"When I was fifteen years old I went to sea. My mother reluctantly gave her consent, only because she knew that I would go without it if she did not. My father was dead, and I was her only son. I had no idea then what my mother's feelings must have been; now I realize what she must have suffered in parting with me.

"When I went to sea I swore in the worst manner. In fact, I scarcely spoke a word that was not accompanied by an oath. After a three years'

voyage I came home. My mother met me with great kindness and affection.

She had prepared a most tempting supper for me. My trunk was being brought into the door, when a misunderstanding between myself and the man who had brought it, about the pay, aroused my anger, and, forgetting where I was, I swore as only a rough seaman can swear. When oath after oath had pa.s.sed my lips, I chanced to look at my mother, who stood near me in the hall. Her face was as white as the face of the dead, and an indescribable expression upon it that I can never, never forget. I saw that she was falling, and I put my arm around her to support her. She shrank away from my touch, and fell senseless to the floor. I paid the man the price he demanded, closed the door, lifted my mother up, and laid her on the lounge. I thought I had killed her. Oh, the feelings of remorse that filled my heart at that moment! But she opened her eyes, and seeing me standing before her, said, 'Oh, my son, you have broken my heart!' I a.s.sured her with tears and kisses that I would never swear again, but the habit had taken such strong hold on me that I found myself swearing unconsciously many times a day. My mother did not enjoy the long-antic.i.p.ated visit of her only son. Her spirit seemed crushed, and I know she felt that she had lost her boy, and a reckless, wicked man had come home in his stead. With many tears and kind words of pleading she bade me 'good-bye' when, in a few weeks after, I started on my second sea voyage. At the first port at which we stopped after leaving home, I received a letter from my aunt, containing the sad news of my dear mother's death. Instantly that mother's face, as it appeared to me on the evening I returned home, was before me. I threw myself on my knees in my cabin, and pleaded for forgiveness. I resolved with G.o.d's help to lead a different life. But habits of sin, that begin in cobwebs, end in iron chains. It was not easy to break away from them. But every time I began to use an oath, my mother's face, as it looked that night, came before me. I shall never forget it to my dying day. With G.o.d's help, I have overcome that terrible sin. I would give everything I possess could I only speak to her once more, and tell her my sorrow and remorse. But she is silent in the grave."

When the gentleman had finished his sad story, he said, "When you are writing something for the children, tell the boys this story I have told you, and tell them always to remember that a sinful habit may begin as a cobweb, but it will end as an iron chain about their souls."--_Baptist._

THE WORD WITH POWER.

"Jesus, who lived above the sky, Came down to be a man and die.

And those kind hands that did such good, They nailed them to a cross of wood.

And, out of pity, Jesus said, He'd bear the punishment instead."

An aged woman sat alone by the fireside, when Mr. ---- came in, and simply exclaimed, as he looked out at the window, "The Lord said, 'I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance' (Mark ii.

17). 'Not the righteous.' What a mercy that is." No more was said, and Mr. ---- left the room, but at night, when in bed, the aged one said to her sister, who occupied the same room with her, "Mr. ---- came into the room below, and, as if speaking to himself, uttered these words, 'I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance. Not the righteous.

What a mercy that is!' and he went out, and said no more, but they made the tears roll down my face. There is hope for me."

"A word in season" the Lord alone can give to be effectual. Then, "how good it is." Bless His holy name, He shall have all the praise, for ever and ever.

D. F.

_August, 1888._

THE PRECIOUS BLOOD OF CHRIST.

A fountain fulness still remains Of pardoning blood from Jesus' veins, Though millions have its virtues tried, And from its riches been supplied.

And yet it ever is the same To all that come in Jesus' name; Not one that to it shall repair Will ever perish in despair.

It makes the filthy sinner clean, Though vile as I or Magdalene; Here David lost his crimson sin, And thousands more as well as him.

Mana.s.seh here lost all his crimes, And now in glory brightly shines; Also dear Paul, of sinners chief, From this dear fountain got relief,

And writes so sweetly of its power To save e'en to a dying hour; Yea, all the while he travelled here, This fountain was to him most dear.

No saved sinner ever knew Better than Paul what blood can do, For he himself its power had tested, And on its efficacy rested.

And all the hosts around the throne Bear witness to what blood has done; Their holy joy and heavenly bliss Is concentrated all in this.

Oh, may this joy and peace be mine When called to leave the things of time!

To sing of Jesus' love and blood, And dwell for ever with my G.o.d.

B. W.

LITTLE HELPS BY LARGE HEARTS.

A friend had been sitting a little while by the bed-side of a poor woman--rendered utterly helpless from paralysis--reading the Scriptures to her, when the door was gently opened, and three neatly-dressed little girls entered the room, each carrying a small basket. One of them approached the bed, and after a few simple and kind inquiries, held up the little basket she had in her hand, saying, "My mother sent you this, and hopes soon to come and see you." The poor woman thanked the child gratefully, and said, "Put it away, my dear, for me."

The little girl seemed quite used to the employment. She went over to a cupboard, emptied carefully the contents of her basket, and with a modest "Good-bye," the three children withdrew.

The poor woman then gave an explanation to the friend who was present.

"These little girls," she said, "are the children of a very respectable butcher, and every Sat.u.r.day afternoon their mother employs them to carry about to poor people sc.r.a.ps of meat and bones. They are nice children, and take quite a pleasure in doing it, and they have given me, and many others, many a good dinner."

Now, who can calculate the amount of good resulting from the thoughtful charity of this mother? We read thus of G.o.d's redeemed people--"their works do follow them"--not to heaven for recompense, as some vainly imagine, but on the earth. Continually we see the truth of this in the effects produced, after the lapse of years, from works done by those whose bones have long been turned to dust. Who can tell the influence this weekly act may have upon these three children, if spared to grow up to womanhood? And thus, when their mother's place knows her no more, her "works will follow her."

THE PENNY PIECE.

I give the following from the lips of one who was well acquainted with the facts:--

A frost had been raging for thirteen weeks. The consequence was that out-door labourers, for the most part, were stopped in their employment.

Among these was a poor gardener who had a wife and five or six children.

He was at length reduced to great straits. He had spent all but his last penny, and had not the slightest prospect of more.

Pa.s.sing down a certain street one day, he happened to see a poor man standing in the lobby of a church or chapel. His heart yearned over him, and he thought, "How I should like to help him; but I have only a penny left for myself and family." Still, he felt that he could not resist the inclination. He instantly turned round, stepped back, and gave the man his last penny. Immediately there came a peculiar light and gladness into his soul. Instead of being burdened by his dest.i.tution, he was relieved by it. He was rich in his poverty.

That very night the long frost broke, and in the morning he resumed his work. He had not been long in the garden before his employer appeared.

Addressing him, he said, "I am sure you must have felt the effects of this long frost very much. Here is a sovereign for you." The poor gardener felt amazed, and, to use his own words, it was as though the Lord said to him, "Here's a sovereign for the penny you lent Me last night."

Reader, it is written, "He that giveth to the poor lendeth unto the Lord"; and again, "There is that scattereth, and yet increaseth; and there is that withholdeth more than is meet, but it tendeth to poverty."

O. J.

BAD men excuse their faults; good men will leave them.

A BRAND PLUCKED OUT OF THE FIRE.

While occasionally serving a dest.i.tute Church, between three and four months ago, I was requested to visit a dying woman. I found her in the most distracting agony of bodily pain, but rejoicing at the same time in the consolations of the Gospel. My visits afforded me much pleasure and edification. Being informed that she had been once a most abandoned character, I solicited a friend to collect from her own mouth the history of her life, and since her death have been favoured with a very interesting and circ.u.mstantial account of this monument of mercy.