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around scoffed and disbelieved, did He not make them willing to go in? Noah could not have done it. Shall we not say in faith, come, Lord, I accept Thy invitation for myself and "my house." I enter into covenant in their behalf, trusting to Thee to make them willing in the day of Thy power.

Lonely watcher: though none around thee enter into thy anxieties, take courage, thy God sees thee. Has He not made thee, as it were, a priest in "thy house" unto Himself, to bear up before Him in faith the precious souls He has given to be with thee in the voyage of life? "Is it not for this thou art brought into the kingdom?" Open thy mouth wide, and I will fill it." You are called out of Egypt. Oh, plead that all may go up, that "not a hoof be left behind."

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Art thou a mother-watcher; heart-longings stretching over the little ones around you, anxiety crushing your energy, weighing down your heart? repose on these: "I will circumcise thine heart and the heart of thy seed, to love the Lord." "I will pour my Spirit upon thy seed, and my blessing upon thine offspring." The promise is to you and to your children. As in some fountains the spring must be touched-the chain pulled with some force ere the gushing stream flows, so lean with this burden of heart-trouble on these promises until the blessing descend.

A mother sits in her eastern home watching her sleeping child. Fondly she bends over him, but anguish contracts her brow, the waking cry startles her, nervously she raises and clasps the infant to her heart, hurriedly she glances around at each passing footstep, lest that cry has been heard, and the merciless messenger of a cruel king be at the door. When again her boy sleeps she is busy, the tall Nile reeds under her fingers twist into a tiny bark. We may imagine the soft lining, the downy pillow, all that a fond mother might devise, and the sleeping babe is gently laid within; but who can realize the agony as she secretly bears him to the river brink, the still more intense anguish as she places and leaves him there; or who fathom the depth of the wrestling cry to the God of Abraham to shield her child from the horrors of that exposure, from the beasts of prey, and the more pitiless human destroyer? Did her faith in His word sustain her in an exalted calmness? Did she rise up to the measure of peace from a mind stayed on God? She shows expectation of help: for she sets a watcher, an elder child, to see what would be done unto him. Was her trust misplaced? Did the God of Jacob forget? Ah, could her hopes have soared to the height of their fulfilment, we think she scarcely could have formed the idea of His wondrous love and care, His exquisite sympathy and tenderness, who gave her son a regal protector, and her, in the royal nursling, her own, her darling child.

Have we, like the Israelitish mother, hidden our tender ones from the outward evil, sheltering them in the covert of home till we can do so no longer; till the time has come when we must

launch them on life's waters, amid the snares and dangers of the world? Do we cradle them on the promises? Do we weave this and that word into the bark to which our faith entrusts them, enfolding them in the covenant love and care of our Father? Then let us watch. Oh, may He give us grace to watch until the Heaven-sent Saviour find and save, to the everlasting glory of His name !—From "Waiting and Watching." Nisbet & Co.

THE NEW YEAR.

THE wheels, the wheels of time are quickly turning :
The year has flown;

And as it flies, the saints with joy are learning
They're nearer home.

They know not what the opening year is bringing;
But this they know,

That He who tunes the angels' voice for singing,
Will lead them through.

And known to Him is all their future walking;
And He has planned,

And will dispense in love, their every blessing
With His own hand.

Oh how their doubting hearts would faint at seeing
The weary way!

But step by step His hand is gently leading,
And day by day.

New blessings lie before them, and new sorrow,
Darkness and light;

But soon will reach the glorious to-morrow,

Then trust

With no more night.

Him-trust Him, for He knows the road;
Thou art His care;

And all He giveth thee is for thy good :
Trust without fear.

He lets thee see the daylight in His love,
To cheer thy night;

Try not to see the road, but look above,
Where all is light.

A DYING SAYING.-When Matthew Henry was dying, Mr. Illidge came to him, and he said, "You have been used to take notice of the sayings of dying men: this is mine; A life spent in the service of God and in communion with Him, is the most pleasant life that any one can live in the world.'"

FARLEY COURT.

CHAPTER I.

THE SNOWY DAY.

In the vicinity of a very old town in Kent, but surrounded only by parks, woods, and fields, stands the sequestered residence of Farley Court. Nature has made this solitary dwelling an attractive spot, for in the spring the woods resound with the thrilling and ever-changing songs of the nightingale; and intermingling everywhere amid luxuriant brushwood and primroses, are the woodanemones and the blue-eyed forget-me-nots; and as summer advances, the scenery is enhanced by the twining hop, covering the high, straight poles with its graceful foliage, till high in the air it hangs triumphantly its verdant clusters. At eve, too, when the hush of darkness has fallen on hill and dell, what rich melody is sometimes poured forth in a little cluster of trees by the wayside! and across the uplands come the distant answering notes; while along the hedgerows the glow-worms show their sparks of light, and ever and anon is heard the peaceful sound of the sheep-bell.

But year after year all these spring, summer, and autumn attractions vanished, and still in mid-winter Farley Court was a muchloved and treasured place; and, indeed, it was deservedly so, for the beauty of Farley Court was not dependent upon outward things -its inmates were true Christian people-pilgrims to a holier land, who by their consistent lives daily set forth the loveliness of pure and undefiled religion.

Many years have passed away since, one February morning, the family at Farley Court gathered around a social breakfast-table. Outwardly, things were dreary enough; the snow was falling thickly and steadily; and already there lay on field and hill a thick white covering. But the weather was soon forgotten by all save the eldest Miss Farley; for the matted sitting-room was bright and cheery, with its huge wood-fire on the brick hearth. A large teakettle was boiling by the side of the blazing wood, and curled up near the hearth lay a cat and dog. At the head of the table sat Miss Farley, while around it were seated her parents, a goodly array of sisters, one brother, and a visitor.

An interesting conversation on how to gain the bearts of Sunday scholars; on the Christian literature of the day; and on the want of unity in Christian Churches, mingled with the pleasant sound of cups and saucers. But although Miss Farley did the honours of the table with graceful modesty, and conversed with the kindest of smiles—a smile that had often carried sunshine to many a sad heart and into many a darkened home-yet it was evident her thoughts were pre-occupied by something which she considered important; and her eyes often turned to watch the weather through the two long, narrow windows.

Lucy, a bright, blooming, younger sister, caught the wandering gaze, and, with a face beaming with happiness, but with sympathy in her tone, said, "Millie, don't look across those dreary fields so anxiously; you can't go to conduct the mothers' meeting this afternoon, though I think your heart is wrapped up in the old town of Fenham."

"No, my dear," replied Miss Farley, "my heart is not with the bricks and mortar of the old houses, but my sympathies are strongly drawn toward the working mothers in the place; I shall indeed be very sorry if I cannot meet them this afternoon."

Some of the sisters thought it a more pleasant and more important duty to teach and train children and young people, that they might become members of Christ's Church in the future generation.

"I know of no better or surer way of doing good to children," replied Miss Farley, "than to give them pious, loving mothers; this I know we cannot do of ourselves, but we can sow the seed of Gospel truths in the hearts of those whom we gather together, and we can pray for God's blessing upon our efforts. When one sees a little innocent child in the arms of a quarrelsome, thoughtless woman, it is enough to make one tremble to think of that child's future."

Nellie, the second sister, said, "Millie, I think when you try to gain mothers you go to the root of the matter; for I often think our Sunday's teaching is in a great measure made useless by the week's example at home."

"This subject has often troubled me during my long experience in Sabbath-school teaching," replied Miss Farley, "but now, in many cases, we work with the mothers."

"Yes; indeed it is quite a pleasure to teach Mrs. Brown's children since she has become pious; although they were once the worst children in my class," said Annie, the youngest sister. "However, now they come so punctually and answer the questions so well, that I am quite sure their mother does all she can both to instruct them and to have them instructed. But Millie," she continued, “you promised to tell us a true story about Mrs. Brown." "Oh yes; it is a pleasing fact, too, for it shows how much God cares for His people, when they are tried and tempted and in distress-but my story :

Mrs. Brown had attended the mothers' meeting for some time and as I had every reason to believe that she was a truly converted person, I became much interested in her. However, one day I missed her from her accustomed seat, and was told that she was ill of a fever. My good mother was too much afraid of her eldest daughter's health to allow me to visit her. But I did not therefore forget her. "Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth," was forcibly impressed on my mind, and I spoke on the subject at one of our meetings. Many of us felt deeply for our afflicted sister, and

prayed earnestly that the Lord would sustain her and keep her faithful to Himself.

Our prayers were not in vain; for one pleasant afternoon, after two months absence, Mrs. Brown again took her place amongst us. She looked thin and pale, but was quite cheerful, and full of gratitude to the Lord for His loving-kindness towards her. She could say with the psalmist, "It is good for me that I have been afflicted." When our meeting was over, I lingered, still talking with Mrs. Brown. She seemed so heavenly-minded, so full of the praise of God, that I felt an inexpressible joy, that I was called to work among the poor and faithful. I learnt from her conversation how very near unto death she had been; how at times she had been harassed by doubts and fears, and temptations to murmuring; how at other times she had been, as it were, encompassed by thick clouds; and then how the glory of the Lord had been revealed to her; so that the doubts and the darkness, keenly felt as they had been, were as nothing compared with that nearer view-that closer communion of God Himself.

Upon one occasion, when Mrs. Brown was recovering, but still too weak to sit up, she felt a great desire for food, but could not eat anything they had in the house. Her husband and her little daughter, who were anxious for her recovery, urged her to name something which they would try to get. She could think of nothing which they could afford to buy; for, from recent misfortune, they were extremely poor; so she answered sadly, "Nothing."

Her little girl left the bedside in tears, saying, "Mother can't eat anything, and will never get well till she does." And the mother lay thinking how hard it was to endure patiently the sorrows of poverty in affliction, which were harder to bear than even the affliction itself.

We, who have never known illness without being surrounded by comforts, and they who have never known poverty without health, can scarcely understand the trial of feeling keenly both at the same time.

But "the Lord trieth the righteous ;" and this poor woman cried unto the Lord in the language of the psalmist: "How long wilt Thou forget me, O Lord? for ever? how long wilt Thou hide Thy face from me?" (Psalm xiii.) "Turn Thee unto me, and have mercy upon me; for I am desolate and afflicted. The troubles of my heart are enlarged: O bring Thou me out of my distresses. Look upon mine affliction and my pain" (Psalm xxv. 16-18.) The prayer was heard and answered. The daughter soon returned to her mother, to tell her a fine chicken had come into the kitchen with its leg broken. The mother directed her to catch the chicken, and take it to Mrs. Mills, who had a farmyard close by. But the little girl soon brought it back, for Mrs. Mills said, "it would be a nice treat for her mother!" And when that good woman saw how sad little Mary was, because her mother eat nothing, she gave her

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