THE WIDOW'S LAMP.

N a small cottage on the top of a high cliff, on one of the borders of England, there once dwelt a fisherman and his wife, far away from other dwellings. The shore beneath them was covered with small rocks, and at high water the waves would dash against the cliff for some distance, only leaving dry the deep little creek where they kept their boat. John's life was both a perilous and a hard one, for the coast all around was rugged and dangerous. He was obliged to be out in all weathers, and at all times, frequently leaving his home at the carliest dawn of morning, or keeping watch through the whole night for the change of wind and tide that might bring the fish towards the shore. In all his duties, Ellen, like a good wife, would help him in many ways. Very often, when he was weary with his day's work, she would sit up to watch and listen, in order to wake him just at the very moment when the waves came rippling in. This was no easy task, I can assure you; for when she called him, he would half open one eye, saying drowsily, "Coming, my dear," and instead of suiting the action to the word, by getting up, would turn round upon his other side, grunting something about hauling in the nets, and then be off as fast asleep again as if she had never roused him at all. However, this rarely lasted long; he was soon wide awake, and after having refreshed himself with the breakfast she had carefully prepared for him, he would hasten away down the steep rock, with a feeling of thankfulness to God for having blessed him with so good a wife.

After

After his departure, Ellen would get to bed; but by the time he returned again, the fire was once more blazing cheerfully in the grate, with some dry clothes all ready to put on, so that he might not be a moment longer than necessary in his wet ones. dinner they would lock the cottage door, go down to the little creek, put the fish out of the boat into a basket, and together carry it to the nearest town, to sell in the market. Once a week, regularly, John would put as much of his earnings as he could spare into the savings bank, for he said:-"We do not know anything about the future, Ellen: I may be laid upon a sick bed, or God may take me away from you altogether: and to my mind, a man is bound to provide for his wife after death, as well as before!"

Ellen never quite liked to hear him talk so, but he knew how much danger there was for him amongst the rocks and shoals; and very often, especially when they were quietly reading together on Sunday, he would strive to make her look forward with trust and confidence in God, even to such a sad event as his death.

"It will not do," he would say, "to trust in God only when all

is right it is when trouble comes like a tempest to our hearts, that we must try to think of Him as the Lord who walketh upon the waves,' and to hear Him saying to us, 'It is I; be not afraid.""

Whether John had a kind of foreboding as to what his end would be, I cannot tell; but one night a violent storm set in suddenly, after he had been out about three hours, and poor Ellen could only watch and pray for her husband, as many a sailor's wife had done before, her heart beating with anxiety. Towards morning the thunder and lightning ceased, the sea became more calm; and full of hope, she prepared everything as usual to greet him, listening the while with the greatest eagerness for his advancing footsteps. But hour after hour passed on, and at last Ellen in terror left the house, to seek help and advice from her husband's friends, who lived about a mile farther on the sea shore. On arriving there, she perceived a small crowd collected together, and soon, alas ! discovered that her worst fears were true. An empty boat had been first cast upon the shore, followed by the lifeless body of a man, which all had recognised as John's! When Ellen came up, they were debating with anxious sympathy how they could best make known the dreadful tidings to his unfortunate widow.

We will pass over that terrible moment. Poor Ellen found friends on every side; both the men and the women striving to assist and consoleher in every possible way. After the last sad duties were over, there was a general entreaty that she would leave her cottage on that lonely cliff, to dwell amongst them; but she shook her head, and said,—No, no-I cannot leave the old place, where my John and his father were born! It will do me more good to be where everything puts me in mind of all the things he has ever said to me.' ""

They soon ceased to urge her, and in a short time Ellen found herself alone in her own home, with plenty of needlework from the town where her husband was well known, whereby she could add to the little store so carefully treasured up for her by him. The remembrance of his words never failed to comfort her; and the old Bible which they had been wont to read together was continually kept by her side, that all murmuring thoughts might be taken away by some text, which she always felt was a message from that God in whom John had wished her to trust, and who was ever watching over her, and would never leave nor forsake her.

One stormy night, when the howling wind was making her loneliness more lonely, and her mind was full of fears as to what the morning's light might disclose, a happy thought struck her. Her cottage stood high up, and her window looked out upon the sea. Could she not hang out a lamp in that window, to be a light to warn the poor sailors not to approach too near to that coast? She did so. All her life after, during the long dark winter nights, the lamp burned brightly in her window, and many a poor fisherman had cause to bless God for it.

It will be sufficient to relate one instance of the beneficial effects of this poor widow's little plan; and as we read, let us remember that there is no class of men who labour more diligently, or whose services are so valuable to our country, as those of our brave mariners. It was on a dark and stormy night that a merchantman neared the English coast on its way from India. In the morning, every bosom on board had glowed with anticipations of home and the loving looks that would welcome their return. Now, terror sits on every countenance, as billow after billow rises in increasing height, as the darkness becomes more dense and the gales more violent. The little cabin-boy, returning from his first voyage, longing to see the mother whom he had grieved by his desire to go to sea, can only gaze in pale silence upon the faces of those more experienced than himself for until now, he has only heard tell of danger. The cry of "Mother, mother!" escapes from his young heart, as if he would, as in childhood, still nestle in her arms to shut out the terrible scene. On another part of the deck is a young sailor, his hands untiringly active, his eyes steady and watchful, but with such a look of intense sorrow in them as would be difficult to describe. His history is soon told. Near his own home is one to whom he has plighted his troth, and to whom a parting promise has been given that he would claim her as his wife at the end of this voyage. While he manfully performs his duty, the recollection of their leave-taking comes before him. He can almost see her hopefully counting the remaining days of their separation, and then he thinks with anguish of her grief and loneliness, when she hears that the dark waters have been his grave.

Not far from where he is so sadly, though diligently, obeying the commands of his captain, is an elderly man, surrounded with his bales of Eastern goods, on one of which he is seated in silent horror. Years and years ago he left his country and his kindred to make his fortune; and this object attained, he is returning home to spend the remainder of his days in ease and luxury. A few hours back his riches were his boast and delight; but now, how willingly would he bestow them all for even a chance of life, or for a hope beyond the grave.

The master of this vessel is an old man, with the experience of a lifetime spent upon the sea. Those who knew him intimately could have told that he possessed something better than earthly wisdom and knowledge to rest upon in an hour of such appalling danger. The raging darkness without cannot lessen his confidence in God's word; nor can the earthly darkness dim the heavenly light of faith within his heart, which enables him, whether in life or death, to realize the presence of his Saviour. With a continual prayer in his heart, he goes from one to another, giving words of sympathy and encouragement, joined to entreaties, such as a dying Christian would be supposed to give to dying men. Sorrowing for

them more than for himself, how anxiously his eye pierces through the darkness! How earnestly he longs for some guiding light which might avert the danger! Again and again he looks. Can it be? Yes! there is a little golden ray glimmering through the darkness upon the rock above. The next blast of wind sends the ship farther on, and reveals to him a light suspended in a window, which can only have been placed there by some warning hand. Swift as thought the command leaves his lip to steer from the land, while he points to the beacon in sight. It is Ellen's lamp, to which every eye is now strained in speechless gratitude, while the good captain offers up a prayer of thanksgiving to Almighty God. The grey dawn of morning revealed to them more fully the dangers from which they had been preserved. Not only was there a reef of rocks, but around them a strong current, into which had the vessel once entered, all must have perished.

Now, "Looking to Jesus" is the lesson I wish to convey to you, in the account I have given of "The Widow's Lamp." We are all launched as shipmates on the great voyage of life, sailing onwards to eternity. This voyage abounds with innumerable temptations which meet us either like violent storms, terrible whirlpools, or imperceptible rocks and quicksands, on which we must everlastingly perish, if we refuse to look upon Christ, the Beacon Lamp provided for our salvation. We cannot fail to be sensible of the existence of these dangers, either in ourselves or others. Some lead a life of indifference; it is enough for them if they can earn their daily bread, if their children are well, and their affairs prosperous; but when the storm of death approaches, sins thought nothing of, or long forgotten, rise up in judgment against them, and, like the rich merchant in the shipwreck, they look forward with terror only to that unknown place from whence they can never return. Had they rightly understood the words, "I am the way, the truth, and the life," how different would it have been with them! Others go through existence resting_on some wrong foundation for their hopes of eternal happiness; they deem themselves safe because they belong to some particular sect; or because of their deeds of righteousness; or, perhaps, because they have been born in a Christian land. We cannot be true Christians without looking by faith to Him from whom alone we derive the name. Our doings are only good in the sight of God, when they spring from a union with Christ; just as the branch cannot bring forth grapes, unless it abide in the vine, and therefore partake of its nature. Without Christ the voyage through life must be dark: but to have Him with us is to possess inestimable blessings. It is to have our sins and transgressions blotted out! it is to be restored to the favour of God, to have a title to His peculiar love, care, and protection all our days; it is to be rescued from the power and dominion of sin, so that we are enabled to serve God in newness of life; and when the journey is

ended, it is to enter into a state of eternal happiness, never more to die or suffer, to know pain or sickness, labour or weariness, disquiet or vexation, but to dwell in perfect peace, in the habitation of the great King, where the glory of the Lord fills the place with unfading light.

66

A CHIP OF THE OLD BLOCK."

OME, give it to me this minute, sir," said Mrs. Larkins, as she seized hold of her son Tom by the collar, and gave him a hearty shake with one hand, while she reached out the other towards a short, dirtylooking pipe which she had caught him in the very act of smoking.

Tom was about twelve years old, and a big boy of his age. In general, his mother had nothing to complain of respecting him. He went to the National School, and was well spoken of by the master for his attention and industry. The only, or principal fault that was to be found in him was that he was a bit obstinate and self-willed." He had arrived at an age when he began to think himself more than a child-almost a man, in factand that he had a right to do what he liked, and to copy from all the young men around his home. He was partly taught this by keeping company with the apprentice at the village forge, where Tom spent too much of his out-of-school time. For, to tell the truth, the blacksmith's apprentice was not the best teacher or companion that could have been found for Tom. As to Tom's father, he was a hard-working carpenter, and was absent all day long at his shop, two miles away. So the management of Tom, as well as of the younger children, was pretty much committed to the mother.

Mrs. Larkins was a capital housewife, as you could tell with a half-glance at her living-room. The place was always clean and tidy, and so, indeed, was Mrs. Larkins herself. She was a good wife and mother too,-and none the worse, perhaps, for having "a mind of her own," and the spirit for what she knew to be right. There was no appearance of poverty about her house, her children, her husband, or herself. This was owing principally to her good management; for her husband's earnings were not large.

One afternoon, Tom, instead of returning home direct from school, as he should have done, turned into the blacksmith's forge. There was no one there except the apprentice, and he, in the absence of his master and the journeyman, was puffing away at a dirty pipe, loaded with strong tobacco. A very little persuasion induced Tom to follow the example. A pipe was found and filled; and presently the boy, already half stupefied, was on his way to his