Its banks are garnished with "the tree of life." It rolls

BY THE REV. A. AVERELL RAMSEY.

HE Gap of Dunloe is a magnificent mountain pass in the south-west of Ireland.

It lies between the famous Magillicuddy Reeks and the Purple Mountain, which is a shoulder of the Tomies.

The scenery is majestic-awe-inspiring. The echoes are simply enchanting. About halfway through the gap, the path winds along the margin of the Black Lough, in which, according to popular legend, St. Patrick submerged the last of the Irish snakes. Unfortunately, in thus ridding his country of a noxious plague of reptiles, the patron saint is supposed to have poisoned this murky lake. In corroboration of the legend, credulous persons are assured that, although fish may be found in all neighbouring streams and lakes, yet, since the snakes were hurled into the depths of the Black Lough, no fish have ever been seen in its waters unto this day.

On emerging from the Gap of Dunloe towards the south, and before the tourist descends to the beautiful lakes of Killarney, his attention is directed, on the right hand, to a deep, broad, desolate glen, hemmed in by huge mountains. This is called, in the Irish language, COOM-A-DHUV; i.e. the black valley.

The name is peculiarly appropriate. A more gloomy, lonely, forbidding aspect, nature seldom presents. Rugged masses of dingy rock, raising their prodigious heads toward the clouds, inclose in their embrace a vast amphitheatre, into whose deep bosom no ray of sunshine falls during months of every year. Even on the brightest summer's day, sombre shadows perpetually slumber there; and silence, unbroken as the quiet of the sepulchre, reigns supreme. Reader, if you should ever gaze upon the sullen majesty of Coom-a-Dhuv, you will not wonder at the oft repeated remark of an awe-stricken spectator, who solemnly declared that, if, in the bottom of the glen, instead of water, there were smoke and flame, the Black Valley would be an earthly image of the infernal regions.

To me it suggested other thoughts. From the dense obscurity of the valley there issues a bright river, which rolls its crystal waters through fertile fields. You may lave your hands and face for refreshment, or have a delightful cooling drink, by the way. Follow its meandering course and it will lead you into shady pleasure grounds, and to the shore of a smiling beautiful expanse, known as one of the Killarney lakes. There islands sparkle like gems, oars cast their feathered spray, and Heaven is mirrored. Yes; the river that flows through "the Black Valley" shews the way to "the Upper Lake," and empties itself therein. In my memory the two shall ever be intimately associated the freshness and gladness of the river, relieving the repulsiveness and gloom of Coom-a-Dhuv. Thank God, there is a bright river flowing through the darkest glen of human life. Morally the world is a murky vale "The valley of the shadow of death!" The prophet's picture is having fulfilment still, "Behold the darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the people" (Isaiah lx. 2).

But, from the throne of God and of the Lamb there issues "a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal."

extended down to "the lower parts of the earth," and continued upwards again, to its Divine Source in the Heavenly temple.

You and I sojourn in "The Black Valley." But we are blest with this crystal river.

Our sins envelop us in thick darkness, involving eternal death; but the salvation of the Gospel reveals "life and immortality" available for us, and for every

creature.

Jonah at "the bottoms of the mountains," was in a dismal plight. "SALVATION" reached him there! "Out of the belly of hell cried I," said the prophet; "yet hast thou brought up my life from the pit, O Lord my God" (Jonah ii. 2-6. marg.).

Others have been in "an horrible pit," and from thence have had their feet set upon a rock, and a new song put into their mouth.

My fellow sinner, the Black Valley is not a hopeless place. Into its depths our Lord Jesus Christ descended to bring deliverance. "The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light: they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined."

Soul, does the dense gloom of guilt enshroud thee, giving fearful premonition of "blackness of darkness for ever ?"

"Arise, shine; for thy light is come!" Jesus says, "I am the light of the world; he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life" (John viii. 12). "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved." Trust Him for pardon, for purity, for life and salvation. Follow Him and say, "THOU WILT SHEW ME THE PATH OF LIFE," from "the valley of the shadow of death." Walk in His steps, and thou shalt walk in the light; and leaving the Black Valley thou shalt

"Roam the sweet plains on the banks of the river,
And sing of salvation for ever and ever!"

CONFESS CHRIST.

BY THE REV. W. GEBBIE, DUNLOP.

HY not? He is worthy of it. He is entitled to it. Who is, if He is not? In Him is every excellence. Through Him is every blessing. From Him is every good and perfect gift.

Paul was not ashamed to confess Him. In every city and in every place he visited,

he preached Christ and the Resurrection. In writing to the Corinthians he said, "I determined not to know anything among you save Jesus Christ, and Him crucified." And to the Romans he said, "I am not ashamed of the Gospel of Christ, for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth." And again, "If thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and believe in thine heart that God hath raised Him from the dead, thou shalt be saved." Then, why not confess Him and be saved?

Jesus Himself said, "Whosoever shall confess Me before men, him will I confess before My Father which

is in Heaven; but whosoever shall deny Me before men, him will I deny before My Father which is in Heaven."

What we need in these days, is a great crowd of witnesses with the love of Christ in their hearts, to go forth and tell to all around how worthy Jesus is of their confidence and their love. If the truth and love of Christ be in a man's heart, why should he hide it? Why should he be ashamed or afraid to tell it out?

I remember once, in a seaport town, speaking to the captain of a ship about the salvation of his soul, and the duty of frankly and boldly confessing Christ amongst his men on board ship. He pled, as an excuse, that he might be a very good Christian without saying anything about it; and that he did not see why he should let any one know whether he was a Christian or not. I told him, that whatever was in the heart usually wanted to get out. M'Cheyne said that grace in the heart was like ointment on the head; it bewrayeth itself-it cannot be hid. And I thought if he really felt the power and the love of the truth in his heart, he would not have so many difficulties in making it known.

At that moment, a cabin clock which he carried in his arm, wrapped up in paper, struck the hour of six or seven. I said, "There it is!-that's just what I have been telling you. What is in the heart must come out." He smiled and hung his head, as if struck by his cabin clock, which had been undergoing repairs, and which took a part so opportunely in the conversation which we held. I did not see him again; but I am sure that wherever he sailed, that clock would often remind him of the duty of confessing Christ before his

If you know the Saviour, then let His love constrain you to be useful to others in warning them of the shortness of time, and the importance of being prepared for the great eternity. Remember that there are thousands in the land who, so far as spiritual enlightenment is concerned, do not know their right hand from their left; and that every time the pendulum swings, one or other of these unsaved souls is passing into eternity. You can pray for all,-you may speak Get oiled and wound up, for your work, and your responsibility. And let it ever be said of you, "There's a Christian that is not ashamed to tell what Christ has done for his soul."

to some.

If you do not know the Saviour, then lose no more time. "Behold, NOW is the day of salvation."

TRY.-Robert Raikes, walking through the streets of Gloucester, saw the destitution of the children, and the desecration of the Sabbath by the inhabitants of the city. He asked, Can nothing be done? A voice answered, "Try." He did try; and see what God wrought. From that trial sprang the gigantic Sunday School institution.

"Lonely?" No; Not Lonely.

"Lonely?" No; not lonely,
While Jesus standeth by ;
His Presence fills my chamber,
I feel that He is nigh.

"Friendless?" No; not friendless,
For Jesus is my Friend;

I change, but He remaineth
True, loving, to the end.
"Tired?" No; not tired,
While leaning on His breast;
My soul hath sweet possession
Of His eternal rest.

"Saddened?" Ah! yes, saddened
By earth's deep sin and woe:
How can I count as nothing
What grieved my Saviour so!
"Helpless?" Yes, so helpless;
But I am leaning hard
On the mighty arm of Jesus,
And He is keeping guard.

"Waiting?" Oh, yes! waiting,
He bade me watch and wait;
I only wonder often
What makes my Lord so late.
"Happy?" Yes; so happy,
With joy too deep for words;
A precious, sure possession,
A joy that is my Lord's.

EVA L. POOLE. -In the Christian Era.

A BED FOR CHRIST.

NOBLEMAN of high caste in India, and of great influence, was recently brought to Christ. Among those who heard his word and followed his example, there was one who, after much thought, decided on providing and dedicating a bed to Christ. When the grace of God entered his heart, he said to himself, "I would do good!" The impulse of the new life was irresistible; and forthwith he set to work.

He said to himself, "The Lord Jesus, a stranger in this land, may be wearily passing my door; I will invite Him to rest in this bed for the night. He may be hungry; and along with repose, I will offer food. If He be scantily drest, I will bestow clothing also. Should He be sick, I will nurse Him here. My blessed Master, footsore and lonely, looking after His lost lambs, shall never meet a cold reception at my gate."

A "bed for Christ!" Yes: if the Saviour does not rest there, some of His loved ones may. A missionary on his travels of beneficence may be benighted; I will give him rest. A child of God may be wandering and hungry; I will bring him in and attend to him as it he were my Lord and Father. A believer may be suffering the scorn of the world, or the fury of persecution; I will give him shelter and comfort. None but a disciple of the Lord Jesus shall occupy this bed. Here he will be refreshed.

When money is given, it ought to be given into the hand of Christ; and as He is not visibly present, the loving heart will bestow it on that which is dearest to

Him. The lips should be given to Him-to speak for Him; to tell abroad all His greatness in Heaven, and make His praise glorious. Our days should be offered Him in humble service, and in waiting on His majesty. Our talents, whether one or ten, we dedicate to Him, for He gave them; and oh! how they glitter with more than a golden lustre, when we strain them to the uttermost in loyal service to Him whom we delight to honour.

But of all the ways possible to us Christians, of pleasing the Prince of Life, the chief is to give to Him our hearts. It is love that makes the penny, the homely meal, the clean bed, the silent room, or the tear of tenderness, a sacrifice of priceless value. The bed was all that the poor man could give; it was his best; he gave it with all his heart; and therefore the gift looked glorious in the eyes of our Holy One. One's self, one's soul, one's whole being, to the Lord of the universe without reserve-this, yes this is grace, adoration, happiness, wisdom, glory.

No one is so poor that he cannot keep a bed for Christ, when He is passing by his quiet home. For it is not a palace, or a gilded saloon, or furniture in silk and gold, or mines of wealth, or chariots like Amminadab's, that the Lord Jesus needs or desires. A little food, a plain dress, and a quiet bed, and love, will do. It is the welcome of the heart that pleases and glorifies Him. In the humblest home where light, love, and grace are reigning, the King of Glory dwells; and says, "This is my rest." It is not grandeur, but grace that attracts the Lamb of Calvary to our bed or under our roof.

What an honour to entertain, even for a night, the Lord of Redemption, in a bed intentionally kept for Him alone! He who inhabits eternity is to rest awhile there! To hear Him speak, to see His face, to sit beside Him, to burn in the beam of His love, to watch till morn for Him, and to offer the incense of adoration and intercession for loved ones, for the saints, for the perishing, "till the day break and the shadows flee away"-earth has no honour, glory, felicity, like

this.

On the mountain-sides, in the midst of the lonely moor, in the upper room of busy streets, Jesus may be received, and feasted, and refreshed. Wherever the Blood is sprinkled, and the slain Lamb partaken of, Jehovah, our propitiation, covers over the door. There is redeeming mercy in His look, majestic grace in His step; all power lodges in Him; and in His hand is the cup of salvation. "Wearied" with men's sins, He needs rest and refreshment in and from you. In child-like faith, invite Him in. In the forthflow of all His Godhead towards you, there will be tenderness. Yes; and it is a fountain that ten thousand worldfuls of the wretched could not exhaust.

Prepare your room, and make up the bed, to please the Lord. The homage and obedience of your childheart, which He has renewed, are Divinely good in His sight. It is not the value of the gift in money, but the kingly kindliness which dictates it, that makes Him appreciate it. The bed, kept wholly for His use, is more in His sight than mountains of silver, or hills of gold. He loves it so dearly, He esteems it so highly, that He will mention it at the last day, and set it as a gem amid the glories of the judgment of the world.

Oh! to be there when He shall say, "Inasmuch as you gave that bed to the least of these that believed on Me, you gave it to Me." This will be honour,

Heaven, infinite love, and eternal life, at once, and all in one. For, saved by grace, we shall be judged by works. Who, then, shall stand in the judgment? stand before the Lamb at His coming? The man that, in love to Christ, makes a bed for Him: assuredly to him it shall be said "Well done!" He did not do much; but he did what he could, and he did it from his heart. And he was faithful over a few things. He had a little money-enough to furnish a bed. He did not spend it on drink, or feasts, or at races, or hide it in a bank, or lay it out on his lusts, or buy with it a chariot. He made a bed for Christ; that whensoever He passed by that way, and was weary, or hungry, or sick, or a stranger, he might lodge Him for the night. What a change! And it is all of grace. For the little cottage on the moor, in which Jesus slept—a palace in Heaven. For the bed that was on eartheverlasting rest. For a night's lodging-a crown of life, righteousness, glory. For attentions when sick, rendered in faith to the Redeemer in His poor members on earth-an exceeding and even eternal weight of glory.

"WHAT DOEST THOU HERE?"

A Question for Mourning Parents.

HEIR only little daughter died on Saturday, singing, soft and low,

"Safe in the arms of Jesus."

On the following Monday, the sad, stricken parents carried her to the cemeigiaib tery, and then returned to their desobed vam late house.

That same night the mother opened, one by one, the well-filled bureau drawers containing Mary's clothing. Pressing a half-worn night-dress to her heart, she said, "Husband, Mary will never need this clothing more, for we truly believe she is now robed in the Saviour's righteousness; but there may be a child somewhere, whom God has spared, that does need it. Shall we go out to-morrow and look for-"

"O wife!" cried the husband, interrupting her, "I know where there is such a one. This morning our good neighbour, in trying to comfort me because our Mary was safely housed, said that an orphan girl, just about her age and size, was taken right past our house this very morning to the Home."

The weeping mother then carefully, tenderly placed the night-dress in the drawer, saying, "We will go and see the child."

On the morrow, when the orphan girl was brought before them by a kindly matron, they said with one accord, "We will take her as our own." And from that hour the orphaned, homeless child had a father, a mother, and a home.

A few days ago I called to see that adopted child. She was sitting in the bay window playing tea with Mary's dishes. She held in her arms Mary's one-armed and one eyed dollie, which every now and then she would fondly kiss.

Very wonderful did it seem to me; I could not understand it. So I said, "You have done and are doing what few mothers are able to do. The majority of parents consider their departed children's clothing and playthings almost too sacred to be touched; while

you have not only clothed this child in Mary's clothing, but allow her to play with her toys, broken as well as whole, and that, too, within a few week's after her burial."

In an instant I regretted the words I had spoken; for a great wave of grief swept over that mother's pale face, as she quickly covered her eyes with one hand, and pressed the other on her heart to still its tumultuous throbbings.

A few moments after, she uncovered her eyes, saying, with a broken, trembling voice:

"Many years ago we buried our oldest, and then only little daughter. I closed the blinds, drew down the shades, dressed myself in deepest mourning, folded my hands, and then sat down in the darkened room, nursing my grief. But one day I thought I heard a voice saying, 'What doest thou here, Elijah?' I fell upon my knees, crying out in truth, 'Nothing, nothing!' And then I heard, or thought I heard, a voice saying, 'Arise, go forth; whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave whither thou goest.' The scales fell from my eyes; I arose, raised the shades, opened the blinds. And while doing so, a golden flood of sunlight not only filled the room, but seemed to enter into the deepest recesses of my heart. I obeyed. I went out. I found a joy I had never experienced before in working for, and in comforting, the sorrowing and bereaved. Now, God has again entered into our home and taken our only little daughter, as He did before. Would it be right for me to absent myself from the world, and to close my heart against the appeals of those who need assistance? Nay, nay, I must be up and doing. I have already found comfort in caring for this little one, whose own mother died with a prayer on her lips that God would open some heart to receive her."

And as she drew the little adopted daughter to her heart, and wound her motherly arms around her, said to myself, “What wonderful things are we enabled to do, when the love of God is freely shed abroad in our hearts!"

Mourning parents, sitting in darkened rooms, arise! Draw aside the mourning veil, and you will find many whom you can comfort and bless. Like the leaves of the forest, they are scattered everywhere.-Advocate

and Guardian.

THREE DEATH-BED SCENES.

I. ASSURED.

EVER," said a clergyman one evening, "did I witness such an example of the triumph of faith, as in the most wretched hovel I ever entered. It was partly built of sods, partly hollowed out of the side of a ditch, and was roofed over by a few sticks. Door, or chimney, there was none; only an aperture, across which a wooden board was placed. Through this opening I crawled on my knees, and thus obtained entrance for my head and shoulders, while the rest of my body remained outside. There was not a single article of furniture within that wretched lair; only a bundle of straw, on which lay a woman who was passing rapidly

from earth. There was no food to tempt the failing appetite, no medicine to alleviate the pains of sickness. A coarse earthenware vessel, containing the meagre nourishment that neighbours, steeped in poverty themselves, could supply, stood beside the poor Irishwoman. But why do I call her poor? She was rich beyond what golden dreams can imagine, or waking words can tell; for her rejoicing soul triumphed over all the misery surrounding her, and fixed an eye of faith on a mansion in the skies, which the Saviour won for her. For she knew the Saviour; she had trusted, and loved, and followed Him; and now in the valley of the shadow of death He was with her, and she feared no evil. If the title-deeds of her Heavenly inheritance had been actually within her hands, she could not have been more joyfully assured. If to us to live be Christ, to die is gain: and what then will signify earthly gain or loss?"

II. ANXIOUS.

A minister received a message one day from an old Although he had manifested a very unpleasant if not man begging that he would come to see him. hostile demeanour towards the minister during sick visits paid to his deceased daughter, the latter hastened to the old man's dying bed. How different his reception now! The aged worn face was turned anxiously towards him, and the dimming eyes looked at his visitor with an earnest supplicating gaze. "Will you tell me sir," he asked, "what made my daughter Anne (that you used to come and see long ago) so happy when she was dying? for I've a great dread of death."

"Your daughter trusted in Jesus," replied the minister; "and it is He alone who can take away the sting of death, which is sin. His blood cleanses us from all sin, and whosoever cometh to Jesus will in nowise be plan of salvation, on this and other occasions, he had cast out." Then opening to him more fully the Gospel the faithful minister's reward, of seeing reason to judge that his labour was not in vain; at least, as the old man neared the dark river, his fears gave place to peaceful trust.

Death-bed repentance must indeed be thought of with reserve, and spoken of with extreme caution: for, alas! what have seemed to be such, have often turned out deceptive. We will only say, therefore, that in this case the minister saw tokens that gladdened him, and that enabled him to hope that while the change in the old man, from fear to inward peace, proceeded from a real faith and a change of heart wrought by the Spirit of God.

It is good for earnest Christians who visit the dying, to meet with even hopeful instances at times: for who could continue such visits with any heart, were they never useful? Yet what wise person will so act the gambler, as to stake his all for eternity on the chance of a really saving death-bed change? It is a terrible tempting

of God.

III. DESPAIRING.

Threading his way through one of the busiest thoroughfares in London, a young man passed from the noise and bustle of life to the stillness and seclusion of a death chamber. There one as youthful as himself lay on a couch, in full possession of his faculties, knowing that life was fast ebbing away, but alas! without hope for eternity.