ascend the wooded slope down which he had been walking; but in doing so he made a false step and fell to the ground. On attempting to rise, Leonard found that he had severely sprained an ankle, and it was with the greatest difficulty that he could make any progress.

What was to be done? He was entirely alone; not even a stranger was near; every step he took caused him pain; and the more impatient he became, the less progress was he able to make.

Opposite to him, with only a narrow strip of water between, was his uncle's house; if he could only have crossed the river at that point, he could have reached his home at once; but this was impossible. There was no ferry near, nor any boat by which he could obtain a passage over the stream. He must walk a weary distance to the bridge, and having crossed the river, must traverse the same distance on the opposite side, before he could reach his uncle's house.

"There is no help for it," he said to himself.

"There

is no way except by the bridge, and I must try and manage to walk. There is no other way." As he said this he again attempted to gain the high road, which with some difficulty he eventually reached.

While walking painfully along, his thoughts wandered to his uncle's words: "There is but one way by which we may reach our heavenly home." Was it really so? Was the path to heaven, to life and to God, to be found only in one way, the way to which the Bible pointed, and which Leonard felt he had never sought? Was it something like the way he was now so laboriously taking-the only way?

Such thoughts were new to Leonard Grayson; he had contented himself with listening to the teachings of others who, like himself, were liable to err, and had never really built his faith upon the revealed Word of God.

Was it possible that these teachings were false, and that he had been deceived? If so, what was his present con

dition, and whither would he find at last that these teachings had brought him?

Some such thoughts as these filled Leonard's mind as he slowly made his way home. Nor did he forget them, as such things are too often forgotten; but as he lay upon a couch for many days afterwards, nursing his injured ankle, he thought with increasing anxiety of his position. He felt himself to be a wanderer from God; and the more he reviewed his past life the more was he convinced that it was not such as could ensure the favour of God.

"There is only one way," was the burden of his thoughts ; and he earnestly and prayerfully began to seek that way. At first he sought it as one groping in the dark, but as days passed by he began to see the light; and ere again he was able to walk across the bridge over the Avon he had discovered the way to peace.

Leonard Grayson's is not an exceptional case. There are many who have long striven to justify themselves before God by living morally, but who have discovered their utter incapability of doing so, and have at last found the true way to peace and happiness through Jesus Christ. Let all such thank God that they have been delivered from their hazardous position, and strive to point others to the same road.

There are many still wandering out of the way, many who are setting up their own ideal religion and making a god of their own works, and hoping to find peace and rest through that idol. These would do well to take to heart the truth taught in the Bible, that there is but one way by which any man can become an inheritor of eternal life :

"There is a path that leads to God,

All others lead astray;

Narrow, but pleasant is the road,
And Christians love the way."

"Ye must be born again," is the emphatic teaching of our Without the regeneration of the Holy Spirit none

Saviour.

can please God. No, not even the most holy living men on earth.

Men may long for peace and sigh for happiness, but these they can never gain by their own works. But if they find the way so distinctly pointed out in the Scripture, they will be able to rejoice in the knowledge of safety, and "the peace of God, which passeth all understanding," shall fill their hearts and minds. Reader, may such peace be yours.

IN the pages of an old magazine we have recorded
the following striking incident in the life of the
Rev. R. S., a well-known and much-esteemed
Scotch minister of the last century.

Late one summer's afternoon Mr. S. started from Stirling for Doune, in which village he was expected to take part on the following day in the Communion Service. Having walked some distance he was overtaken by a fellow-traveller, whom Mr. S. thus accosted: "I see you are stepping westward, and as I am on my way to Doune, if you are going that length, and if you have no objection to the company of an old man, we may continue our journey together."

66

The stranger readily acquiescing, Mr. S. continued: May I ask what manner of occupation you are of?" "Please your honour," replied the stranger, "I am a pedlar; or, as I am sometimes called, a travelling merchant."

"I am glad to hear that," said Mr. S., "for I am a travelling merchant myself."

"Indeed," said the man.

"I should scarcely have

thought that by your appearance; may I speir what you deal in ?"

"I deal," said Mr. S., "in "fine linen,' and am on my

way to Doune, where I hope to dispose of my goods tomorrow."

"To-morrow!" replied the stranger. "I am thinking ye hae forgotten that the morn's the Sabbath."

"No, no," said Mr. S.; "I have not forgotten that; it is, moreover, the sacramental occasion; there will be preaching at the tent, and a gathering of folk from Galgarnock, Kincardine, and Kippen, and some from Stirling itself, with some at least of whom I hope to do business to-morrow."

"Weel," said the pedlar, "I have been a long time in the line, but I am happy to say I never did business on the Lord's Day yet, and I never saw any guid follow those who did. Ye're an old man, sir; I would advise you to gie up the practice o' selling on the Sabbath."

"If ye will not sell," continued Mr. S., " ye may perhaps buy."

"Na, na," said the pedlar; "if it's sinfu' to sell, it's sinfu' to buy; I'll wash my hauns of the business entirely; I'll neither sell nor buy on the Lord's Day."

"Then ye'll maybe come to the tent?" said Mr. S.

"That I will," said the pedlar.

Having now come to the bridge of Teith, the two travellers parted, the one going to the manse, the other to his lodgings in the town.

At Mr. S.'s special request it was arranged for him to take the first sermon. At the appointed time the next morning he was in the tent, and glancing over the congregation he soon discovered his fellow-traveller of the evening before. The psalm and prayer ended, Mr. S. rose and gave out his text, which was Rev. xix. 8: "And to her was granted that she should be arrayed in fine linen, clean and white for the fine linen is the righteousness of saints."

Whether the pedlar had by this time recognised his friend and fellow-traveller in the minister is uncertain; it was not long, however, before there was no ground left on this point for uncertainty. After some introductory remarks, Mr. S. said that he had come there to open the market of

free grace; that he was a merchant, a commission merchant, commissioned by a great and rich King, the King of heaven; that the article he was there, in His name, and by His appointment, to dispose of, was "fine linen," which was the righteousness of Christ. After explaining its nature, and illustrating its properties, and commending and crying up its worth and value, and showing that there was nothing in the world for worth or beauty to be equalled, or, as he said, to be evened to it, he proceeded to counsel his hearers to put themselves in possession of it, or, in the language of Scripture, "to buy it." "When folk went," he said, "to a market, it was with the intention to buy. If they did not, it was generally for one of two reasons; either they did not need the article, or they had no money. Of this article all had instant, urgent, absolute need. There was no getting into heaven without it."

But they might say they had nothing to buy with. To this he said, "They were not asked for anything; if they had to come in the way of giving value for it, they might well despair, for the wealth of the Indies would not equal it; but it was not to be bought in this way; it was to be had without money and without price; it was to be had freely; it was to be had for the taking. Such was the Gospel sense of buying."

He then concluded. "And will no man buy this fine linen? Must I go back and say, 'Lord! Lord! there were many at the tent, many at the preaching, many in the market, but none would believe, none would buy'? And must I go back with this report? and will ye go back as ye came, 'poor and wretched, miserable, and blind and naked'? I put it to you again. 'Will no man buy ?'"

He then paused. Here there was an old grey-haired man at the foot of the tent, who, with his hands clasped and tears in his eyes, was heard saying to himself: "I'll buy; I'll buy; I'll take Christ and His righteousness."

Mr. S. hearing him, said: "The Lord bless the bargain! There is one man here who has gotten a great bargain this