their fair fronts of polished stone, adorned with many a column, and sculpture, and strange device, a due tribute of admiration is freely rendered up; but how few think that in the dark, narrow close, passed by after a momentary glance, there dwells a sum of human beings, exceeding far in number all the inhabitants of the square. These things are patent to the home missionary; for it is his work to enter these dark wynds and closes, and to become acquainted with the dwellers there; and in no long time he comes to know that, while the outer and visible phase of existence in a great city is fair and beautiful like its parks and palaces, there is an inner and hidden phase, painful to look upon because of the privations that beset it, and the social and moral deformities wherewith it is disfigured and debased.

There are, in consequence, many discouragements and hindrances to be met with in the work of the home missionary. He has oftentimes to witness sorrow and trouble wherewith a stranger can hardly dare to intermeddle, to look on poverty and distress far beyond his power to remedy or relieve, or to hear and see unlawful words and deeds, grieving to the heart of one who loves the Lord and seeks his glory. But though there are many things that tend to discourage his heart in his efforts to raise up the fallen, and bring back the wanderer to the fold he hath forsaken, yet, a sure hope may and ought to sustain his soul, when he remembers that the work is the Lord's, and that to Him nothing is too hard. It may be that no sign of success is vouchsafed him all the time he is personally engaged in his arduous labours-nevertheless, he is to believe that the work is proceeding, according to the purpose and promise of God, and that, sooner or later, it shall appear, that his labour has not been in vain. It is, however, very cheering when God does vouchsafe some success; when we see some evidence that His hand is stretched forth to save and subdue His enemies. This cause of joy is so rare, perhaps, just because of our own unbelief, distrust, and restraint of prayer to that God who is saying: "Bring ye all the tithes into my storehouse, and prove me now herewith, if I will not open the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it."

In what follows, I shall give a few notes of my intercourse with one met by me in my ordinary work as a city-missionary, with whom God seemed to have dealt. It is now somewhere about two years since I became acquainted with D- At that time he was, like

many other young men his friends and companions, utterly careless, to all outward appearance, about divine things. There was a knot of young married men, of whom D- was one, living near each other, good workmen, all of them earning good wages, and in general pretty well educated and intelligent; and yet thoroughly careless and indifferent in religion. They were not connected with any church, seldom or never entering one; and the Sabbath day was used for pleasure only-that is, the pleasure of the tavern, or of a frolic in the country. There did not seem to be very much hope of success in dealing with them at the first, and many a time I visited

their dwellings without any seeming result. At last, one day, after having had a conversation together, D promised me that he would be at our missionary meeting on the first Sabbath night, and there, at the appointed time, he made his appearance. I was happy when I saw him there for the first time, listening with all apparent attention to the things of eternity; and in calling, during the week, I was still happier to find that he had retained and thought upon what he had heard. From that time, every night he was able to attend, we were sure to have his presence at the missionary meeting.

The impression that was made on his mind at the very first, seemed to be deep. He became anxious about his own state, and lamented his folly in having spent thirty years of his life to no right or worthy purpose, and said that now, at least, it should be so no longer. But not only was he anxious and concerned about himself, he became deeply interested on behalf of his wife and his compan

He spoke with them, and tried to persuade them of the folly of their former courses; and to such good purpose did he plead, that he prevailed on them to take thought, and change them for a while; and night after night one or two would accompany him to the missionary meeting. Sometimes he succeeded in bringing them to the door only, and there, when they could not persuade him to go back with them, they themselves would draw back, and leave him to go in himself. Of course, he could not thus change the tenor of his life without opposition, and, it may be, mockery and ridicule; he was not, however, to be thus turned aside he persevered, and, in the end, gained in a good measure the respect and esteem of his companions, though he would not run with them into the same excess of riot as heretofore. His position was a trying one, but he held fast, and I thought that at that time he fought a noble battle; though, long after, while he lay a-dying, he said to me that he was grieved to think how often he had shrunk from the open and honest confession of Christ, through fear of the sneers or taunts of his former friends. There are few who do not know the Lord who have such a cause of grief as this, and there are few who do love the Lord that have not the same cause of sorrow.

A few months after the first appearance of D at our missionary meeting, he was prostrated by a disease to which he was subject; he therefore entered the infirmary, and, while there, he was able to give a more undivided attention to divine things: he was diligent in reading the Word of God, and embraced, with eagerness, all the means in his power for his spiritual profit. There I saw him often; and though at that time he did not seem to have laid a firm hold on Him who is able to save us from death, yet he was very earnest and anxious in seeking the Lord. When I asked him one day: "Have you peace with God now?" he was not just prepared to say yes; but he replied with an emphasis, "We must seek till we get it."

After he had left the infirmary, with his disease much abated, during the following summer and autumn, he continued to be a great help to us among his companions, and a comfort to us in our work; and I think, during this time, that light arose in his heart. One day,

in visiting him at his own house, while we were talking together, his wife mentioned some person, adding that he was a well-living, good man. When D heard her, he said, "I wonder to hear you speak so; it is a strange goodness that we have, and that passes with many as such." And then, a short time after, when I said that a real Christian was one who worshipped God in the spirit, and rejoiced in Christ Jesus, and had no confidence in the flesh"-" Aye," he said, "I know what that means now; God looks to the heart. I used to think I knew all about it, but about two months ago it just seemed as if my eyes were opened, and I saw it for the first time." You saw what kind of worship and service God desires ?" I said, inquiringly. "Yes," he returned, "I saw that we have to do with God, and that it is the heart He looks to; I saw then, for the first time, what it was to worship God in the spirit."

As the winter progressed, his disease, consumption, returned with greater violence, and it became necessary for him to seek admission into the infirmary again. Accordingly, he removed there, and it soon became evident that his end was drawing near. Visiting him one day when his sufferings were very great, he was lamenting his former folly, which, in a great degree, was the cause of his present pain, having brought on, or at least confirmed, his disease. "How gladly would I suffer all this and more," he said, "for the sake of Christ; but it is my own doing, the price of my former sin and foolishness." At another time I found him comparatively easy, but extremely weak; and when I asked him how he felt, he said that while he was suffering very much shortly before, the Word of God and his promises seemed clearer than they were at that moment, that at the time of his greatest trouble he seemed to hold them with the firmest grasp. "You see, then, how true it is," I said, "that religion, trust in God, is just the very thing to sustain the soul, and that in the time of our greatest need, on a sick or dying bed, we know its value best." "Ah! yes," he said; "but it is an awful thing to put it off till such a time." It was no wonder that at that time his mind was somewhat beclouded; for this short interval of ease was the precursor of his death; visiting him about a day after, his thoughts were slightly wandering, and he was not collected enough to sustain a conversation. And the next day, I came in just a moment after he had ceased to breathe, and my sympathies were transferred from him who now needed them no longer, to his poor wife, weeping over her newly-begun widowhood.

There was nothing uncommon or startling in the manner in which God led this man; for we would believe that God was working in him-and yet God's dealings with any soul are always marvellous. It is a wondrous thing to see the heart, that for a long time was shut against the entrance of the word, open willingly to receive it; to see that heart, formerly hard as the rock, barren and unfruitful, begin to break up, to put forth buds of grace, and anon to bear flowers and fruit to the glory of God. It is as when God turns again the streams in the south. In the south of the pleasant land, at some seasons of the year, the eye rests only upon a barren waste; the watercourses

are dried up, and parched like the surface of the sandy desert, the pasture has all withered away, and the flowering shrubs, and the trees of the forest, hardly retain the semblance of life; but God sends down the rain from heaven, and the dried-up and parched watercourses begin to send forth the murmuring melody of the running brook; the tender grass shoots up its tiny blades from the barren soil, and clothes its slopes with a verdant mantle; the shrubs and trees lift up their heads, and begin to bud, and soon they are arrayed in foliage and blossom; and what, erewhile, was a dry and dusty desert, has become a garden of delights, where the eye revels among the manifold forms of grace and loveliness, and the heart sings in unison with the earth, rejoicing in its fresh and new-born beauty. This is a wonderful transformation, and yet it is not startling or uncommon. It comes in secresy and silence: we might watch it day and night, and yet we should not mark its progress; but in the end the great result is manifest to all; and thus oftentimes worketh God with men. He sets up His kingdom in the earth, but it cometh not with observation; like the seed growing up unobserved and in silence, His handiwork is manifest only in the great result, when that dried-up and barren heart has become like the garden of the Lord, bearing flowers and fruit to His glory. "This is the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes;" and our prayer in connection with our work as a missionary would be, " Turn again our captivity, O Lord, as the streams in the south."

Selected Poetry.

I AM WEARY.

I am weary of straying-oh fain would I rest,
In the far distant land of the pure and the blest!
Where sin can no longer her blandishments spread,
And fears and temptations for ever are fled.

I am weary of hoping-where hope is untrue,
As fair, but as fleeting, as morning's bright dew;
I long for that land whose blest promise alone,
Is changeless and sure as eternity's throne.

I am weary of sighing o'er sorrows of Earth,
O'er joy's gloomy visions, that fade at their birth-
O'er the pangs of the loved which we cannot assuage,
O'er the blighting of youth, and the weakness of age.

I am weary of loving what passes away-
The sweetest, the dearest, alas! may not stay!
I long for that land where those partings are o'er,
And death and the tomb can divide hearts no more.

I am weary, my Saviour, of grieving thy love;
O when shall I rest in thy presence above!

I am weary-but ch, never let me repine,

While thy word, and thy love, and thy promise are mine.

ANON

THE TWO ANGELS.

[THE author of the following beautiful stanzas is the well-known American Poet, W. H. Longfellow. The circumstances which called them forth, were the birth of one of his children and the death of Mrs Maria Lowell, wife of another American poet, which both happened on the same day, at Cambridge, U.S.]

Two Angels, one of Life and one of Death,
Passed o'er the village as the morning broke;
The dawn was on their faces, and beneath
The sombre houses hearsed with plumes of smoke.

Their attitude and aspect were the same,

Alike their features, and their robes of white;
But one was crowned with amaranth as with flame;
And one with asphodels like flakes of light.

I saw them pause on their celestial way,
Then said I, with deep fear and doubt oppressed,
"Beat not so loud my heart, lest thou betray
The place where thy beloved are at rest;'

And he who wore the crown of Asphodels,
Descending at my door, began to knock;
And my soul sank within me, as in wells
The waters sink, before an earthquake shock.

I recognised the nameless agony

The terror, and the tremor, and the pain-
That oft before had filled and haunted me,

And now returned with threefold strength again.

The door I opened to my heavenly guest,

And listened; for I thought I heard God's voice;
And, knowing whatsoe'er he sent was best,
Dared neither to lament nor to rejoice.

Then filled the house with light.

My errand is not death, but life," he said;
And ere I answered, passing out of sight,
On his celestial embassy he sped.

"Twas at thy door, O Friend, and not at mine,
The Angel with the amaranthine wreath,
Pausing, descended; and with voice divine,
Whispered a word that had a sound like Death.

Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom,
A shadow on these features fair and thin;
And softly, from that hushed and darkened room
Two angels issued, where but one went in.

All is of God! If He but wave His hand,
The mists collect, the rains fall thick and loud,
Till with a smile of light on sea and land,

Lo! He looks back from the departing cloud.

Angels of Life and Death alike are His;
Without his leave they pass no threshold o'er;
Who then would wish or dare, believing this,
Against His messengers to shut the door.