"The fig-tree, teacher," she replied; "I should so like to know: I think it ought, after the gardener was so kind as to save it from being cut down."

The Scripture narrative being silent on this point, I was of course unable to solve Margaret's inquiry; but as I walked to the house of God, through the green lanes and quiet cornfields, it again recurred to my mind, giving rise to a train of thought which occupied me until I found myself entering the churchyard gate. I thought of the many I had known to whom this question might be applied; some were yet living, but the greater number lay sleeping beneath the shadow of the old grey church.

There was Goody White, our old milkwoman, who once lived in one of the thatched and whitewashed cottages at the corner of the lane yonder. A more clean, tidy, and industrious woman you might have gone many a mile to find; her cottage home was a perfect model of cleanliness and order: she was a kind neighbour too, and one who was proud of paying her way, and of doing honestly by all. But though she lived only in a humble abode, her heart was as much engrossed in the world as that of many a lady whose home is a gilded mansion. She was so much taken up with earthly thingswith keeping her home neat and nice, with attending to her cows, selling her milk, and making her butter-that she had no time to read her Bible, no time to go to church, no time to think that she was drawing near to the end of her earthly pilgrimage, no time to bring forth fruit unto life eternal. Her minister often called and talked to her about these things; she listened, and never denied that what he said was true and good, and each time promised amendment, but each time deferred it to a more convenient season. Then came a sudden and alarming illness, and she felt herself on the brink of the grave. To human eyes the decree seemed to have gone forth, "Cut it down; why cumbereth it the ground?" Oh what vows did she then make! what earnest prayers did she pour forth! stroke was suspended. The great Advocate interceded on her behalf, and Goody White recovered. But did she bear fruit afterwards? Alas! no. She bought a Bible, she went to church once or twice, she read a few religious tracts, and then her sick-bed vows were forgotten and she soon grew as worldly minded, and cared as little for her soul, as ever. She had no second warning. The

The

next time the decree went forth, the barren tree was no longer spared. Goody White died very, very suddenly; without time so much as to cry God be merciful to me a sinner!" Truly has it been said, "A man may drown in a little brook or pool as well as in a great river, if he lie down and plunge himself into it, and put his head under water." So it was with Goody White. That place in her heart which was due only to God, she gave to the little world in which she moved; and that little world proved her destruction.

There was John Shepley; he lived in that cottage which now stands desolate and uninhabited by the road side. He was a kind-hearted, good-natured man; but he had one sad fault-he was too fond of drinking. Like many others, as long as he was out of the way of temptation it was well, but no sooner did he get into a public house, than he seemed lost at once. Things went on from bad to worse, his family were in rags and half starved, his wife looked the very picture of wretchedness. His master, who was a good man, and really liked him, often talked to him about his evil ways, and urged him to a different course of life. John promised again and again, but still went on just the same. At last one dark winter's night, when there had been a heavy fall of snow, he was returning half intoxicated to his home, but missing the track fell over a high bank into an old chalk pit, into which the snow had drifted until it lay many feet in depth. He gave himself up for lost the more he tried to extricate himself, the more alarming and bewildering his situation became, and the chalk pit was in so lonely a part that it was quite possible that many days might elapse without any one passing that way to hear his cries for assistance. He could see no hope; and his limbs were already growing numb. But in his distress he cried to the Lord; his cry was heard, and relief unexpectedly sent, for a farmer having lost some sheep, and thinking that they might possibly have fallen into the chalk pit, came thither early the next morning to seek them, and so poor John was, as it were, rescued from the very jaws of death. Oh! how many resolutions of amendment did he make during that fearful night! With what fervent gratitude did he return thanks to God for his providential deliverance! But did he bear fruit afterwards? Ah! no. It is true he kept

away from the alehouse for a few weeks, and his home began to wear a more comfortable aspect; but the change did not last long, he again took to drinking, and became more intemperate than ever. We will not describe all that followed; suffice to say that his end was a wretched one,he died a raving maniac; his wife, bowed down by sorrow and misery, soon followed him to the grave, and his children went into the union house.

Once more there was Squire Hardcastle; he lived at the old Hall, as long ago as the time when I was a little child; he was the great man in the parish, and every one looked up to him, not however with love, but with fear and dread, I had almost said with hatred; for the squire was a bad, wicked man, haughty and tyrannical to all around, cruel and grinding to those beneath him. He had worldly wealth in abundance, but he lavished it all on himself, on his own pleasures and luxuries. Unheeded

by him was the widow's cry or the orphan's wail; his heart I was as closely barred against the sorrows and distresses of his poorer fellow-creatures, as his gates were closed to prevent their entrance. The little children who gathered mushrooms in his fields, slipped away and hid themselves behind the hedge when they saw him coming; the beggar who met him on the road left his alms unasked, when he looked up and saw the haughty, scornful glance which surveyed his rags and misery, and the stern, compressed lip, which told without the aid of words that it would utter nothing but a refusal. Such was Squire Hardcastle. But God did not leave him without warning that his ways were not good in his eyes. He smote his only son, the child in whom all his hopes and desires centered, with sore disease. Physicians were called in, but their advice seemed useless; all who beheld him said that death was nigh at hand. The father was frantic with grief; his proud heart was humbled, he fell on his knees, and earnestly besought the Almighty to spare his child. He vowed to lead a different life; he would strive to serve his Maker, he would give half his goods to feed the poor, he would be kind and loving to all.

The child was spared. But were the father's vows kept? Did he bear fruit afterwards? Let the hungry tell to whom he denied bread, the naked whom he refused to clothe, the sick and the afflicted upon whose sorrows he cast no pitying eye. Let those tell whose lot it was to

witness the black remorse which hung like a cloud over his death-bed, to hear the groans of despair with which he entered upon his awful and eternal doom.

Do we bear fruit afterwards? Dear reader, would it not be well for most of us ever and anon to address this question to ourselves? It may be that we have not all of us had calls to repentance and amendment of life so solemn and striking as those which we have just been considering; but surely there are few, very few of us, who can look back upon the years that are past, without remembering some moment of signal deliverance from pending danger, some hour of unexpected alarm, when we have vowed earnestly that if God in his mercy would spare us only that once, we would lead a new life, and bring forth works meet for repentance. The mercy was vouchsafed; but how were our vows kept? Have we borne fruit afterwards? If not, let us begin at once. Let us not permit another sun to rise and set upon our unfruitfulness; ever remembering that though the sinner is to be "justified freely by His grace through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus," and that "by the deeds of the law shall no flesh be justified in his sight;" yet "every tree which bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down and cast into the fire.'

FAMILY RELIGION.*

BOTH in the Old and New Testaments peculiar honour is put upon the family relationship. Families are everywhere spoken of as a blessing. And the idea is not merely an Eastern one, belonging to a certain stage of social progress, and to a country but scantily populated; it rather teaches us what the conditions of our social life ought always to be. There is something fundamentally wrong in a state of society where children are a burden. They are an heritage of the Lord." + The richness of the olive expresses the wealth which a man possesses in them.‡ The blessing of the man that feareth the Lord is, “Yea, thou shalt see thy children's children, and peace upon Israel." S "Children's children," Solomon tells us, the crown of old men." ||

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*From "Christian Home Life." Religious Tract Society.

Psa. cxxvii. 3.

Psa. cxxviii. 3.
Prov. xvii. 6.

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§ Psa. cxxviii. 6.

are

There is one fact, however, which, more than any other, shows the honour which is put upon the family relationship. Our blessed Lord, in condescending to take upon himself our nature, became a member of a family. It was in the household of the just Joseph, and under the care of the devout and pious Mary, that he spent his childhood and youth. He submitted to the family law. He grew up under the influence of family affections and family sympathies. He who, in his helpless infancy, was cradled in a mother's arms, learned from a mother's lips the histories and prophecies of holy men of old, which had prepared for His coming.

The numerous examples of family piety, mentioned with such honour in the Bible, teach the same lesson. Abraham, the father of the faithful, has been already referred to. Later in the history, and just at the important crisis of the settlement of the people in the promised land, the character of Joshua stands cut very clearly in relation to family religion. In this last act of his career the servant of God stands prominently forward, not only in his public, but in his domestic life. We can imagine how, amid the duties which pressed upon him as the leader of the people and commander of their armies, he found rest and refreshment to his spirit in the retirement of a home sanctified by religion. And now that the time of his departure is at hand, he gathers all Israel together, to give them his final counsels. With military conciseness he recounts the merciful dealings of God with the people, and asserts His claims. But the force of his appeal was supplied by his own resolve, "As for me, and my house, we will serve the Lord."

The pious care of the patriarch Job over his sons, and his allusions to domestic life, show us how fully he recognised the great importance of family piety. Looking back upon the brighter past, he mentions two things which imply this. "Oh that I were as in months past, when the secret of God was upon my tabernacle; when my children were about me.' His care for them in after life indicates that they had been trained in the ways of the Lord. It is a beautiful picture of the early and comparatively pure days of oriental life, which is given in the first chapter of the book of Job. The sons, now grown up and settled in life, keep up a constant intercourse with

*Job xxix. 2-5.