What a solemn consideration it is that I who write and you who read will stand in one case or the other--"Loose him, and let him go!" or, "Bind him hand and foot, and cast him into outer darkness!" I ask myself--and may I ask you--Does it cause you any searchings of heart, any anxious thoughts, any tossings to and fro upon your bed? "How stands the case, my soul, with thee?" Are matters right between G.o.d and thy soul? Have I any reason to hope that I shall be acquitted? Or are you, Gallio-like, caring for none of these things, "dancing the h.e.l.lward road apace"? This we are sure of--that the judgment of G.o.d will be according to truth, and those who die in their sins, dest.i.tute of an interest and hope in Christ, will have to confess that the Judge of all the earth has done right. Your debts are great--too great for you ever to pay. Are you trying to wipe off part of the score, endeavouring to do your best, and trusting Jesus Christ to make up the rest? Hopeless case, for--

"Could thy zeal no respite know, Could thy tears for ever flow, All for sin could not atone; Christ must save, and Christ alone."

But if, from a sense of your true state and condition, your entirely bankrupt state, with no hope or help in yourself, you have fallen down at Jesus' feet, crying, "Lord, save, or I perish!" you are on safe ground. Thy Surety paid for thee; and thou shalt know it in His own time, to the joy of thy heart.

A BARRISTER.

MODES OF TRAVEL IN PERSIA.

There are two modes of travel in Persia, caravan and chappah. The former is slow, at the pace which loaded mules can follow, say twenty-five miles a day. To travel in caravan means not to go with a large company, but in this leisurely manner. Hence our word "caravan," because large trains in the East must necessarily travel in caravan style.

Chappah travelling, on the other hand, means rapid going, at an average of eighty to a hundred and fifty miles per diem. This can only be done by riding at a steady gallop--horses rarely trot in the East--and changing horses at short intervals. The post carriers invariably travel chappah.

The method of measuring distances in Persia is by farsakhs, a farsakh representing four miles. Post stations are placed four farsakhs, or sixteen miles apart, and more rarely five farsakhs. Fresh relays of horses are kept in readiness at these stations. The post carriers, accompanied by a single attendant, both heavily armed, and wielding a fierce whip of hide, carry the mail in saddle bags. On arriving at a station they dismount, take a hasty cup of tea which is in readiness, and a few pulls at the kalian, or water-pipe. Then the horses are led out, and the postman starts for another sixteen-mile gallop over the mountain and plain, through forest and waste. These postmen are, so far as I could learn, very faithful and courageous, as they must need be, for they are sometimes attacked and killed, especially when it had leaked out that they are carrying money. Thus they go through Persia, and through life, on horseback. In summer, they have to rest during the heat of the day, but, summer and winter, they gallop all night, and practically have no rest until the end of the journey. The post rider from Teheran to Bushire goes nearly seven hundred miles before he can take a solid sleep.--_S. G. W. Benjamin._

THE VALUE OF WORK.

Earn your own bread, and see how sweet it will be! Work, and see how well you will be! Work, and see how cheerful you will be! Work, and see how independent you will be! Work, and see how happy your family will be! Work, and, instead of repining at Providence, you may, perhaps, find yourself offering up thanks for all the numerous blessings you enjoy.

COUSIN SUSAN'S NOTE-BOOK JOTTINGS ON THE LIFE AND WORK OF FATHER CHINIQUY.

THE COW, THE SUCKING PIG, AND PURGATORY.

"_The tree is known by its fruit._"--MATTHEW xii. 33.

Mr. Chiniquy died very suddenly, when his little son Charlie was only twelve years old. The boy had been fetched home from the house of a relative who lived at a distance, and where he had attended a good school, kept by a Protestant gentleman. He had gone through various lessons with his father, and delighted him with the progress he had made. They had read the fifteenth chapter of Luke, and retired to rest full of joy; but before the next day dawned, the boy awoke to his mother's heartrending cry, "Oh, my dear child, you have no more a father! He is dead!"

Poor child! He felt he could not believe it. He ran to his father's bed, kissed him, pressed his hands, and prayed that he might live. But it was too true. The breath had fled, and only a lifeless corpse remained.

After such overwhelming sorrow, surely they needed the tenderest sympathy; but only a few days elapsed before the parish priest (who had, years before, tried to get their Bible away) called on them, and, after a few cold words, he said that something was owing for the prayers that had been offered for the departed, and he would be glad to receive it!

Poor Mrs. Chiniquy a.s.sured him that, although her husband had received a considerable income as a notary, yet their expenses had been so heavy that he had left her little besides debts. The house he had had built, and the piece of land he purchased not long ago, were only half paid for, "and I fear," said she, "I shall lose them both. I hope, sir," she added, "that you are not the man to take away from us our last piece of bread."

"But, madam," was the cruel answer, "the money for the ma.s.ses offered for the rest of your husband's soul must be paid!"

For some time the widow sat shedding silent tears. At length she raised her tearful eyes, and said, "Sir, you see that cow in the meadow? Her milk, and the b.u.t.ter made from it, form the princ.i.p.al part of my children's food. I hope you will not take her away from us. If, however, such a sacrifice must be made to deliver my poor husband's soul from purgatory, take her as the payment of the ma.s.ses to be offered to extinguish those devouring flames."

"Very well, madam," said the priest, rising, and walking out.

They anxiously watched to see what he would do; and, to their horror, he went straight to the meadow and drove away their useful and cherished favourite. Poor Mrs. Chiniquy nearly fainted; and when able to speak, she said--

"Dear child, if ever you become a priest, never be so hard-hearted towards poor widows as are the priests of to-day."

Those words were never forgotten, as our next story will show.

Many years had pa.s.sed. The child had become a man and a priest, when he was invited to preach a course of three sermons in the church of a rich curate. On the second day, walking with him to the parsonage, a very poor, ragged, and miserable man took off his hat, and tremblingly addressed the curate, saying--

"You know, sir, that my poor wife died, and was buried ten days ago; but I was too poor to have a funeral service sung for her, and I fear she is in purgatory. Almost every night I see her in my dreams in burning flames, and she cries to me to help her. Will you be so kind as to sing that high ma.s.s for her?"

"Of course," answered the curate. "Your wife is suffering in purgatory.

Give me five dollars, and I will sing the ma.s.s to-morrow morning."

The poor man replied that his wife had long been ill, and he was too distressed to pay the money, and begged that five low ma.s.ses might be said for her. The priest told him he must pay five shillings for them, but the wretched man declared he had no money, and that he and his children were starving.

"Well, well," said the curate, "I saw two beautiful sucking pigs before your house this morning. Give me one of them."

"Those pigs, sir," said the man, "were given me by a charitable neighbour, that I might raise them for my children's food next winter.

They will surely starve if I give my pigs away."

Chiniquy could not wait to hear the conclusion of the shameful bargain.

He hurried away to his room, refused to take tea, and spent a sleepless night wondering whether the Church of Rome could be the Church of Christ. Next morning, he gave five dollars to the poor man, and went breakfastless to church.

After preaching, he was led by the curate to his dining-room. The long fast had made him very hungry, and the foremost dish was a delicious sucking pig. He had cut a piece, and was just about to eat, when the scene of yesterday flashed across his mind, and he inquired, "Was this _that_ sucking pig?"

"Yes," replied the curate, with a hearty laugh, "it is just that. If we cannot take the poor woman's soul out of purgatory, we will, at all events, eat a fine sucking pig."

The priestly guests all joined in the laugh except Chiniquy, who, with a burst of righteous indignation, pushed his plate away, and in a few thrilling words told them what he thought of the whole proceeding. Of course they were very angry; but the sucking pig was untouched by any one.

Thus were Chiniquy's eyes gradually opened, and he "saw men as trees walking," until the final touch gave him to "see all things clearly."

Lord, open Thou our eyes, and give us clearer and yet clearer light, that we not only may forsake every evil way, but may follow Thee with full purpose of heart.

QUESTIONS WITH ANSWERS.

What is earth, s.e.xton? A place to dig graves.

What is earth, rich man? A place to work slaves.

What is earth, grey-beard? A place to grow old.

What is earth, miser? A place to dig gold.

What is earth, schoolboy? A place for my play.