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On that Christmas Eve, as she was talking to her husband about the memorable one when the postman brought her Joe's letter, there was a knock at the door. "It's Bet!"

she cried, getting up to open it. "She said she'd bring me some holly, because ours has got no berries on it." She opened the door, and in another moment was in her son's arms.

The story was soon told. He remained long in the hospital, and when he was able to leave it and rejoin his regiment, he was ordered from place to place, getting farther and farther away. He had written many letters, but, through mistake or neglect (both perhaps) they had failed to reach home. The great thing he had to tell was that a fellow soldier, he who had written the letter for him as he lay dying (as it was thought), had been the means of leading him to seek for repentance and faith, which were most graciously granted, and he had been brought to know and love the Lord Jesus Christ as his Saviour and Redeemer.

Poor Bet couldn't express her joy, her heart was too full. "Dear Nancy," she said, "didn't I tell you 'out of the eater would come forth meat'?”

"'Course you did," said Nancy, "and a deal more besides; and I've told Joe as he isn't the only one that has been taught by trouble. Bless the Lord for putting you up to mind me about it! I've been brought to see summat of my sins and my Saviour, and I do hope I'll never go grumbling no more."

"It's about the time as the angels was singing their beautiful song," said Joe's father, as Bet rose to go. "Couldn't we raise a strain to join 'em afore we part for the night ?"

"Ay, sure!" cried all most joyfully; and so they sang with music in their hearts

"Let sinners saved give thanks, and sing

Of mercies past, and joys to come;

The Lord their Saviour is and King,

The cross their hope and heaven their home."

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Ah, Bet dear," said Nancy, as she let her friend out, we can never forget our two Christmas Eves, can us?”

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Never; no, never! The Lord be praised!" answered

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oys," said Old Andrew to us one day, as we stood waiting to see what proverb he was to write on his board. "Boys, I wish you all to take particular notice of the proverb to-day, because it is a very important one." Having said this, he proceeded to write up in large letters,

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THE WAY OF TRANSGRESSORS IS HARD.

"1

'Perhaps some of you can tell me the meaning of that long word 'transgressors.'"

"Yes," said one of the boys, "it means sinners."

1 Prov. xiii. 15.

"You are right," said the old man. "I have been told that it is a word which originally meant those who stray from the path. All who stray from the path of goodness and truth are transgressors or sinners. This proverb says that the way which such people take is a hard one. Many people do not think so, many young people especially. They think sin is a pleasant thing, and that they can find a great deal of happiness in doing wrong. I have lived long enough to know that the way of transgressors is very far from being a pleasant one. It may seem so at first, but it always becomes at last like the road which Bunyan's pilgrims took along Byepath Meadow. You remember

what happened to them when they turned aside from the highway to walk in the beautiful green meadow. They were found by Giant Despair, who took them and put them into his dungeon. They found that the way of transgressors was hard, and so does every one who treads it.

"There is a neighbour of mine who lives in a wretched. cellar at the foot of the lane. I went to see him last night, for I heard that he was ill, and he and I used to be well acquainted ten years ago. I found him very ill, in fact dying, and his wife and children starving and in rags. And do you know why, boys? Just because he had walked in the way of transgressors. A few years ago he was a clever workman, earning good wages, and lived with his young wife in a pretty little cottage on the outskirts of the town. But he liked company, and began to go too often to the "Black Bull," where he soon became too fond of drink. Before long he lost his situation, for his master could not trust to a man who was not steady. Then he had to part with most of his furniture, and to leave his pretty cottage. His poor wife grew almost broken-hearted, and their home became filled with misery. And now, when through drink and idleness and ill-conduct he has ruined his own health and brought his wife and family to beggary, he is laid upon his death-bed. He would have been prosperous, and healthy, and happy, and respected, had he done what was right.

Instead of this he is dying in poverty and misery, because he has gone in the way of transgressors. Yes, boys, it is a very hard way, and it is hardest of all at the last, for the wages of sin is death, and 'whatsoever a man sows that shall he also reap.' The sinner who dies unrepentant is lost for ever, and none can tell how terrible is the doom of such.

"I will tell you of another case. There was a young woman died in the workhouse a few weeks ago. I knew her when she was a little child. Her father had a small garden a little way out in the country, and used to drive into town every day with his market-cart full of fruit and vegetables. Little Mary rode in with him every morning to school, and many a time I have lifted her down from her perch beside her father. She was a merry little thing, and the very pride of her father's heart, and she grew up to be one of the prettiest girls one could see in a summer day. But, boys," said the old man, and we noticed something like a tear beginning to glisten in the corner of his eye, "poor Mary went wrong, and left her home, and where she had gone to nobody knew. But it broke her parents' hearts, and before long they were in their graves. We knew nothing of Mary for years, when one evening, a few weeks ago, as I was coming home through the churchyard path, I heard a sob near me, and turning I saw a woman lying before a grave. I knew the grave well, and in a moment my heart told me who it was that was lying sobbing there. It was poor Mary, crying as if her heart would break-Mary, so changed that I could scarcely recognise

her.

There she lay, a bundle of rags, her features coarse and bloated with drunkenness and vice; her face, once very full of beauty and of happiness, now grown hideous, and with misery written in every line of it. She told me that her life, from the hour she left her father's house, had been one great sorrow. She had tried to drown her grief in drunkenness, and when she heard of her parents' death she had become desperately wicked in her remorse and despair. Boys, I do not know whether she truly repented

of her sins or not. I was beside her bed when she died, and she spoke no word of hope or peace, only of grief, and wrong, and misery. She lies now with her parents in that grave beside which I had found her sobbing.

Boys, boys,

boys, the way of transgression is hard, terribly hard!

"That will do now, my lads, off and away with you to school. I could speak to you for a week on this subject, and tell you of a great many people to whom sin brought very bitter punishment. But I have told you enough at present. And don't forget, my boys, oh, don't forget, that there never really is any exception to what this proverb says. The way of transgressors may for a time seem pleasant, but it is always a hard way in the end. It grows harder and darker the farther a man walks upon it. You will find it so, if you walk upon it, which I trust you will not. There is another way, a narrow way, and sometimes a steep one, but it becomes better the farther a man pursues it, and the light of heaven and happiness shines brighter and brighter on it, until at last the traveller who follows it finds the perfect day. Take that way, boys. Take that way; it leads to heaven."

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