A BUDDING OF HOPE.

Dear young readers of the LITTLE GLEANER, how very true and solemn are the words of the poet--

"The moment when our lives begin We all begin to die."

And at what age death may take us none of us can say. From among the large number who read the GLEANER, we every now and again hear of one being taken away by death.

Lizzie Winchester, of Cross-in-Hand, was a constant reader of the GLEANER, and of other good books, but not to the neglecting of her Bible. She was a scholar in the Sunday School at Ebenezer Chapel, Heathfield, where she was always very quiet and attentive, and she was also very fond of her teacher. When she left school, she regularly attended chapel with her sisters, sitting where she could see the school children, and would complain when she got home if she saw any that did not behave themselves properly. She had a great reverence for the house of G.o.d and for the servants of G.o.d. She had but few companions, but was much beloved for her little acts of kindness in sending to one and another small presents. Some little time before her death she sent "The Sack and its Treasure" to a young friend at Eastbourne, as a birthday present; and who can say how much real good may result from such little gifts as that? I should not think that any one could point out a flaw in her moral character. But this was not grace; and although she needed no outward reformation, yet if the heart be not changed, there can be no entering into the kingdom of G.o.d.

The last time that she walked to chapel, a distance of three miles--making six miles both ways--was on August 21st. It was not then known that anything was the matter with her. First her throat was sore, and she felt poorly, but she still kept about. On Wednesday, September 14th, she was out, and gathered half a gallon of blackberries. She was up on Thursday and Friday, and put her clothes on on Sat.u.r.day, but could not get down stairs. Towards night she was much worse, and it was found that her affliction was diabetes.

On Sunday she was very ill, and the doctor said she could not last long.

Her Sunday School teacher, Miss C----, was sent for, and when she arrived, she saw that Lizzie was sinking fast, and found that she could say but little.

I am not going to set her up, and positively say she was a partaker of grace, for the very few words she uttered are not of themselves sufficient evidence for that. About five o'clock, during her mother's absence, she said, in a very low tone of voice, "I hope Jesus will heal my soul," or, "Perhaps Jesus will heal my soul." Miss C---- could not distinguish the words so as to be sure which.

Early on Monday morning, the 19th of September, 1887, she died. Had she lived till the 26th, she would have been eighteen years of age. Just as she departed there was a beautiful smile came over her countenance; and as Miss C---- afterwards went with several friends to see the corpse, these words came into her mind as if some one had spoken them to her--

"Not a wave of trouble rolls Across her peaceful breast."

Mr. Mockford buried her on the following Sat.u.r.day; and, among other things, he spoke from these words--"If the tree fall toward the south, or toward the north, in the place where the tree falleth there it shall be." He spoke of the departed as being toward the south--toward the house of G.o.d, the people of G.o.d, and the ways and Word of G.o.d; and as she was so far joined to the living, there was hope that she would be found among that people at the resurrection morning.

On Sunday morning in the school, one of the teachers read that chapter where the same words stand, and, though not at the funeral, some very similar remarks were made, and the same hope concerning the departed was expressed. I am sure of this--that, if she had that good thing in her heart toward the Lord G.o.d of Israel, namely, faith toward Jesus and His blood, she is now joining

"The host of virgin saints Made to salvation wise."

The question may arise, "Why say anything about her, since there is no more ground for hope than this?"

It is to the living I want to say a few words, hoping the Lord will make use of this feeble account to lead the young readers of the LITTLE GLEANER to consider how matters stand with them before G.o.d and for eternity.

"Reflect, young friend, I humbly crave, Thy sins, how high they mount!

What are thy hopes beyond the grave?

How stands that dark account?"

Oh, how solemn your case, if you are in an unpardoned state! Death may come upon you speedily, and then what will you do? All who die without repentance and forgiveness must hear that solemn word from the lips of Christ, "Depart from Me!" Are you blessed with a good hope, through grace? Then you certainly have something to be thankful to G.o.d for. Or are you in some doubt as to whether you have a living hope in Christ?

And do you fear that, if called to die, you could say no more than Lizzie Winchester did? Then my prayer for such an one is, that the Lord may stir you up to real, earnest, wrestling prayer and importunity respecting your salvation.

"If h.e.l.lish foes beset thee round, And would thy way withstand, On Jesus call, nor yield thy ground, And He will help command."

It is no small mercy, reader, if your moral character will compare with Lizzie Winchester's. She was a model in this respect, and I hope you may be found in every way as consistent as she was, and, above all, may you be found in Christ Jesus, living and dying.

I had thought of saying more, but, as I wish to be brief, I will conclude by telling you that, notwithstanding her reservedness, several friends, with myself, had a good hope of Lizzie. We do trust she is now

"completely blest; Has done with sin, and care, and woe, And entered Jesus' rest."

W. L.

[We hope our readers will bear in mind the motive our friend has in writing, and we in giving, this brief account of Lizzie Winchester; and may the Holy Spirit cause the reading of it to make them feel the importance of the new birth, and stir them up to seek clear and certain evidences of their salvation, so that, when they come to die, they may be able to confess, "I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him."--ED.]

BIBLE SUBJECTS FOR EACH SUNDAY IN MARCH.

Mar. 4. Commit to memory Heb. xi. 23.

Mar. 11. Commit to memory Heb. xi. 24.

Mar. 18. Commit to memory Heb. xi. 25.

Mar. 25. Commit to memory Heb. xi. 26.

THE first character of right childhood is, that it is modest.

"THERE IS NO REST IN h.e.l.l!"

AN AUTHENTIC NARRATIVE.

Dear Reader,--The following account being "an authenticated fact," it is put before you with the hope that you may be thereby led to solemnly consider the subject of a future state. G.o.d's truth does not require fiction to make it effectual; therefore, the net of truth should only be weighted with words of truth.

The awful, but true, narrative now put before you takes us back for something like a century, to the city of Glasgow, where, at that time, was a club of gentlemen of the first rank in that city. They met professedly for card-playing; but the members were distinguished by such a fearless excess of profligacy as to obtain for it the name of "The h.e.l.l Club."

Besides their nightly or weekly meetings, they held a grand annual festival, at which each member endeavoured to "outdo all his former outdoings" in drunkenness, blasphemy, and licentiousness. Of all who shone on these occasions, none shone half so brilliantly as Archibald Boyle. Educated by a fond and foolishly indulgent mother, he was early allowed to meet in society with members of "The h.e.l.l Club."

One night, on retiring to sleep, after returning from one of the annual meetings of the club, Boyle dreamt that he was still riding, as usual, upon his famous black horse, towards his own house--then a country seat embowered by ancient trees, and situated upon a hill now built over by the most fashionable part of Glasgow--and that he was suddenly accosted by some one, whose personal appearance he could not, in the gloom of night, distinctly discern, but who, seizing the reins, said, in a voice apparently accustomed to command, "You must go with me." "And who are you?" exclaimed Boyle, with a volley of blasphemous execrations, while he struggled to disengage his reins from the intruder's grasp. "That you will see by-and-bye," replied the same voice, in a cold, sneering tone, that thrilled through his very heart. Boyle plunged his spurs into the panting sides of his steed. The n.o.ble animal reared, and then darted forward with a speed which nearly deprived his rider of breath. But in vain--in vain! Fleeter than the wind he flew, the mysterious, half-seen guide still in front of him! Agonized by he knew not what of indescribable horror and awe, Boyle again furiously spurred the gallant horse. It fiercely reared and plunged. He lost his seat, and expected at the moment to feel himself dashed to the earth. But not so, for he continued to fall--fall--fall--it appeared to himself with an ever-increasing velocity. At length this terrific rapidity of motion abated, and, to his amazement and horror, he perceived that this mysterious attendant was close by his side. "Where," he exclaimed, in the frantic energy of despair, "where are you taking me? Where am I?

Where am I going?" "To h.e.l.l!" replied the same iron voice, and from the depths below the sound so familiar to his lips was suddenly re-echoed--"To h.e.l.l!"

Onward, onward they hurried in darkness, rendered more horrible still by the conscious presence of his spectral conductor. At length a glimmering light appeared in the distance, and soon increased to a blaze. But, as they approached it, in addition to the hideously discordant groans and yells of agony and despair, his ears were a.s.sailed with what seemed to be the echoes of frantic revelry.

Boyle at length perceived that he was surrounded by those whom he had known on earth, but were some time dead, each one of them betraying his agony at the bitter recollections of the vain pursuits that had engrossed his time here.

Suddenly observing that his unearthly conductor had disappeared, he felt so relieved by his absence that he ventured to address his former friend, Mrs. D----, whom he saw sitting with eyes fixed in intense earnestness, as she was wont on earth, apparently absorbed at her favourite game of loo. "Ha! Mrs. D----! Delighted to see you! D'ye know a fellow told me to-night he was bringing me to h.e.l.l! Ha! ha! If this be h.e.l.l," said he, scoffingly, "what a ---- pleasant place it must be! Ha!

ha! Come now, my good Mrs. D----, for auld lang syne, do just stop for a moment, rest, and"--"show me through the pleasures of h.e.l.l," he was going, with reckless profanity, to add; but, with a shriek that seemed to cleave through his very soul, she exclaimed, "_Rest!_ There is no rest in h.e.l.l!" and from the interminable vaults, voices, as loud as thunder, repeated the awful, the heart-withering sound, "_There is no rest in h.e.l.l!_" and he who, in his vision, walked among them in a mortal frame of flesh and blood, felt how inexpressibly more horrible such sounds could be than ever was the wildest shriek of agony on earth.

He saw Maxwell, the former companion of his own boyish profligacy, and said, "Stop, Harry! stop! Speak to me! Oh, rest one moment!" Scarce had the words been breathed from his faltering lips, when again his terror-stricken ear was stunned with the same wild yell of agony, re-echoed by ten thousand thousand voices--"_There is no rest in h.e.l.l!_"

All at once he perceived that his unearthly conductor was once more by his side. "Take me," shrieked Boyle, "take me from this place! By the living G.o.d, whose name I have so often outraged, I adjure thee! Take me from this place!"

"Canst thou still name His name?" said the fiend, with a hideous sneer.

"Go, then; but, in a year and a day, _we_ meet, to part no more!"

Boyle awoke; and he felt as if the last words of the fiend were traced in letters of living fire upon his heart and brain. Unable, from actual bodily ailment, to leave his bed for several days, the horrid vision had full time to take effect upon his mind; and many were the pangs of tardy remorse and ill-defined terror that beset his vice-stained soul, as he lay in darkness and seclusion--to him so very unusual. He resolved, utterly and for ever, to forsake "The h.e.l.l Club." Above all, he determined that nothing on earth should tempt him to join the next annual festival.

The companions of his licentiousness bound themselves by an oath never to desist till they had discovered what was the matter with him, and had cured him of _playing the Methodist;_ for their alarm as to losing "the life of the Club" had been wrought up to the highest pitch by one of their number declaring that, on unexpectedly entering Boyle's room, he detected him in the act of hastily hiding a Book, which he actually believed was the Bible.