patience tried; yet, when he told the story of his trial-times, it was always to magnify the wonderful goodness of God in bringing him and those he loved through, and delivering them from them. At one time work was so short, and times were so bad, that he could often only buy half a loaf in the morning, run in and put it on the table for the children and be off again to look for work, without tasting a morsel himself. Once the whole family was laid low with small-pox of the most malignant kind. All their neighbours were afraid to go near them, and Thomas dared not, and could not if he would, go to work; but how he delighted to tell-"There was a hole in the window, miss, and every morning something was put in through that hole! I used to go and look for it regular after a bit, to see what it was. Sometimes it would be threepence, sometimes sixpence, and once it was five shillings, but always something as long as ever our need lasted."

I think Thomas felt a kind of awe when he told this story, as if he more than half believed that the money came straight from heaven. His poverty was great, and his family not only very numerous but singularly afflicted; but his cheery trust was unfailing, and he kept up his wife's spirits by his own. When she was filled with cares and fears, he used to say

"Are not the sparrows daily fed by Thee?

And wilt Thou clothe the lilies and not me?
Begone, distrust! I shall have clothes and bread,
While lilies bloom, and little birds are fed."

Looked at from the outside, the last years of his life were sorrowful indeed. An afflicted son kept his bed for many years, a helpless idiot; two other members of his family were frequently ill for months at a time; yet when I have gone into the house where three were ill in bed, and the poor old father only recovering from one fit to fall into another, the Christian wife and mother has said to me with tearful smiles, "Oh, I'm sure no one has such cause to be thankful to God as we have ;" and this always seemed to be the echo of the old man's happy spirit.

And so at last the summons came. I have told you how he met it. This is no fancy sketch, but the simple record of a real life-a life clouded by poverty, suffering and privation to its close; and yet brightened, dignified, aye glorified by Christian faith and hope. As a shock of corn fully ripe was this tried old saint gathered to his fathers. The precious corn had been ripened by a scorching sun, through many a weary day; but angel reapers shall carry it with rejoicing to the presence of the King.

And what shall be the joyful wonder, in that day, of him who, long years before, had, in his own night of weeping, sown in feebleness and pain the precious seed, that sprang up and yielded fruit when he was almost forgotten. He did not even know he was sowing seed. He was far too old and too ignorant, he would have said, to work for the Master he loved, as he lay upon his dying bed in that hospital ward. He only showed unconsciously that there was One who was his all sufficient, ever-present Friend, real to him as tender mother to a sick child; and the trembling light he held up by the suffering boy at his side fell upon that gracious One—

His

A lady was visiting in the family of a friend. While she was there, an accident occurred to the only son of the household,-the idol of his widowed mother and of his sisters; and from health, he was in a few hours brought face to face with death. mother and sisters, in their overpowering grief, were utterly unable to speak to him about his approaching end, and as they lived in a secluded spot, some time must elapse before a minister could reach him. The youth turned to the guest: "Sallie, you see how terribly distressed they all are: won't you tell me how to prepare for death?"-Alas! the visitor thus ap

pealed to knew she had not come to Christ herself. She tried to speak; but personal experience and intelligent comprehension of the great subject were wanting, and she was conscious that all she said was mechanical and impotent. But her heart ached as she saw the eagerness with which the young man listened to her hollow words. She felt the terrible responsibility. He had only her exposition to direct him wherewithal to appear before the judgment-seat of God; and she did not know it practically herself! She learned in that solemn hour that she needed a sure foundation, immovable as heaven itself, for her soul; and she was led by grace to that Saviour, who has trodden the dark valley before us, and who has promised to conduct through the gloom all who trust themselves to Him, and to bring them into the everlasting light.

"SINNERS LIKE ME AND YOU."

A poor criminal, under sentence of death, was lying in the prison of a Scotch county town, waiting the day of execution. The minister who visited him was most assiduous in his attentions, and was really anxious to do him good. But all his efforts were unavailing; he could not bring him into a feeling frame, and he was exceedingly sad about it. In this mood, coming from the prison, he was met by a good man, an elder in one of the congregations, who was known over all the district for his personal worth. Naturally the conversation turned upon the criminal, when the minister told of his hardened state of mind, and regretting that he could do nothing with him, requested the elder to go in and see him.

He did so; and sitting down before the murderer, and taking his hand in his own, the good man said, with much fervour and simplicity of heart, "Wasn't it great love in God to send His Son into the world to die for sinners like me and you?"

In a moment the fountains of the man's heart were broken up, and he wept bitter tears. It was the first manifestation of feeling he had made, and in the end he was led into a hopeful state of mind. In describing how it came about, he said, "When the minister spoke to me, he seemed like one who was standing far above me: but when Alexander, that good man that everybody kens is the holiest man in the place, came in, he stood like at my side; and when he classed himself with me, and said, 'sinners like me and you,' I couldn't stand it any longer."

Thus he that winneth souls is wise;" and this wisdom is ofttimes nearer when we stoop, than when

we soar.

CONFESS AT ONCE.

WHEN the child of God sins, the proper thing for him to do is at once to go and tell his Heavenly Father. As soon as ever we are conscious of sin, the right thing is not to begin to reason with the sin, or to wait until we have brought ourselves into a proper state of heart about it, but to go at once and confess the transgression unto the Lord, there and then. Sin will not come to any very great head in any man's heart who does this continually. God will never have great chastisements in store for those who are quick confessors of sin.

You know how it is with your child. There has been something broken, perhaps, by carelessness; there

has been some violation of a rule of the house: but if he comes and catches you by the sleeve, and says, "Father," or "Mother, I am very sorry that I have been doing wrong"-why, you know, while you are sorry that he should transgress, you are glad to think that his heart is so right that, without being questioned, he comes of his own accord, and tells you so frankly that he was wrong. Whatever grief you may feel about his fault, you feel a greater joy in the frankness of his confession and the tenderness of his conscience; and you have forgiven him, I am sure, before he has got half-way through his open-hearted acknowledgment. You feel that you cannot Le angry with so frank and penitent a child. Though sometimes you may have to put on a sour look, and shake your head, and reprimand, and scold a little, yet if the little eyes fill with tears, and the confession becomes still more open, and the sorrow still more evident, it is not hard to move you to give the child a kiss and send him away with, "Go and Father is a much more tender Father than any of us. sin no more: I have forgiven thee." Our Heavenly -Spurgeon.

WHAT SHALL I DO?

"Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in Hima: and He shall bring it to pass" (Ps. xxxvii. 5).

"WHAT shall I do?" asks the anxious soul, Looking on to future days;

"The skies that are now so blue and fair

Will be darkened soon, and then grief and care
Will come to my shadowed ways."

"What will God do?" asks the trustful heart:
"When the summer days are gone,
When the autumn comes with its falling leaves,
He will surely give me some precious sheaves
As I glean in the harvest sun."

"What shall I do?" asks the troubled soni:
"I think I am His-but how
Can one so helpless hold fast, nor faint?
The snares, and the dangers, who can paint?

And beyond they are worse than now."
"What will God do?" asks the trustful heart.
"Be faithful to death," He said;
"He will give me strength, He will hold me fast,
He will guide my steps, and I know at last
His own shall be comforted."

"What shall I do?" sighs the anxious soul,

"When I reach that dark, dark spot Where the wild waves toss as I lock before, And behind, with a thundering, awful roar, Comes the foe who pities not?"

"What will God do?" asks the trustful heart:
"When I reach that fearful place,
He will part the waves, they shall backward turn,
He will conquer the foe, and all shall learn

The might of His power and grace."
Oh! troubled soul, cast thy burden down,
And rest in His promised grace;

For the child who is carried in strong kind arms,
Feels no weight of care, knows no wild alarms,
As he looks in his Father's face.

J. E. B.

THE BRITISH MESSENGER.

MORE than thirty years ago, PETER DRUMMOND of Stirling, burning with zeal for the salvation of men, began a series of assaults on the sins and the ungodliness of his neighbourhood by means of simple but telling tracts. These gradually multiplied in his hands, and were adopted and spread abroad by others, until his efforts grew into an "Enterprise" of which the sphere was literally the world. The British Messenger, the chief spiritual message-bearer of this "Enterprise," has since its commencement visited unnumbered homes and hearts-the only limits of its known diffusion being those of the English language--and not even these; for portions of its contents have been republished in various European tongues; it is read aloud in Arabic on the slopes of Lebanon; it is even listened to-and this last fact we mention with peculiar feelings-by men whom some have called the most degraded of the human race-the aboriginal blacks of Australia. A paragraph from a Victorian newspaper, just received,

gives us this information:

Six or seven of the

"Our readers," says the Southern Cross of Melbourne, "will be glad to have the following cheering extracts from a letter regarding the aborigines on the Framlingham Station:-Thanks for the British Messengers; the poor people here are thirsting for knowledge; they sit listening so attentively while the Messengers are read to them. married people attend Sunday-school. Some of them can read very well, and are so pleased to get a tract or good paper. Mrs. was remarking what a change had come over them. The Spirit of God has been at work. Some of them have been brought to a knowledge of the truth as it is in Jesus. They have their morning, noon, and evening prayers, and they are the prayers of the penitent. To hear their earnest pleadings for their brothers and sisters, and to see their unwearying efforts to reclaim them, would, one might think, melt the hardest heart.'”

No testimony we have ever received to the useful ness of our pages has gladdened us more than this. We thank the gracious Lord for it. It encourages us to sow the good seed broadcast over every soil, in the assurance that God will not allow His own word to return unto Him void, though we know not which shall prosper, either this or that. Moreover, it furnishes a practical evidence of the fact that the most savage and lowest men differ essentially from the highest and most intelligent beasts in this allimportant respect that God has made them for fellowship with Himself; of the fact also that as He has made of one blood all nations of men on the face of the earth, so has He provided one Saviour for all, who will in due time fulfil His promise, to "draw all men unto Him."

The British Messenger at first appeared in newspaper form, and has undergone various modifications of appearance to suit the convenience of readers.

This year it comes forth with new attractions. We pray that in the new circles, into which these will help to carry it, the Spirit of God may bless its monthly message to very many.

What is our message? In the substance of it, the same as before--the Gospel of the grace of God, the "old, old story," that is never old, because it is ever newly needed in a world which SIN has separated from its Maker, and where sorrow of every kind follows hard in the track of sin. We do not expect our Messenger to enter any home where sin and this, that the message is the Lord's, and that it sorrow have not been before it; but our rejoicing is receives ever fresh authority and power from Him who sends it, and "who is the same yesterday, and to-day, and for ever."

To sinners, caught in the snares of their sins, it announces the great Gift of God- the gift of His eternal Son-to be the Saviour of this ruined world. It assures them that this gift includes in it all that they need; that God himself presents this gift to each individual man; and it entreats each man to receive it from God's outstretched hand, that it may be his own.

It declares the designed-the necessary-outcome denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, we may live of this saving grace; to teach and train us "that soberly, righteously, and godly in this present world.” This outcome of religion must be urged and illustrated in our pages not less strenuously, and even more specifically than before; for the appalling prevalence of personal and social intemperance, of moral impurity, and of commercial gambling and dishonesty, evinces, shows that the necessity was never greater. with the disregard of the authority of God which it

We desire our pages to be over-arched by the rainbow of eternal Hope. For comfort is needed in this world of sorrow and sin. It is, therefore, not the Past alone we have to speak of, though that is the foundation of all-even the finished work of

Christ; and not only the Present-though that comprises faith with all its works, and love with all its labours; but the Future. For "we are saved in hope."-Against the finally impenitent there is revealed from heaven the wrath of the living God; but for the Church, the blessed hope of the glorious appearing of the great God, and our Saviour Jesus Christ. There is hope, too, for this sin-burdened

earth, that it shall yet be filled with the glory of the Lord, as the waters cover the channels of the sea; and there is for every Christian the hope, amid whatever changes of experience and feeling, that he shall be more than conqueror over all evil, and, presented faultless before the presence of God's glory, shall be for ever with the Lord.

Yet while our message is thus essentially one and unchangeable, we feel the importance of giving the interest of variety to our pages, to suit many classes in a busy age, in which men are otherwise occupied; in a self-reliant age in which, beyond any former one, men's knowledge has been marvellously increased. Aiming to keep abreast of advancing knowledge, and to sympathize with all human classes, we seek to present eternal truth in different ways that shall commend it to all: on the one hand, to the cultivated and studious; on the other, to the busy and practical; and yet to the most simple, not excluding those poor Australians of whom we have just heard.