"Amen," was the serious answer. "While I live I am resolved to know nothing among men but Christ and him crucified. The Bible taught me that I was a lost sinner, and then it led me to a crucified Redeemer, in whom I perceive a dignity, a glory, and a preciousness, that puts to shame all the vain things that have most charmed me in all the sinful and painful past. And He of God is made unto me wisdom and righteousness, and sanctification and redemption."

From that day he lived a devout, honoured, and useful member of Christ's church. His great business was to commend the gospel which he had once rejected. And not a few precious souls in glory owe their conversion to his persuasive appeals and holy example. Thus does God honour the faithfulness of his servants. The glory belongs to God alone, but both he that soweth and he that reapeth may rejoice together.

OLD GEORGE.

A NUMBER of pretty cottages were clustered together upon a pleasant sunny bank. Seated upon a ledge of rock which overlooked the village was an old man, with a child upon his knee. The aged man lived alone; his wife and children were dead, with the exception of one son, now with his regiment in India. George Simpson had been a careless, worldly man, living for himself and for his own pleasures. The good Spirit of God, however, having changed his heart, he was now a sincere, humble Christian, poor in worldly goods, but rich in faith, and full of love to the Saviour. His day's work over (for he was still able to earn a scanty support), he generally set forth upon some errand of mercy. Money he had none to give; but his visits were welcome to the tried and sorrowful, for he took with him the comfort he had drawn from the precious word of God.

On this evening he had led a little child by the hand up to this his favourite seat. He loved that quiet spot; for there he had often held communion with his God. The prospect of the quiet valley, the winding stream, and the grand mountain range beyond, helped, he said, to raise his heart to the heavenly home, of which earth's brightest scenes are but a feeble type. The homely face of the old man brightened as he spoke to the little one of the Saviour who had left his glorious home in heaven to share our

poverty upon earth, whose love even for such as she had carried him through a life of trial and a death of shame.

"Mr. Simpson," said the child at last, "could he ever love me?"

"He does love you," replied the old man. "He only wants you to love him. Ask him to change your heart, Betsy. Stay, we will ask him now."

They kneeled down together-a carpet of moss under their knees, the mighty branches of ancient trees overhead. There the Holy Spirit of God honoured the simple words of the old man, and drew into the narrow path of faith the steps of this little one.

Old George arose, and, with the child's hand still in his, slowly proceeded homewards.

"I had lost you, Betsy," was her mother's salutation, as he led her into her home.

"Has not your husband returned?" said George, observing the little table laid with its white cloth beside the fire.

"No; he is late, much later than usual," replied Mrs. Carter. "I wish he would come. Martha Price has been here, in sad trouble about her boy; and he was to bring from town the medicine ordered by the doctor. Poor Mrs. Price is in a terrible way—and no wonder. Only two months, you know, since she buried her husband."

"Ah, Mrs. Carter," said George, "what we consider misfortunes are sometimes the greatest blessings of our lives. Not willingly, but lovingly, the good God afflicts us. I'll just step up and see Mrs. Price."

“Oh do,” said Mrs. Carter; "for I am sure she needs comfort and if any one can give it to her, it is you."

"I! Mrs. Carter. I can only direct her where to look for it: God will give it to her. He delights to bind up the broken heart, and to give to the weary and heavy laden comfort and peace."

Old George left the cottage, and Mrs. Carter began to busy herself in putting her children to bed. Little Betsy tried to help her; then kneeling down, in her own simple words she prayed to the Good Shepherd.

A cheerful fire blazed on Mrs. Carter's clean hearth, and lighted up the shining pans arranged upon the shelf. She was an active, tidy woman, careful and troubled about many things. But, she had hitherto forgotten the one thing needful. Perhaps she needed a lesson in the school of adversity. We shall see.

:

Away went old George up the hill. It was growing dark the wind had changed its quarter, and now blew cold upon his face. He lifted the latch of Martha Price's door. A low moaning proceeded from the little bed beside the wall. Martha sat before the fire-tears were pouring down her face. She turned hastily, hoping it was Ben Carter with the longed-for medicine, but redoubled her lamentations when she perceived old George. He inquired for the lad.

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Very ill, oh, very ill!" was the reply. "How is it that Ben is so late to-night? But perhaps he has returned.”

"I fear not," said George, going up to the little bed and taking the child's hot hand in his then, looking kindly and sorrowfully upon the little sufferer, he kneeled down, and in few yet earnest words implored help for the sick boy, and support for the sorely tried widow. He then spoke to the lad of the loving Saviour, who pitied him in all this suffering-who only sent the pain to draw his heart to himself. The moanings ceased, and the boy listened as George continued to speak of his great love; then, smiling feebly at his kind old friend, he sunk into a quiet sleep.

"And now," said George, "Ben must have returned. I will go and fetch the medicine."

"Not returned yet?-this is strange !" said he, in answer to Mrs. Carter's exclamation of surprise and uneasiness as he opened her door. Just then the cart was heard slowly advancing up the lane. A few minutes passed, and Ben entered his cottage-but not as usual. His manner was strange, his words hasty, and the medicine-forgotten!

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Oh, Ben," said George, sadly, "little James is very ill." And again the old man set out to carry this sad news to the widow, and to watch with her through the weary night that followed. There, beside that sick and restless child, forgetting his age and weariness, old George remainedsometimes repeating, in a distinct though gentle voice, a precious verse of Scripture; sometimes intreating the presence of Him who is the Lord of life and death; and sometimes directing the heart of the widowed mother to Him who in judgment remembers mercy.

Poor woman! in her first great trial she had turned away from God, exclaiming bitterly against the hardness of the decree which had called her husband home, leaving her with scanty means to support their only son. Now, when that son's life hung upon this slender thread, she humbled her

self before God, and there, during those long and painful hours, she was learning to trust in him.

Towards morning the boy became delirious-a few hours longer, and he was dead. And then, kneeling beside his lifeless body, the tried and weary woman learned to say, 'Thy will be done.”

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Ben Carter was a carrier, conveying goods twice a week between the village and the market town. What he earned by that, together with the produce of a small farm, had hitherto enabled him to earn a comfortable support for an increasing family. He had lately, however, stopped to rest his horse and to refresh himself at a wayside public house. Upon the day in question he had remained there longer than usual, spending not only all the money he had in his own pocket, but also the widow's shilling. Alas! love for drink was growing upon Ben; he often now came home in the same state in which old George found him on the previous evening.

Time passed on; winter set in. The wind was whistling up the valley, and the snow was falling fast, as little Betsy knocked at George Simpson's door.

"What ails you, my child?" said he, startled by her sobs and tears.

"Mother wishes you would come to her," was the reply; "she wants you very badly."

Leaving his small, yet cheerful fire, old George got up, and proceeded down the hill with his little friend, gathering on the way the cause of her distress. Cart and horse had upon that day been seized for debt, and on the morrow the cheerful country cottage was to be exchanged for a small room in the market town. Alas! what comfort could the old man give? He could only beseech the poor weeping woman to cast her burden on the Lord.

"Oh, George," said she, "this trial is hard to bear! I have so loved this little cottage!"

"It is indeed a trial," replied the old man; "yet perhaps the Lord may use it to draw you nearer to himself." "I don't know. Somehow I only feel harder. I have always cared more for this world than for my own soul; and now I have so much to do to bear the trouble, that I have no time."

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Ah! Mrs. Carter, if you would bring your sorrow to God, and ask him to draw your heart to Jesus. There is sunshine always above the darkest cloud. If you came to

him, who knows but your example might be used by the Holy Spirit to draw poor Ben's heart to him also? Only the strength which comes from God can enable him to break the power of his fearful sin."

The next day the family left their home. Bitterly Ben felt his degradation as he passed his neighbours on their way to work. The remembrance of his pleasant home, as he at first took Martha there, came sadly upon him now. At the end of the lane stood George Simpson, with a small parcel in his hand.

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Here, Mrs. Carter," said he; "I thought this might comfort you. It is my poor wife's Bible, and it gave her strength through many a dark and cloudy day. God help you, Ben," he added, wringing the man's hand heartily. "Think of these little ones and their poor mother."

"Pray for me, George," replied Ben, earnestly.

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"I will," was the reply; but, oh, pray for yourself! God bless you, little one," he added to his favourite. "Remember the Lord Jesus is as near in the town as upon the hill-side."

Winter gave place to spring, spring to summer; and instead of the pleasant cottage, with its fresh, pure air, was the close room in the narrow alley. The children were attacked with measles. They would no doubt speedily have recovered in the cool country air; but here-pent up, stifled-oh how Mrs. Carter sighed for her pleasant home!

To earn bread, she was obliged to go out to work. Upon Betsy fell the task of nursing, and keeping the small room neat. A woman's thought had now replaced her childish ways, as kindly and lovingly she watched over the little ones during their mother's absence. Her little Bible was often taken from the shelf: from its perusal she appeared to derive cheerfulness and strength, especially during pleasant summer days, when the remembrance of her old home would otherwise have brought repining thoughts. The Holy Spirit of God was indeed enabling this young girl to evidence her faith by its fruit.

Ben was little better than a drag upon his wife and children. Mrs. Carter, now thin and pale, yet bore up bravely, keeping utter starvation from her little family. Her fidgetty ways had disappeared, given place to quiet submission, as she continued to read old George's Bible. So passed the summer and another winter.

News arrived one day at the village that Betsy Carter