ment of that daughter's dying request, and now, as his best atonement to society for the opinions which he formerly entertained, has sought a spot where infidelity prevails, there to check its dark and turbid stream by opening freely to the poorest amongst us the counter current of divine truth, and hope, and love. Such is his history-his name is immaterial!"— Abridged from the Life Book of a Labourer.

"IS YOUR FAITH AS STRONG AS THAT, MOTHER?"

In a small cottage on the southern shores of the Baltic, lived a pious widow named Bertha Schmidt; and a pretty picture in summer was that little dwelling, peering out from the embowering vines and flowers. While looking upon it, a stranger would admire the perfect tranquillity reigning there, and the grace, too, with which humble poverty could invest itself. Now and then it happened one could get a glimpse of the good old dame herself, sitting in the open door-in her high-backed chair and her bible in her lap-so neat, so primitive in her attire, with such a saintly calmness in her withered face-the whole picture was one of quiet happiness. But it was not the aged widow herself who had gathered all the pleasant things about her cottagehome. This was the work of Karl, her only son and child, who lived with her, and supported her by working at the trade of a carpenter. Karl was a noble fellow, and he had a heart as tender as it was strong; yet he was now twenty-eight, and was not married. He was, indeed, a good son. He had long been engaged to a worthy maiden, but he would not marry until he felt he could do so without lessening the comforts which the infirmities of his mother made necessary. But Karl had prospered under the blessing of heaven, and he was about to add a third person to their little cottage-home. It was now winter, and the widow's house did not look very picturesque, divested of its summer drapery. But all was bright within; the narrow windows were full of Karl's choice flowers, transferred to neat boxes of his own handicraft. The Russian stove sent forth its genial glow, and the aged widow sat in her oldfashioned chair, waiting, with a placid smile, the entrance of her children. And now, the merry bridal group return from church, and the evening passes joyfully away. A kind heart must have felt warm

sympathy, while looking upon that happy circle. But fearful was the change which morning brought. A hostile army was approaching the city of Stralsund, and might be looked for at any hour. In every house there was gloom,-in every heart fear and trembling. The day passed away in dreadful suspense, and night closed in over the still watching, praying, fasting city. As night deepened, there came on a terrific storm of snow and wind, which made the scene still more desolate and fearful. But how is it within the widow's cottage ? Karl had for a while busied himself with barricading the doors and windows, so as to offer at least some obstruction to the rude soldiery, and had done the best he could to defend his mother and his bride. Then he sank down into gloomy silence, while his young wife sat by him pale and trembling; but the aged widow sat with her eyes fastened upon her book, and seemed lost to all around her. length she raised her eyes, and a bright smile beamed upon her countenance as she repeated these lines:

"Round us a wall our God shall rear,

At

And our proud foes shall quail with fear!" "What! dear mother," replied Karl, "is your faith as strong as that? Do you really expect God will build a wall round our poor hut, strong and high enough to keep out an army? I wish I could believe it till the hour comes; it is terrible to wait in this state of mind." "Has not my son read," replied the mother, "that not a sparrow falls to the ground without our Father? that faith has stopped the mouths of lions, and turned aside the edge of the sword?" Karl made no reply, and the little family sank again into a sad silence. Just at midnight there was a lull in the storm, and they heard the great clock striking the hour of twelve. At the same moment, the faint sound of martial music caught their watchful ears in the opposite direction-the fatal time had come. The little family drew closer together, and as the aged mother returned the pressure of her son's hand, she again repeated: -

"Round us a wall our God shall rear, And our proud foes shall quail with fear!" The music drew nearer, mingled with a confused sound of trampling and shouting. Soon shrieks were heard; the crackling of flames, and the crash of falling houses, told them that the work of plunder and destruction was going on. But no hostile foot

invaded the widow's dwelling; it stood quiet and unharmed amid the uproar, as if angels were encamping round it. At length the tumult died away,-the storm ceased,and a death-like silence fell upon the scene. After waiting several hours, Karl ventured to unclose a shutter; but the light came dimly through the snow, which was heaped to the very top of the window. He cautiously opened the door, but here again a wall of snow met his view, and he was obliged to cut his way into the open air. When he had done this, he stood silent with astonishment and awe at the sight before him. Huge drifts of snow had completely encircled the cottage, and made it in appearance a mere mound of snow, with no sign that a human habitation lay hid beneath it. Not even the steep roof or chimney had betrayed the secret. They had, indeed, been hidden by a "wall," and had dwelt safely in the pavilion of the Most High. Karl led his aged mother out to behold her "wall of faith." The pious widow wept as she looked up to heaven, and softly exclaimed, "Faithful is He who hath promised, He also hath done it." Readers, have you such faith as this, when danger is near ?-The Mother's Friend.

THE CHRISTIAN TRAVELLER'S

TEMPTATIONS.

Christian travellers should always be known as christian pilgrims. Their religion should neither be left at home nor put away in their trunks with the bible or prayer-book, but kept as a personal possession for personal and constant use. But summer religion, in travelling, is too apt to be as light and trifling as a summer's dress. There are great temptations to the forgetfulness of God and of divine things in travelling, against which it becomes christians to be much on their guard.

We shall state some things demanding the christian traveller's watchful attention, if he would not come back from his journeyings with a heart that has wandered further from God than his body has travelled from home. It is a much easier thing for a man to get back to his friends and home, in the city or the country, from a long tour or a short one, than it is to get back to God with the heart, when it has wandered from him,-heart wanderings from God being lasting evils-evils that do more ill to the soul than the pleasantest

summer recreations can do good to the body. The christian traveller must be watchful as to his daily habits of secret prayer, that they be not broken up. For this purpose he must take time for prayer wherever he may be. Every day must have its sacred seasons. The spiritual nourish

ment of the soul must be received by communion with Him who has taught us to pray, "Give us this day our daily bread." Because we are on board a steam-boat, we do not therefore neglect our daily meals nor our nightly rest; and if there can be time secured for that, so there can be for prayer, which is much more important. Travellers from morning to night in the railcars, always get opportunities for refreshment; because they are travelling, they do not therefore neglect the care of life. But the soul's spiritual life is the thing above all other things important to be attended to. It must be attended to.

But it needs effort, it needs decision, it needs remembrance, and the collection of the thoughts, and the fixing of them upon God, upon Christ, and upon the things of the eternal world. This can be done, even amidst a crowd, if the christian will give himself to it. It is a great help to this to have a pocket Testament or some devotional book at hand, to direct the heart into a holy channel of feeling, and fix it without interruption. But a particular effort at a particular time is needed as much as at home. A spiritual frame cannot be maintained, either at home or abroad, without particular seasons daily given to God in prayer. To secure such seasons should be a great object of watchfulness and remembrance of the christian traveller. Fatigue ought not to prevent them. Impatience, bustle, and hurry in the morning ought not to prevent them. Neither impatience nor haste would prevent a traveller from his breakfast before starting.

Now it is a good proverb, "that prayer and provender never hindered a journey." The first time we ever heard this proverb, was from the lips of the excellent Dr. Porter, of the Andover Theological Seminary. We do not know that we ever heard it repeated by any one else, but it made an abiding impression many years ago. In many parts of the world that proverb has come to my mind. It is one that an age of steam boats and railroads would hardly have suggested; but in lonely travelling on horseback, or in social travelling in one's carriage, a man

would be very likely to think of it, when taking care that his horses or mules be well for his journey. It is a good proverb for all men every where.

Let men begin and continue every day of their journeyings in prayer. With this fixed, a thousand things that otherwise might distract the soul from God will lead it to him. With this habit fixed, the christian will be kept from a thousand carelessnesses and temptations by the way. The

mind will be in a serene and quiet frame, opportunities of useful conversation will occur, and the heart will be in such a state, that it will be pleasant and delightful to embrace them. The impression made by such a christian will be a hallowed one. Such a christian will be cheerful without being frivolous. Such a christian will be a delightful companion, but not heedless and trifling. Such a christian will do good wherever he goes.-N. Y. Evangelist.

SOLICITUDE FOR THE YOUNG.

BY THE REV. J. J. DAVIES.

"Oh, that Ishmael might live before thee." Great is the solicitude which is felt for the welfare of our young men. There are many, the language of whose heart respecting them often is, are they safe? would that they were.

By whom is this solicitude felt?

I. It is felt by all the good on earth. There is no truly pious heart which does not feel it. There are those who give themselves entirely to the work of making known to men their danger, and the refuge which God has provided for them. They can have no greater joy than to know of your safety. They live if you stand fast in the Lord. This is the great design of the christian ministry, the object on which every true minister has set his heart, and to which he has consecrated all his energies. "God hath given unto us the ministry of reconciliation. Now, then, we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did beseech you by us: we pray you in Christ's stead, be ye reconciled to God." Faithful ministers can be satisfied with nothing less than this. They have, indeed, the assurance, that if they have laboured faithfully, though not with great success,--if they have announced their message distinctly, affectionately, earnestly, though many of their bearers have not believed their report, and have refused to take warning, they have delivered their own souls. "Though Israel be not gathered, they too, in their humble measure, shall be glorious." Yet it is not without sadness that they often enquire, "who hath believed our report, and to whom is the arm of the Lord re

vealed ?" It is not without deep sorrow they sometimes say, when gazing on the impenitent, "If our gospel be hid, it is hid to them that are lost." If they watch for souls as those who must give an account of themselves and of their ministry, if they labour assiduously and prayerfully to adapt their ministrations to the capacities and wants of their hearers,-if they study to present divine truth in the mode best adapted to arrest the attention, to interest the mind, to awaken the conscience, and to impress the heart,-they can rejoice that they are a sweet savour unto God, both in them that believe, and in them that perish. But they would not that any should perish. Hence, as they have opportunity, they warn every man, and teach every man in all wisdom, that they may present every man perfect in Christ Jesus. Their heart's desire and prayer to God for all their hearers is, that they may be saved. Oh, my dear young friend, with what an anxious heart. has your pastor often thought of you, and with what earnestness has he prayed that you might live before God.

Nor is this affectionate solicitude confined to the ministers of the gospel. All pious hearts feel it. There is not a true christian on earth who does not sincerely desire the good of all men. You cannot tell the many hearts in which desires for your welfare are cherished, or the many prayers which ascend to God for your salvation. Have you a pious friend, or acquaintance? you would probably be affected did you know what great heaviness of heart he sometimes feels on your account, and with what intensity of emotion he exclaims, in the immediate presence of his God, would that my friend were safe!

Have you a pious mother, or a pious sister? she sometimes speaks to you, writes to you; but far more frequently thinks of you; in her daily orisons she remembers you, and often with many tears, presents supplication and prayer to God for you. Nay, did you but know the solicitude which perhaps the humblest servant in your father's house feels for you,-how truly she is animated by the spirit of the little Israelitish girl in the house of Naaman the Syrian, who said, "Would God my master were with the prophet that is in Samaria, for he would cure him of his leprosy,"-how earnestly, when she observes the indications of your moral malady, of your forgetfulness of God, and of your great danger, her heart is lifted up in prayer to God for you, you could scarcely fail to be affected. Oh, yes, many hearts feel for you, bleed for you! There is joy not only in heaven, but also on earth, when prodigals return; and if there be joy on their return, there must needs be anxiety and sorrow while they persist in their guilty wanderings. You cannot say, "no man careth for my soul;" for there are some who can adopt, with reference to you, the language of the apostle to the Galatians,"My little children, for whom I travail in birth again until Christ be formed in you."

II. But this solicitude is not confined to the pious on earth; it is shared by the angels of God in heaven. The scriptures represent the inhabitants of other worlds as taking a deep interest in the welfare of this. There is, probably, not an angel in heaven who does not feel for man on the earth. Higher orders of being have always taken the liveliest interest in all that concerns the well-being of mankind. When the earth was fitted to be the habitation of man, "the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy." Into the great scheme of redemption through Jesus Christ, they look with profound attention; and have ever evinced a deep concern in the development of the gracious purposes of God towards man. When the law was delivered to Moses, it was "by the disposition of angels," amidst ranks of angelic beings who were greatly interested in the event. When the Son of God became incarnate, the fields of Bethlehem presented to them a scene of irresistible attraction. They left their elevated seats in glory to celebrate an event so important to mankind. One angel was appointed to convey the glad tidings to the shepherds,

but suddenly there was with him a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, "glory to God in the highest; on earth peace, good will toward men." "They are ministering spirits, sent forth to minister to them who shall be heirs of salvation." They think no office too humble, no service too self-denying, by which they can promote man's highest interests. They "rejoice over one sinner that repenteth." Hence you may gather the solicitude which they feel in your welfare. If they rejoice over one sinner that repenteth, how great their solicitude for the welfare of our young men, for the welfare of every one of them.

But why are they thus solicitous? Angels are intelligent beings; they know the value of the soul, and the danger it is in of perishing for ever. They know the worth of salvation, and the necessity of seeking it earnestly, early, if you would find it. They know the happiness of heaven, and the horrors of hell,-the joys which flow from the divine presence, and the miseries inseparable from perpetual banishment from his throne. Angels are benevolent beings; they are true philanthropists, full of good will to men; they rejoice in our good; they feel for our misery. And they are pious beings; full of loyalty to God, the universal sovereign, and to Jesus Christ, whom he has constituted head over all things for the church; and they are anxious that you should be found in your right position in relation to him, that you should not be found a rebel against him, but in cheerful subjection to his benign authority. Hence the deep solicitude which they feel for the well-being of the children of men. Oh, young man, you cannot say, "no one careth for my soul;" there is not an angel in heaven who feels not a holy solicitude for you; who would not mourn over your destruction, and rejoice in your safety.

111. Nor is this affectionate solicitude confined to the angels of heaven; "the spirits of the just made perfect," participate largely in it. The pious dead are not lost to the universe. Though in common with all spiritual beings, they are invisible to us, they are not therefore unreal, nor inactive. Heaven has not changed their moral nature; but it has completed and perfected all that was good in them. While in this world some of them lived only for purposes of benevolence; they had no greater joy than to see men rescued from destruction, and brought safely to the feet of Jesus; and

heaven is a continuation of their best services on earth, and the perfection of their best principles and feelings: they have, therefore, lost none of their solicitude for the salvation of men. Some of them, too, were peculiarly devoted to the welfare of the young; for them they wrought in the closet; for them they laboured in the Sunday school; for them they ministered in the sanctuary; for them they prayed without ceasing; and though they have changed their habitation and their mode of being, yet who will tell us that they have lost this, one of the most interesting features of their character? They are now like the angels of God in heaven. They are more completely assimilated to them in disposition than they were when on earth. They are influenced by all the considerations the power of which angels feel. They have the same knowledge of spiritual and eternal realities, the same good-will to men, the same piety to God, and the same loyalty to Christ. Hence they fully sympathize with angels in their joy when men are safe, and in their anxiety while they are still in danger. In addition to this, they are more nearly related to us than angels are, and are bound to us by closer ties; they are not only our fellow-creatures, but our kindred; and they do not forget it. The pious parents who watched over your infancy, the teachers who sought to direct your childhood in the way of peace, and the ministers who first urged you to consecrate your youth to the service of the Redeemer, may already have exchanged the field of labour for the scene of rest and peace.

But though they have passed through into the heavens, they have not forgotten you, nor the relation which they once sustained to you. That relation will be recognized at the last day; and with what joy would any of them present you perfect in Christ Jesus! Have you, young man, a pious sister in heaven? a mother there? or a sainted father? Do you recollect his last words? Did he not charge you to meet him at the right hand of the Judge? His last breath was prayerprayer for you. "Oh, that my Ishmael may live before thee." 'Oh, that my Absalom were safe." And hath now he forgotten thee? hath he ceased to feel for thee? who will say that his sainted spirit is not near thee now, watching with deep interest the effect of this appeal? and oh, if he should see thee bow thy knee at the

mercy-seat, and hear thee say with earnestness, "Lord, I am thine, entirely thine; I confess with shame that other lords beside thee have had dominion over me; I have served divers lusts and passions; I have robbed God; my whole life has been a course of sacrilege; but now I come to thee; with weeping and with supplication do I come; I give myself up unreservedly to thee; thou mightest justly reject me; but oh, receive me graciously; this poor sacrifice of a broken heart is all I have to give." If the sainted spirit of a departed parent were now to hear you give utterance to these penitential feelings, and see you yield yourself unto God, how unspeakable would be his joy! There would be great joy in heaven amongst all ranks and orders of holy beings, over such a scene; but loudest of them all would that happy spirit sing, and say, "it is meet that we should rejoice and be merry; for that my son was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found." And from the joy which would be experienced in your safety, calculate the solicitude which must be felt while you are still in imminent danger.

IV. And we must not suppose that this holy solicitude is confined to saints and angels; it is shared by the Divinity himself. It is by the parable of the prodigal son, that Jesus, who had ever been in the bosom of the Father, represents to us the sentiments with which God regards his erring family, and with which he receives those who turn to him in a spirit of penitence and faith. "We are all his offspring," and his compassion for us is infinite. Have you ever thought of the language he sometimes employs? He assures us that he has no pleasure in the death of a sinner, but rather that he should turn from his evil ways and live. Nay, he appeals to ourselves as reasonable beings: "Have I any pleasure at all that the sinner should die, saith the Lord?" And more than this; aware of the cruel suspicion and distrust of God with which a consciousness of guilt has filled the sinner's mind, he invests the assertion with all the sacredness and solemnity of an oath: "As I live, saith the Lord, I have no pleasure in the death of a sinner, but rather that he should turn from his wickedness and live; turn ye, turn ye; for why will ye die?" What amazing condescension ! To remove our guilty fears, the God who cannot lie, puts himself, if we may speak so, upon his oath; and as he can swear