how anxiously that light, feeble and flickering as it may be, has been watched by many an one groping in spiritual darkness, eternity alone will reveal. Oh, let us see to it that our lamps burn with a pure and steady light,—that our lives are holy and consistent, and as it becometh the gospel of Christ! Let us seek to be "living epistles," which all may read; and may we thus be ever leading others to "behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sins of the world."

Happily for Agnes, her lot had fallen among those who were truly consistent and devoted followers of Jesus. Her watchful eye, observed, and was forced to admire and revere, the deep, mellowed spirituality of the aged father, and the untiring devotion of Mr. Leslie, in whom every power of a highly gifted mind, and every feeling of a generous heart, seemed to work unceasingly in his Master's service. She attached herself to Mrs. Leslie, whose lovely Christian character shone in her domestic circle with a mild and beautiful lustre. She was not handsome, nor learned, nor accomplished; but her heart seemed so full of love, so brimming over with kindness to all around her, so happy, and so desirous to make others so, that Agnes thought her the most attractive creature she had ever met. Then, everything in her household was so well ordered, the management so good, and the union and affection of the family so perfect, that it seemed as if Agnes must be happy among them. But it was not so. She soon

became conscious of a feeling of depression, which daily gained in strength, and resisted all her efforts to overcome it. Sometimes she would try to account for it by attributing it to a feeling of loneliness in her father's absence; but then the thought would immediately occur, that even should the opportunity offer of joining him, she would not embrace it.

"No," she would say to herself; "there is a secret among them, and I must know it; I will never leave this till I do, for I feel that everything depends on it."

Days passed on, and Agnes became increasingly wretched. "If they," she thought, so holy and devoted as they are, are sinners, then what am I?" The sandy foundation on which all her hopes had been built gave way beneath the first wave of conviction, and, in a moment, the fair edifice lay in ruins around her. In the sight of man she had led a comparatively blameless life; but she now felt there had been no principle of love to God within, and that she could not for a moment stand before His searching eye. She had wakened up to a full consciousness of her spiritual state,—the misery of her position as a condemned sinner rushed in full force upon her mind, and

she knew not where to turn for refuge. Still her pride and sensitive feeling kept her from speaking to any one, even to her dear friend, Mrs. Leslie. She strove to exert herself in conversation: she could not command her voice to sing, but she played her most intricate and beautiful pieces, feeling all the time inexpressibly miserable, and unable to take any pleasure in the affectionate praises which the exertion of her musical powers always elicited. She fancied she had succeeded in perfectly concealing the workings of her mind under the veil of quiet dignity and reserve: but love is quick-sighted; and Mrs. Leslie well knew what was passing within. She had seen a change come over the mind and manner of Agnes; she observed the anxious eye, the pre-occupied attention, the constant effort at cheerfulness: she rightly guessed the cause, and yearned with a mother's yearning over the soul of her friend. Yet she dared not speak; she dared not touch the chord which the Master's hand was tuning for His praise: she knew whose the work was, and knew that in His own good time it would be completed. She could only watch and pray, and this she did with all the fervency of her warm and devoted heart.

One evening the party were all assembled as usual round the large, cheerful fire in the library, engaged in lively conversation. Mr. Leslie related anecdotes of his parish visits in the morning; some with a touch of pathos which drew tears from every eye, while others caused a merry laugh. Now and then every other voice was stilled while the aged father poured forth some beautiful sentiment, the deep, full tones of a mind long practised in thoughts of holiness and love; then again all would join in affectionate and playful converse.

Agnes had joined them that evening with a feeling that something must happen to relieve her mind, or that her senses must desert her, so dreadful was the burden on her heart, so aching was the loneliness within. And as she sat there, among them, yet not of them, the sense of isolation became almost intolerable. Suddenly, she knew not how, her strength seemed entirely to give way, the overtasked mind resigned the work of perpetual effort,-she burst into an irresistible flood of tears, and hastened from the room. All were left in consternation, with the exception of Mrs. Leslie, who, after whispering a few words to her husband, rose, and quietly followed her. She found her, as she expected, in an agony of grief, and, by the most affectionate tenderness and loving sympathy, encouraged her to open her whole heart, and disclose the cause of her sorrow.

“Oh,” said the agitated girl, as soon as she could compose her voice sufficiently to speak, "I am not like any of you; you are all so happy; you are all enjoying such perfect peace, and I am miserable. Before I came here I thought myself religious-I thought I was perfectly safe; but now I feel that I am lost. I was mistaken all the time. It was a dream,— not a reality. I was satisfied with the form of godliness without its power, which I have never known; I have lived without God in the world," and feel that in His sight I am guilty and condemned."

"That is what we all are by nature, dearest Agnes," said her friend; 66 we have none of us any righteousness of our own to plead; but do you not know that Jesus died to save you ?"

"I cannot feel that I have any interest in the work of Christ," she replied; "I have always believed in the Atonement, and yet it conveyed no definite idea to my mind. I felt safe and satisfied because I attended to ordinary duties and had so great a respect for religion. But now I see how miserably low my views of religion were-how cold, and lifeless, and ignorant. I see now that God requires perfect obedience, entire devotion, holiness of heart and life; and I feel how greatly I come short of this standard. I know not now what

is to become of me.'

Fearing to use her own words, though they glowed upon her lips, Mrs. Leslie took a Bible from the table, and read to her the glorious message of the gospel. She told her it was in mercy she was awakened to consciousness of guilt and danger, and warned in time to "flee from the wrath to come;" and she urged her to embrace the offers of mercy now so freely held out to her. "Come unto me," says the Redeemer, "all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." "Look unto me, and be ye saved." "Let him that is athirst come; and whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely."

Still Agnes would not believe that the invitation was addressed to her.

"Are you not a sinner?" said her friend.

"Indeed, yes."

"Then it is for you. 'Jesus came into the world to save sinners,' to 'seek and to save that which was lost.' The Good Shepherd is now seeking you, his stray sheep, and will yet bring you into his safe and happy fold. You must be one of us, dearest Agnes; it is such peace, such happiness. You must look to Jesus alone, and put your whole

trust in Him, believing that he is both able and willing to save you."

"It is too wonderful-I cannot understand it," Agnes would say.

"Wonderful indeed, Agnes. The unutterable love which planned our redemption is a theme far beyond our finite minds, and one which will occupy us through the glorious ages of eternity. But, happily, we are not required to understand, but to believe. We have simply to take God at his word, and rest our salvation upon it. Jesus has undertaken all for you, and you must give up every other dependence, and trust unreservedly and entirely to Him."

The beautiful hymn, "Jesus died for me," was repeated, and listened to with deep attention. The idea of a present salvation-an immediate rescue-which would also be a stronghold of safety through time and eternity, seemed transporting; and Agnes expressed her desire to lay hold on and appropriate it.

Mrs. Leslie sought to encourage her by dwelling on the love of Jesus, and showing her from what a depth of unutterable affection and pity the work of Christ must have arisen. She reminded her that by closing with the offer of pardon we have no wrath to dread, and that it was dishonouring to God not to take him simply at his word,-believe, and be saved.

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Then, with the eloquence of a full heart, she sought to win her to the love of Christ. Jesus was the theme in which she delighted; His name was the spirit of her words, as it was the key-note of her beautiful and harmonious life. "You believe in your father's love to you," she would say; 'you delight in dwelling on his thoughtfulness and care, but the love of Jesus is ten thousand times greater. The most devoted earthly attachment is but a drop from the fountain of Divine love, and should lead us to draw our supplies from thence." She endeavoured to picture forth the life of Jesus while here on earth, and reminded her that it was the same tender and compassionate Being with whom she now had to do.

They knelt, and with all the earnestness of one deeply impressed with the awful realities of eternity, Mrs. Leslie prayed long and fervently.

Her prayer was heard. When they parted for the night it was with tears of joy instead of sorrow, for Agnes believed with her whole heart, and instantly the mists and darkness fled away, and the light of the glorious gospel shone full in her soul. She looked unto Jesus, and the wound was healed; anxiety and trouble ceased, and her spirit "rejoiced in God her Saviour." There was joy that night at Marston-deep, quiet, fervent

joy that another was rescued from the world's wilderness and added to the "little flock;" and there was joy in heaven over the immortal spirit who had passed "from death unto life," and "from the power of Satan into the kingdom of God."

We may not carry the story of Agnes Fleming any further. Enough that we leave her wakened from spiritual slumber, and in the enjoyment of that profound and heavenly peace which is known only to the believing mind. Enough that she is travelling Zion-ward, a "stranger here," but a fellow-citizen of the saints and of the household of God; the peculiar care of an ever-watchful Saviour, and the heir of a glorious and eternal inheritance.

We trust our story will convey its own lesson, and speak a word in season to one who, like Agnes, may be leading an easy, untroubled life, fancying all is safe, while he has never examined the grounds of his confidence, or inquired into his title to heaven.

yours.

Dear reader! suffer one word of the truth spoken in love, and answer the question which the writer's heart would put to Have you an interest in Christ, and is love to your Divine Redeemer the living, animating principle of your life? If not, whatever you may think of your spiritual state, be assured, you are in awful, in imminent danger.

"You slumber on the brink

Of everlasting woe."

You do not know what life is; for, be assured, there is as much resemblance between an inanimate corpse and the breathing, joyous form of youth and health, as between the deadness of carnal apathy and the heavenly peace of an awakened mind. This peace can flow only from the Atonement-it is the result of faith (Rom. v. 1). Not that faith of mere acknowledgment which the devils possess (Jas. ii. 19), but that living faith which unites to Christ, and calls forth the whole heart in love and gratitude to Him who has wrought our salvation for us, and our works in us.

Oh, be persuaded never to rest till you make sure work of salvation!-till you

Do not delay. Beware, lest you "sleep a perpetual sleep, and wake not" till it is too late, and the "door is shut."