mighty revivings of piety and charity, grand movements of faith and action. Nor are these to begin afar off, nor up in the clouds, nor in some strange, abnormal, unhuman way, probably. They are to begin by somebody's going to work just where he stands; by a little handful of praying people getting together somewhere to pray oftener and more heartily. Why not you? How do you know but the immortal honour of initiating some benignant work, for which men and angels shall sing praises through eternity, may belong to your society? At least there are individual souls waiting, beyond doubt, to be turned from Satan unto God, from darkness unto light, and thus turned into your "crowns of rejoicing in the day of the Lord Jesus," by your agency, whether you are minister, layman, or one of the Lord God Almighty's daughters. Will you not think who these lost ones, perishing from lack of your efforts and intercessions, may be? Do not consider only how much this year is to add to your estate or income, your reputation or style of living; but rather what souls, at the end of it, shall owe their awakening and eternal life, under the grace of God, to your fidelity. Select the objects of your prayer. Revise your domestic habits. Re-examine your indulgences. Reponder your example, and the consequences flowing from it. Start anew. It is a time for Christ's ministers to consider again the uses of their office; their manner of study; their methodical arrangement of hours; their plans of usefulness; how many moments they idle away in book-stores or gossiping conversations, getting neither exercise nor knowledge, spirits nor strength; what is the character of their fellowships; how to acquire more boldness and skill in "standing up for Jesus;" how to reach and influence the young. These breaks in the steady current of our days seem to be granted us for this very end-that we may cease from whatever is false, selfish, worldly, artificial, formal, in our discipleship, and enter boldly upon fresh, fairer, loftier, holier paths. The Head of the Church is certainly committing vast responsibilities to His true followers in this land. The evangelical cause was never in a position so commanding. Prevalent and fascinating forms of error and unbelief are evidently breaking up from sheer discontent and religious infirmity. The interest in preaching was never greater. Multitudes are turning their eyes away from the mazes of Pantheistic speculation and Rationalistic delusion to a more sure, stable, encouraging standard-to regions of comfort and peace in the faith of the Son of God. He who gave the everlasting Word can make great the company of them that publish it, and make them mighty. "Pray ye the Lord of the harvest that he will send forth labourers into his harvest." The summer is ended. Let a new harvest begin! CONVERSION OF A MOHAMMEDAN YOUTH. RELATED BY A BRITISH NAVAL OFFICER. IN the year 1829, Muhamed Ali, Pasha of Egypt, sent twenty Egyptian youths to England, in order there to acquire the art of shipbuilding. Among their number was one Mahmoud Elkeso, a lad of twelve years of age, who had been carefully trained to Mohammedan piety, by his God-fearing mother. He hoped to be saved by alms-giving and fasting, and hated Christ and His followers; for the scandalous conversations of nominal Christians in Egypt had inspired him with disgust at everything savouring of Christianity. 66 For that very reason-because he must go and live among the wicked Christian people— the separation from his native country proved all the more painful to him. "When Mahmoud was placed under my care," this Christian naval architect states, "I soon took notice of the dark and gloomy state of his mind, and his bitter rancour against everything he considered Christian. I accordingly improved every opportunity that offered, to point out to him the difference between true and nominal Christians, and explained to him occasionally, in the plainest terms, the doctrines of the gospel, dwelling particularly on the doctrine of sin, the corruption of the human heart, of Christ and the work of redemption, and especially on the doctrine of regeneration, which in fact made an early and deep impression upon him, and arrested his attention. Possessed of a clear apprehension, and sound judgment, he was never in a hurry to take up a thing lightly. "As often as I had submitted a new consideration, his first remark invariably was, 'Prove it!' He took particular delight in conversing and questioning me on religious topics, his answers proving the ardent participation of his heart. He attended the preaching of the faithful Mr Griffin with peculiar predilection, while his mind and heart apprehended more and more of the truths of Christianity. Now he began to be aware that there was a something in the Christian religion beyond what he fancied to have discovered in it while at home in Egypt. All whom he found to be truly pious were dear to him, and their conversation appeared to him increasingly valuable. Every leisure moment from working hours he devoted to the one thing needful. He often accompanied me to the sick-bed, and read the Scriptures to the patients, now and then adding a word of serious exhortation himself. A young female confessed that the words of Mahmoud had first led her to see the necessity of a change of heart. This promising youth began to be ailing as early as 1832, and in July 1836, his sufferings became so acute that hope of his recovery could only be derived from the milder climate of Egypt. THE ELOQUENCE OF PIETY. "He accordingly made preparations for his departure, but was no longer able to accomplish it. In addition to his ordinary physician, another doctor was called in for the purpose of consultation. Mahmoud demanded his candid opinion; he replied, that human aid was out of the question. His sole business now remained, to prepare for his approaching end. With the calmest self-possession he distributed his little property, being specially intent on leaving a suitable token of remembrance to all those that he had been previously attached to, especially his tenderly-beloved mother and his young Egyptian friends. "I had just retired to bed, Tuesday, August 2d, when he sent for me. On entering, he thus addressed me: 'Oh, I should like you to stay with me to-night! Don't leave me!' I stayed, and witnessed the childlike faith with which he clung to Jesus and His gospel. From that time he had but five days more to live, and the last words he lisped with a faltering voice were- Other refuge I have none! Hangs my helpless soul on Thee!'" It is deserving of notice that the other Egyptian youths, whom the Pasha sent to England with Mahmoud, also embraced the Christian religion. S. R. TAKE CARE OF THE BEGINNING. "ALL's well that ends well," is an adage which, although it sounds agreeably, is but partially true. It is of the highest moment to begin well, and to go on well. This is the best, almost the only, guarantee for ending well. Things may end well which began ill; that is the exception; the reverse is the rule. We therefore say to all young people, “Take care of the beginning!" The Arabs have a fable of a miller, who was one day startled by a camel's nose thrust in the window of the room where he was sleeping. "It is very cold outside," said the camel; "I only want to get my nose in." The nose was let in, the neck, and finally the whole body. Presently the miller began to be extremely inconvenienced at the ungainly companion he had obtained, in a room certainly not large enough for both. "If you are inconvenienced, you may leave," said the camel; "as for myself, I shall stay where I am." The moral of the fable concerns all. When the temptation occurs, we must not yield to it. We must not allow so much as its "nose" to come in. Everything like sin is to be turned away from. He who yields, even in the smallest degree, will soon be entirely overcome; and the last state of that man is worse than the first. The rule applies to habits, indulgences, company, and books. It is for every man to ascertain what is right, and then, by the help of God, to follow that course, and none other. THE ELOQUENCE OF PIETY. 539 WE do not study half so much as we ought to do the missionary literature of our day. Having so much of it, and obtaining it so cheaply, it is in danger of being neglected for the miserable trash provided merely for amusement. We have been lately looking over the missionary reports of our brethren in India; and while we have been charmed with the clear interposition of the hand of God in missions, and gratified with the simple and holy labours of the missionaries, we have been still more delighted with the elevated and devoted piety of converted idolaters. Nothing in the world can raise man like religion. It does indeed bring the most degraded of Adam's family from the dunghill, and set him among princes; so that we may adopt the beautiful language of the psalmist, "Though ye have been among the pots, yet shall ye be as the wings of a dove covered with silver, and her feathers with yellow gold." Let us look at two or three facts: A pious native Christian in India was asked, on her dying bed, as to the state of her mind. She beautifully replied, "Happy! happy! I have Christ here," laying her hand on the Bengalee Bible, "and Christ here," pressing it to her heart, "and Christ there," pointing towards heaven. Happy Christian! to whatever part of the universe she might be removed, Christ was with her. Brindelbund, who died triumphantly at one of the missionary stations in India, spent more than sixty years in the service of Satan. He was a byragge; that is, one who professed to have subdued his passion, and who was, as they express it, seeking some one who is worthy. He went to Cutwa, and heard Mr Chamberlain's preaching and instructions, and said to him, "I have been many years from one holy place to another, seeking some one who is worthy, and to offer my flower." (The sweetest flower, they say, is the human heart; this is their figurative way of talking.) "I have been seeking some one to whom to offer my flower, who is worthy; but never have I found one till now. I have heard of Jesus; I give it to Him." The old man was faithful; he never took away his heart from Jesus. A Hindu woman, who had been called by the grace of God, applied to the Rev. Dr Sutton for baptism. He tried her state of feeling, by representing to her the sufferings which must necessarily follow a renunciation of her heathenish creed; he set before her the loss of caste, the wrath of her husband, the disgrace, misery, and persecution she would probably be called to endure. "I know all this," she replied; "I considered about that before I came to you; I am ready and willing to bear it all. I am ready to sacrifice all to my Lord. Surely, sir, I cannot endure anything in comparison to what He suffered for me." Blessed woman! Would that we all cherished thy spirit! WHAT IS THE USE? Page for the Young. "Tis no use, and I shall not try to learn it," said an impatient little boy, throwing his book down upon the table. "What is of no use, Henry?" said his mother, who was watching him. "This hard lesson in geography, mother, about Egypt and Syria. I don't care anything about these places, nor who lives there, and never shall go there, so what is the use of learning about them? I believe people write hard books just to make children study them, and grow cross." "Now, you are unreasonable, my son-but bring me the book, and let me look at this disagreeable lesson." "Yes, the same." "Oh, I thought that was so long ago that nobody knew anything about the place now." "Oh yes, it is the same country it was then; and the same river, by the side of which Moses was hid in his basket of bulrushes, still fertilises the whole land by its waters." "O mother, you won't think it hard-you don't have to study and learn lessons now." 66 'My child, there are many lessons, and hard ones too, that are to be learned and practised each day, by every one." "You too, mother! what are they, will you tell me?" "We must learn to be like Christ, kind, gentle, patient, and useful-watchful over our temper, that we do not grow violent, sullen, or revengeful; study our own characters, and those of others, that we may know how to live a good example to others, how to do them good, and to profit by what we see excellent in them. These are not easy lessons, Henry, and old and young alike must learn them." "But not you, mother, you are so good now?" "No, Henry, I have not done learning yet, and your inattention and perverseness this morning has given me a lesson. I have been grieved and almost angry at your want of application, and impatience too, as I wished to devote this morning to other purposes. Of this your conduct has deprived me; and I must learn to bear this little trial with patience, and try and persuade you to be more attentive in future." "O mother, I am so very sorry!" said Henry, tears starting to his eyes. I will try again now, and perhaps you can go." "Not this morning, my son; but now we will read this book lesson." "But, mother, what use is it for me to study all this, if I never want to go to Egypt, and don't care who lives there? "Sometime you may have occasion to go, when you are a man, and you would appear very foolish if you, never having paid attention to geography, should tell your friends you should take the Hamburg steamer for Egypt, or, not having studied the history of the country, should suppose it was governed by Queen Victoria. But do you not remember anything about Egypt; what an old country it is, and who lived there thousands of years before Britain or America was discovered?" "O mother, why Joseph and his brothers lived in Egypt-is this the very same place?" "The Nile, mother, do you mean, the great river? I know just where it is on the map; and is this the very same, where the little baby was left all alone, and his sister stood out of sight to watch him? Oh, I am so glad to know it, I shall like Egypt now, mother. But what is the use to study Latin and French, and all the big books Fanny and George have; and arithmetic, too, such very hard sums? I don't think I shall study them if I do go to Egypt when I am a man.' If you did not understand arithmetic, you could not tell how many miles you travelled, how much money you would spend, how far you were from home, the day of the month, nor the time you would return. If you did not understand grammar, you could not write intelligible letters home to your friends, you would make sad mistakes which would mortify you and us all very much. The French language is spoken in other countries, much more than the English, and though you might possibly contrive to travel through Europe without speaking any language but English, yet you would be deprived of many agreeable acquaintances, and many sources of useful information. So, my son, you must certainly study French, if you mean to be a traveller.” "O mother, dear, how much we have to learn-and it is all of use, too! But I can never study so much." "It has not to be done all at once, my child; years are given you to acquire this knowledge, if you choose to improve the time." "Then, mother, I will read this lesson over three times more; then I must know I can say it, but I have learned a great many lessons, too, besides what is in the book, havn't I?” "Yes, my son, and mother too I hope, and we will both try and remember them, so that they may be of use to us another time."Christian Register. BAD BARGAINS. A TEACHER in a Sabbath school once remarked that he who buys the truth makes a good bargain, and inquired if any scholar recollected an instance in Scripture of a bad bargain. "I do," replied a boy. "Esau made a bad bargain when he sold his birthright for a mess of pottage." A second said, Judas made a bad bargain when he sold his Lord for thirty pieces of silver.' A third boy observed, "Our Lord tells us that he makes a bad bargain who, to gain the whole world, loses his own soul." A bad bargain, indeed! Published by A. STRAHAN AND Co., 42 George Street, Edinburgh; and E, MARLOR UGH AND CO., 4 Ave Maria Lane, London. 66 REVISED BY THE REV. NORMAN M'LEOD, D.D., GLASGOW. WEEKLY NOS. ONE HALFPENNY.] [MONTHLY PARTS, THREEPENCE. THOUGHTS FOR THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR. BY HENRY WARD BEECHER. hour. While we are looking forward to the close of our history, we neglect to look back and perceive that our history has been a series of closings; that the past is heaped up and crowded full of things-left, ended, finished for ever. As there is something piquant and memor- | able in the novelty of first experience, so there is something sad, and even solemn, in the view of last times. And yet, the two antitheses in a man's own life, his birth and his death, are usually without experience or consciousness. Birth and death are alike blind and insensible. The first two years leave almost nothing to memory. Then come only a few clusters for the memory. We are five or six years in the world before we have brain enough and nerve enough to receive durable impressions. And, looking the other way, by Tell me what can you remember, and what far the greatest number of people die without recite, of your first five years? They are apparent pain, without mental sensibility-gone without a trace. To you the time is apparently as little conscious of failing life as not only gone, but it left you almost without flowers are of the loss of their petals, when a remembrance. ripeness plucks them one by one. But it is a very different experience that we have, when in full manhood-in strength, vigour, nerve-we take record, day by day, of change; passing from some things for ever, entering upon some, and palpitating with various emotions-sadness for the past or hope for the future! But, as one may carelessly read a book and fail of half its meaning; as one may but glance at a picture and perceive not half its beauty; as one may part from a travelling acquaintance almost without any insight; so the periods and events of our life are irregularly dealt with. We glance off from events before we see even a tithe of their meaning; we hasten on to new things without reading yet more valuable lessons in the old. Should such things be put in a book as are happening to each of us every day, we should hang over the chapters as if a strange enchantment possessed us. When speaking of the end of time, we do not reflect that it is ending every day, every All the periods of time which have appeared days and years to us, are as effectually ended as they will be at God's last day, when the angel shall lift up his hand and swear before Him that liveth for ever and ever that time shall be no more. Of the next five years, how much can you recount? A glancing thing, here and there, is reproducible in your thought. But the years-the years-they are rolled away, died out, and gone as have the clouds of last summer! Then, year followed year. They came, grew, orbed to the full, waned, died, and went like shadows! Years that wrought upon you like eternity-whose marks you will carry for ever dissolved and passed like drops of dew. One by one, years are dead-twenty-thirty forty-fifty-eighty! Go to the shore and call them. They shall not hear you, nor obey! Were they good, were they evil-were they misspent and poorly used? Nothing can retouch their period, nor add to their record. Is it a solemn consideration to look forward to that time when you shall stand on the brink of life, and look back on all your years? It is a great deal more affecting to you to stand in the freshness of youth, or mid-life, and look back upon what years are gone! They are registered and judged! Not No. 46. when God's judgment-day dawns will they be more fixed and judged, than they are already! Not only is there room for solemn thought in the larger periods of time, but there is something affecting in the subdivisions of time. Every Saturday evening has, to my ear, a gentle knell. The week tolls itself away-one, two, three, four, five, six, and the perfect seven and I can almost hear the sound dying away as if days had slipped their cables, and were drifting down the stream, but beating faint measures as they recede! And of every one I may say-Ended! gone! I shall see thee no more! Days likewise have some voice in dying. They scowl and shut down drearily sometimes, but oftener die in gorgeous apparel. As the sun stoops in the west, passes the horizon, and is gone, I hear no audible voice. The scene speaks to the soul, as no voice may to the ear-"The day is gone-for ever." No temple was ever builded as some days areof wondrous deeds, of strange thoughts, of marvellous fancies, of deep feelings, of strange experiences. All the frescoes upon the Vatican are not so wonderful as those which our experience paints upon single days-that move on to the horizon, sink and go to the bottom, with all that they have! In like manner it is with seasons-the promise of spring-the flush of summer-the fulfilment of autumn, and the year's long sleep-winter! Each of them goes, with a gradual and lingering step, so that we cannot remark their exit; and we only know their departure after they have gone. Memory may glean them, but never renew. Upon the future we cast hopes-but none upon the past! Upon the future we throw good resolutions of amendment-but none upon the past! Upon the future we cast a fertile fancy, and fill it with thick deeds-but the past, upon that we cast only sighs, or tears, or faint joys, faint as dried flowers are fragrant of the summer that is gone! But how much more marked are the completions of experiences the era of early youth, the beginnings of things whose endings are with us yet; the seeds whose stalks are yet growing; the foundations upon whose walls we are still building! We can look back to days of sorrow that gathered as clouds for storms-that rained and drenched us; that threatened to overwhelm us; that passed and for ever left us, and now lie in memory, rounded out and completed things. How many hopes, born, ripened, perished! How many fears that quivered, struck-like harmless lightnings in summer evenings and ended! How many aspirations that few, soaring high, till the head was dizzy with height! How many loves lighted the path of those who are gone, while the love shines on, like sepulchral lamps, fed by the living to cast their faithful light upon the ashes of those that are for earth no more! How, when the whole reality comes back to us, do we stand struck with wonder at the deeds done-the events accomplished, the experiences ripened, the transitions completed! Of our youthful companions, how many are with us yet? What part of old companionship is left? If the school-room, where we used to sit, should be again filled with the former scholars, how many would sit there as spirits, and how many in body? Of our childhood home, how many would come to our summons in shadow, and how many in substance? How, as we advance in life, the past gathers treasures. What a magazine of things ended, laid up, perfected! In the softened mood of such thoughts, how well it is for us to employ the last days of the year in solemn reflections! How wise it is to make an estimate of our own place, our character, our prospects! Another year is gone. Before we enter the next, let us reckon with ourselves, earnestly and honestly, what the old year has done for us and with us. And should it be our last year, let us make such timely preparation, that, at whatever hour the summons comes, we may depart gladly, rise with triumph, and take hold of immortality in heaven. THE LESSONS OF DEATH. BY THE REV. G. B. CHEEVER, D.D. How many, how constant, how powerful they are! Beneath us, around us, on every side, are the intimations of our mortality. And with them all there comes to us a voice, "Prepare to meet thy God!" We are all dying daily, some more slowly, some more rapidly, but all dying. The candle of life that is burning is but the physical frame dying; and every day snuffs off a new portion of the wick, and leaves less remaining. In a few days more it will be burned to the socket, and the process of dying will be finished, and then comes LIFE. Every man is dying daily, but every man does not feel it, is not willing to acknowledge it. Happy are they who do feel it, and who, while day after day drops into the past eternity, are learning to die unto self and sin, are forming the habit of living unto Christ, and in Christ, the habit of that life which is hid with Christ in God. Happy are they who, as every day declineth, are taking so many blessed steps towards God in heaven, for whom, while all behind is shadow, all before is glory, and whose faces gather brightness instead of blackness, as they come towards the Great Day. And one Richard Baxter was such a man. reason for Baxter's extraordinary and living piety was this, that God made him more sensible than most men to the intimations of death within him and around him. God laid him at death's door every day. He wrote |