prospering, and events gradually tending to the ends she set in view. Mr. Warren was quite satisfied with her arrangements, and peacefully pursued the even tenor of his way, seeing his domestic circle lessening as child after child passed from it into the wide world on the mission of life- -a mission which has two separate paths; one filled, and lighted, and ruled by self, and ending in a grave; the other marked out by providential duty, lighted by love to God and man, and stretching onward into an eternal region of joy and reward.

"CHRIST IN YOU."

COL. i. 27.

WHAT remarkable words those are! I have read books in several different languages; but, except as quoted from the Bible, I never met with any like them elsewhere. Who but an inspired writer would venture to use such words: "Christ in you?" They are frequent, however, in different forms in the Bible, and took their rise from the promise of Christ to his disciples: "If a man love me, my Father will love him; and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him." And again: "At that day ye shall know that I am in my Father, and ye in me, and I in you."

That these words may be understood, let me tell two stories. One relates to a person who lived long ago, in the early ages of the church; the other to a man who lived and died a few years back, in the place where the writer lived. The first was a bishop, the second was a pilot. Both knew the meaning of the words "Christ in you."

The bishop's name was Ignatius, and the church over which he presided was at Antioch. He was well known, and celebrated for his earnest devotedness to the cause of Christ. Little do we know, in our highly favoured days, the trials of those who lived in the times of Ignatius. Those were days of fiery trial and bitter persecution. The Roman emperor Domitian was the first who stretched forth his hand against the church of Christ at Antioch, and his evil example was closely followed by Trajan. Trajan was, indeed, a fierce and fearful persecutor. In the course of a triumphal march at the head of his army he arrived at Antioch. As one of the dearest objects of his ambition

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was to destroy Christianity, the celebrated Ignatius was speedily brought before the tyrant, and put on trial for his life. There was an expression at that time in use among the Christians, derived, no doubt, from the words before us, "Theophoros," which means "God-bearer," and another, "Christophoros," or "Christ-bearer." Christ-bearer." It was common for Christians to call themselves by these two names, as expressing the confidence they felt of their union with their God and Saviour. Ignatius had used this expression while standing before Trajan. The heathen conqueror understood not its meaning, Who," asked he, is Christophoros ?" "He who carries Christ in his heart," answered the venerable Ignatius. "Dost thou, then, carry Christ in thy heart?" demanded the emperor. "I do," said the faithful servant of a loving Master; "for it is written, 'I will dwell in them, and they in me.” He then with great fervour, and amidst the impatience of the court, spoke freely to the great Trajan of the ruin of mankind by sin, and of salvation by Christ. He warned the emperor to turn from idols to the worship of the ONE GOD. The conference was very short between the celebrated soldier of the world, and the no less celebrated soldier of the cross. The question was put, "Dost thou, then, carry Christ in thy heart?" and the answer was given, "I do ;" and when the exhortation of which I have spoken had been uttered, this sentence was passed upon the prisoner:-" Since Ignatius declares that he carries within himself the man who was crucified, let him be put in bonds, and carried to the great Rome, to be food for the wild beasts, and to make sport for the people."

This sentence was fully carried out. Ignatius was taken in chains to the great Rome. He was there thrown to the wild beasts, which were kept in dens for such purposes, and by them he was torn piecemeal. His agony is described as being very short. The wild beasts quickly slew and devoured him, and his soul was safe for ever with Him "whom, having not seen, he loved; and in whom, though then he saw him not, yet believing, he rejoiced with joy unspeakable and full of glory." Yes, for he was Christophoros, or Christ-bearer. He who dwelt within him, had used this method to prove the power of his religion, and to call his servant to himself.

Now let us turn from emperors, and bishops, and martyrs of the olden time, to the humble cottage of a pilot

on our east seacoast. He was a fine-built man as you ever saw—tall, skilful, and courageous. During the winter, when the northern seas are frozen, he was much at home. I venture to assure you that at such times he was never absent from his seat in church. Whoever kept away, they got no encouragement from him. There might you have seen him in all weathers and at every service. Every minister who knew this fine specimen of a British sailor, felt thankful for his presence, and encouraged by his prayers. His life was holy, chaste, and happy. His example, in all things, was a good one. He loved God, and served him lovingly. But I must lead you to his death-bed. The strongest frame cannot ward off illness. Death comes with his scythe to cut down the strong, oftentimes before the weak. Long did James the pilot lie battling with disease. It was good to visit him. None came away without learning how great is the power of religion, how upholding is the influence of faith. At length the last moments came. His family were gathered round his bed, and the clergyman of the parish had joined them. The last struggle ceased. He lay in perfect stillness, breathing faintly, and evidently unconscious of those who were standing at his bedside. All present were expecting the latest breath, and some thought that he was gone. suddenly he seemed endued with preternatural power, as seeing Him who is invisible." He unexpectedly, and without the smallest apparent effort, raised himself on his bed, and sat upright. His eyes opened, and he gazed earnestly upwards. He then raised his hands with unspeakable solemnity heavenwards, and said, "Christ there;" and immediately he drew back his hands to his own breast, clasped them for a single moment on his heart, saying, "Christ here." This done, his strength left him as suddenly as it had been sent. He fell back upon his pillow, closed his eyes, breathed for the last time, and his spirit was with God who gave it. He, too, was "Christophoros," or Christ-bearer. No difference was there in heart and spirit between the dying bishop of the olden time, giving up his soul to God among the lions which devoured him at Rome, and the humble pilot who died with his friends around him, in his own home. Both were in Christ, and Christ was in both of them.

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You who are Christ-bearers will feel as Christ feels about sin-about salvation-about heaven; you will hate

the first, strive earnestly after the second, and look forward to the third as your portion for ever and ever.

Again, if you are a Christ-bearer, you will love what Christ loves. Now Christ loved his Father much, and in everything consulted his honour. He also loved the sabbath, and the Bible, and the house of God; and, added to all these, he loved the sons and daughters of our race, and tried to do them good. His servants will love what he loved. If Christ be in us, we too shall love God and consult his honour. We shall love our Bibles, our Sundays, and our seat in God's house. It will be our earnest wish to spread the knowledge of Christ to all around us, and to lead the sons and daughters of our race to love

him also.

My reader, is "Christ in you?" Are you Christophoros? When you have read my two stories, ponder for a few moments on these words of the apostle, and pray over them: "He that hath the Son hath life; and he that hath not the Son of God (i.e. in whom Christ is not) hath not life."

The statement is very plain, and it is most clearly expressed.

Christ in you; and you live. Christ not in you; and you perish.

NOBODY'S ENEMY BUT HIS OWN.

"WELL, well, I dare say you are right. I know that I have not been doing exactly as I ought, and I have had to pay for it. Still nobody need to be troubled about that, for nobody is any worse for it but myself."

The speaker was William Shepherd, a young man about four and twenty, an assistant in a house of business. He was fond of pleasure, and the rules of the establishment in which he was engaged, or perhaps we should rather say the want of rules, gave him much greater license than was desirable. The head of it, indeed, was accustomed to say that if his young men were only attentive to business, he cared very little what they did after business hours. Shepherd was a genial good-natured fellow, whose society was eagerly courted, and who had a keen relish for pleasure, without, it must be added, any great care about its character. It was Monday morning. The previous day had been spent in a railway trip to the seaside; and his pale, haggard appearance bore witness to the fact that the

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day had not been concluded in the soberest way. habits had been for some time gaining ground upon him, and there seemed only too much probability that he would settle down into a confirmed drunkard.

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It so happened that in the same establishment there was another young man of the name of Wilson, a little older than Shepherd, to whom, in spite of their great difference of tastes and pursuits, Shepherd was accustomed to look with much respect. Wilson had frequently remonstrated; and his reproofs, though often taken with a little impatience, were still on the whole received kindly. He had just used the opportunity afforded by Shepherd's unexpectedly remaining in the house the following evening to expostulate with him. The above was Shepherd's reply. "But do you really mean to say," asked Wilson, "that nobody is the worse for what you do but yourself? You did not go by yourself, did you?"

"Of course not. Nobody ever thinks of going pleasure trips alone. There was a tolerably large party of us."

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Perhaps it did not strike you," rejoined Wilson, "that you were doing harm to every one of them. You set them an example of sabbath breaking. According to your own account, you drank pretty freely; and there was your example in that. Admitting that some of them were just as much at home in these things as yourself, there was on your part and theirs a mutual encouragement in what your conscience told you was wrong. But may I ask who were with you from our own place? Were not Spence and Robson of the party?"

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"Yes," replied Shepherd, wincing, however, under the question, "they were.'

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Well, now, do you think you are doing no harm to them? They came up from the country only a year or two ago, with a great deal about them that was promising. Their parents, I believe, are good Christian people, and they both attended a Sunday school till they left home. I am afraid they have not been much lately either at school or public worship. At all events, they were at neither yesterday, for they were with you."

"But I did not ask them to go with me," pleaded Shepherd: "they asked me where I was going, and proposed to accompany me."

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They knew you were going: there was your example so far. You did not refuse them when they proposed to go