What a full and free offer of love and mercy is this! And again Jesus says, 'Whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life' (John iv. 14)."

"How often I have learnt Scripture texts," interrupted Martha; "but they never seemed so full of meaning or so beautiful as they do now.

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"That is doubtlessly one reason why God afflicts us," replied Miss Farley; "for then we learn how very precious and how very kind God's promises are. But I was about to remark how very little this life looks, when compared with everlasting life. It is difficult for us, who are so used to changes, to understand the meaning of everlasting life. We can only think of living our lives, as it were, over and over again, and still no end-no end! Yet it is this everlasting life which Jesus offers us so freely-not life which shall last a thousand years-but life that shall last always-a life that can never die!"

In a soft tone of wonder Martha repeated to herself, "How very kind Jesus Christ must be ! "

And for many hours after Miss Farley had left her, she still thought about a future life, and how very little the troubles of this life would soon appear.

(To be continued.)

"A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM."

A EUROPEAN Soldier, whose life and conduct was anything but Christian, was brought to Jesus in a singular way, which may serve to illustrate the truth, "A little child shall lead them." He was quartered for some weeks in the winter with a pious farmer and his family. They were kind and hospitable, and truly religious. His first meal in that house made an impression on his mind. Before eating, the parents, children, and farm-servants each stood behind a chair, and bowed the head, while the father asked a blessing. After they had eaten, all did the same, and the father returned thanks. All went to their occupations, the children to school, except Johnny the youngest. The soldier sat down after dinner, gazing from the window on the surrounding objects, feeling impressed with this thought-These people love God.

While thus meditating, the little boy came to him lovingly, looked into his eyes and said, "Tell me something about the dear Jesus." Rather startled at the request, he began talking about dogs, horses, cows, and other things. When he stopped, the little one looked into his face again and said, "Do tell me something about Jesus." Somewhat ashamed, the soldier replied, "I don't

know anything about Him." Johnny much surprised at the answer, replied, "And you so big, and don't know anything about Jesus Christ? If you don't love Him and serve Him, when you die you won't go to heaven." The soldier could not reply. This was an arrow from God. He felt miserable. He soon left the house and joined his comrades in the village. In vain he tried to forget the child's words," And you so big, and don't know anything about Jesus!" He lingered till dusk, and returned to the farm-house, hoping the family would have supped, that he might avoid the praying. The careful wife had reserved his supper, and as he sat down to table, and was about to eat, his little friend said, "Pray first, then eat." Quite discomfited by this rebuke, he laid down his knife and fork, not knowing what to do. The little fellow, seeing his embarrassment, folded his hands and asked God's blessing on the soldier's supper. Strange thoughts passed through his mind while he was eating.

When the table was cleared, all the family were seated for evening worship, and each one was supplied with a Bible. All united in reading the Scriptures; the soldier read with them. All joined in singing a hymn. The father prayed and did not forget the soldier; they then retired for the night, all except their guest and the farmer and his wife. They spoke kindly to the young soldier, and read other portions of Scripture, and prayed, then showed him his room. The strangest kind of feelings came over him. The Spirit of God was shedding light on that dark mind. He was ashamed, troubled, hardly knew what to do. So he kneeled down by the bed and prayed, "O God of this house be my God!"-the first prayer he had offered for many years. now prayed for mercy. Shortly afterwards he found peace in believing on Jesus, and is now a devoted disciple of Christ, labouring for the extension of His kingdom.

EPITAPH ON A CHILD.

THIS little seed of life and love,
Just lent us for a day,
Came like a blessing from above-
Passed like a dream away.

He

And when we garnered in the earth
The treasure that was ours,
We felt that burial was but birth
To spirits as to flowers.

And still that benediction stays,
Although its angel passed;

Dear Lord! Thy ways, if bitter ways,
We learn to love at last.

REDEEM THE TIME.-McCheyne, after spending an evening too lightly, wrote in his diary,-"My heart must break off from all these things. What right have I to steal and abuse my Master's time? 'Redeem it,' He is crying to me."

THE LIGHT IN THE WINDOW.

ON that little point of land which forms the limit of the southwestern extremity of our sea-girt isle, there lived, not many years ago, an aged widow. Time had not left her scatheless; the snows of three-score and fifteen winters had silvered her hair and wrinkled her brow, making the once active step feeble and slow in gaining the heights that led to her rocky home. Reluctantly she was now compelled to relinquish those ministrations of love in which her chastened spirit had once found delight. Standing by the beds of the sick and dying, she had been wont, while relieving bodily suffering, to tell of the great Physician of souls, who could heal the wounds of the awakened conscience and rob the dying hour of its sting. Her efforts were greatly blessed, and more than one was enabled, through her simple teachings, to "lay their sins on Jesus," and to look away with calmness from the "swellings of Jordan," to the other side, where "there is no more sea."

Still this poor widow had not been without her great and exceeding trials; but, as she more than once said, the very depth of her own sorrow led her to sympathise with others, and seek to lead them to the same Eternal Source from which her own peace was drawn, and ere long she found that, in thinking of and being occupied for others, she could better bear her troubles; thus exemplifying the promise, that in watering others we ourselves are watered.

The widow's little home was perched like an eagle's eyrie on the summit of a ragged rock overlooking the tumbling waters of the restless ocean. Great rocks piled over one another rose behind the cottage, forming a protecting rampart from the north winds that at times swept down with resistless force.

A little pathway cut in the solid rock led to this rocky nest, from the sea-washed town beneath. It was not often traversed by the widow now, but she had no necessity to attempt the risk, her few and simple wants being gladly supplied by those to whom she had ministered in her days of strength.

The widow was alone, alone with nature and nature's God. Yet she never said that such ought not to be, she was content that such should be, since God willed it. She never feared either, when the foam-crested waves reared their proud heads, and broke in impotent fury against the gigantic cliffs, for she remembered that He who created them had said, "Hitherto shalt thou come, but no farther." Nor when the fierce winds rose to their wildest height, until the cottage quivered and shook to its very foundations, did she ever tremble, for she knew that He who "holdeth the winds in His hands" still reigned Omnipotent as ever.

"In the Lord put I my trust," was ever on her lips, as well as deep down in her heart; and the God in whom she had trusted from youth up to hoar hairs had never failed her.

years

She had been a widow for more than half a century. Married in very early youth to the husband of her choice, a few brief glided by in happiness and comfort. He was a fisherman, having a boat of his own. But often on that treacherous coast the bright aspect of the morning tempts the fisher to pursue his daily calling, and unawares the storm steals on, and before he can seek for safety, the ocean claims him as her prey. And so it was with the husband of her of whom we write;-he left her one summer's morning a smiling, happy wife, with a laughing infant in her arms, standing at the door of their humble home, watching him push out his boat into the sunlit waters; and when he bade her his accustomed farewell, she asked him to return early, watched until the boat was visible no longer, and looked her last! The night dragged wearily away, and the dawn found her as he left her-watching, and ere long the morning wave bore on its swelling bosom the husband's corpse! She uttered no moan, but her heart died within her. Fain would she have laid down life's weary burden, and been at rest, but the wail of her fatherless infant recalled her to life, and for its sake she roused herself, resolving to devote her future life to the welfare of this only son.

peace of

She panted for solitude, panted to be alone with her great grief; so, disposing of all that she had save a few necessaries, she removed to the cottage on the cliff; and as time passed on, the " God" found its way into her lacerated heart, and little by little she learned to "rejoice with them who do rejoice, and to weep with them who weep.'

She was not childless, yet how was it that on her ear never fell the sweet name of Mother? Where was that only son who had been to her as the apple of her eye, round whom her widowed affections had wound themselves, the beacon light in her lone and shipwrecked life? Ah! here was the trial sore and crushing, which had well-nigh bowed her to the earth, and whose weight must have been too much had not the God of the widow been her especial and great support.

When that one son had reached the age of seventeen, there came a dark night, when he stealthily left his home; pressed no kiss on the brow of her who had loved him with all-absorbing devotion, left no message behind to soothe the riven heart, that this cruel act of his must well-nigh break. So when the morning broke, and the unknowing mother began to prepare their simple repast, a few sprawling characters in white chalk on the wall over the fireplace met her eye, "Gone to sea:" but she only laughed, as she said to herself, "My boy thinks to play his mother a trick." So the breakfast remained untouched; not till the sun was high in the heavens did that trusting mother permit a fear to dwell in her mind; then nervously peeping into the little room which had been his, she saw the pillow was unpressed; yes, her boy was gone. Then burst forth the mother's cry of woe, "Gone to sea! O my God, is it so?

And has he left his mother alone-alone? Oh! that I had never lived to see this day! Light of my lonely life, why hast thou left me? Take me, O my God, take me hence! I would fain be at rest. And yet, this is wrong; Thou who hast never left me, forgive me these murmuring words, teach me how to live and bear!"

And though this bitter cup passed not away from the desolate mother, yet strength for her day was given her; and though to her, her son was dead, yet she did not allow herself to sink, but buckling on her Christian armour anew, and strengthened with power from on high, she roused herself, a new idea taking possession of her mind. It may be, she thought, that some far distant day, when my boy is wearied with wandering, or is in sickness or distress, his heart may look back lovingly to his mother and his home, and before his foot touches his native land, he shall see that she lives, loves, and watches for him.

Very soon after, regularly as the evening shadows deepened into night's gloom, there shone in the one window of the cottage on the cliff a little light, which burned clear and steady through the long hours of darkness. Far over the boundless waters its twinkling radiance rose and fell, and many a tempest-tossed mariner, who must otherwise have slept in an ocean bed, was enabled by its faithful guiding to reach the harbour of safety below. With deep gratitude they blessed "the widow's light," as it soon came to be called. Often the grateful sailors would take her presents from their small stores, curiosities of many kinds, until the little cottage was a miniature museum, stored with foreign shells, dried sea-weeds, birds' eggs and feathers, pieces of spar and coral. How often, as the widow's fingers strayed among them, she thought how very precious the least of them would be, if her wandering son had sent them to her, with his love!

But no message ever reached her from him, though while she listened patiently to her sailor-visitors' accounts of their hairbreadth escapes by sea and by land, her heart would beat high with hope, thinking that some stray word or other might betray some knowledge of her lost one. But no, none could ever tell her whether he was alive or dead. Notwithstanding her great and unsatisfied longing, she never forgot her mission; and when the thoughtless sailor would attribute his escape from death to chance, fortune, or some other equally spurious origin, she ever interposed, gently but firmly, and told them that it was the LORD who had done it all, and to Him alone they should render thanks.

Still the widow hoped on and prayed on. Revolving years made no change in her faith; the little light beamed as brightly when her form was bent with age as when she first placed it in her window, a mourning mother in life's prime.

She was very poor, but like the widow of the Bible, the handful of meal and the cruse of oil never failed. She never wanted; at the lowest ebb of her stinted resources help ever came, help from