the unsearchable riches of Christ, and in enforcing the great truths of the gospel. From this sad defect, my preaching was far more cold and tame than it otherwise would have proved, and often possessed a hard and repulsive stiffness. The true secret of successful preaching is a supreme adoring attachment to the Lord Jesus Christ, and a strong and overpowering love of souls. But the ignorance and stupidity, the frivolity and profanity, the gross wickedness and brutal debauchery of sinners, though they many a time wrung my heart and crushed my spirits, oftener filled me with something like indignation, and led me to denounce the terrors of the Lord with a degree of vehemence and bitterness very unbecoming a poor guilty rebel who had obtained mercy, addressing other sinners still in a course of open rebellion. Though I infused an evangelical strain into every discourse, and believed that I was giving the congregation a full proportion of gospel truth; for some years after I came to Strathblane I dwelt too much on rousing and alarming subjects. The state of the parish greatly required more awful and tremendous addresses than I could possibly give. But either from the feebleness of the remonstrances, or my want of feeling in delivering them, my most earnest and urgent appeals upon the sinfulness of sin, the power of the divine wrath, and the horrors of everlasting woe, produced but a slight impression, and wrought no visible reformation. If I had dwelt more on the glory, the grace, and compassion of the Lord Jesus Christ, this would both have melted my own heart more, and have more deeply affected my hearers. In this case more good would probably have been accomplished.'

I have found business of every description a great drawback to my usefulness. The services of the Sabbath were always the most serious, powerful, and impressive, when I enjoyed the most leisure through the week to give myself to reading, meditation, and prayer; and on the contrary, these services were always the most dry, and insipid when I had suffered most through the week from secular interruptions and distractions. These distractions were often unavoidable, and intimately connected with the public interests of religion, such as attendance on church courts, the exclusion of unworthy men from the ministry, and the pleading the cause of temperance, and, of the purity and independence of the church. But still they were a hindrance to my usefulness in the parish. For some years a large proportion of my time was taken up in receiving visits and calls of friendship, and in answering the letters which were continually pouring in. I was often obliged to sigh for more time for retirement; and since I have been obliged to withdraw from business on account of health, whatever the world may have lost, I am sure that both my congregation and myself have gained.'

These remarks are deserving of serious attention. Extensive usefulness is in the divine economy intimately connected with retirement, meditation, and prayer; and the faithful minister will sometimes find it necessary to withstand the urgent entreaties of those who set before him apparently an open door of extensive usefulness, but into which he cannot enter without sacrificing the most invaluable opportunities for devotion and communion with God.

'His name is Samuel Fox ; returned the elder speaker.

You may possibly remember him; he was in Partnership with Morris the tailor some years back.'

I recollect him perfectly; he built a cottage, and rented several acres of land.'

He did; he holds the land still, and he lives in a larger house; but for all that, we consider him the poorest man in the town.'

From what cause?'

• From his own carelessness alone; and business neglected is business lost,' you know. He might have done very well, had he had a mind, but he kept his books so badly, that Morris would not go on with him.'

Did Fox carry on business alone then, afterwards?'

re

A little matter which we gathered among ourselves,' turned the labourer, and we wished to make bold to ask you to help our subscription: he cannot have parish relief, as long as he rents his land, but we thought we might raise a trifle for him. My companion and I went round the village, and we have reason to think that God blesses our endeavours; for there were many cheerful givers, and no one altogether denied us.'

There is something in the character of Christian kindness which cannot be mistaken. In its smallest acts, it bears the traces of a Divine Spirit; so truly has our Saviour said, "By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another." (John xiii. 35.)

Stimulated by the example of my two neighbours, I gladly accepted a part in the work, and after some further remarks, I bade them good night, with the promise

that I would visit the poor sufferer on the following morning.

As I continued my way homeward, I lingered occasionally to admire the beauties of nature, which presented themselves in inexhaustible variety, at every turn; the evening was calm and clear, and the sun resting on the verge of the horizon, marked its retreat by the shadows which lengthened which lengthened across the hills. As I watched its declining rays, I was reminded of the close of life, and I felt ready to exclaim, the longest day must have its night,' and "the night

cometh when no man can work." (John ix. 4.)

Early the next morning, I went, accompanied by a friend, to the village where the sick man lived. Our road lay chiefly through a retired lane, whence here and there an opening in the hedge disclosed some distant view. The banks on either side were covered with fern, and other wild plants, and an occasional field of clover, displayed its waving surface of silvery green leaves and fragrant flowers. The air was exhilarating, and the mind filled with admiration was stirred up to adore the glory of God manifested in his works. What a contrast did this scene exhibit compared with that which we soon witnessed.

The exterior of the house where Fox lived, presented a very imperfect idea of its tenant's wretchedness. It was new and substantial; and we had been informed that he held it for life at a very low rent, in consideration of his having vacated a cottage, which he had built for himself. We knocked at the door, and a feeble voice desiring us to enter, we advanced, and found a miserable looking elderly man sinking under his infirmities, and stretched on a tattered couch, beside which was laid an infant in a cradle, which, from time to time, he endeavoured to rock to sleep. The room was

At this moment a kind of scuffle was heard at the door, which was immediately succeeded by the sound of blows, and the screams of a child; and forthwith entered the unhappy man's wife, dragging along with her, a little boy about six years of age, whom she had been rudely chastising in the street.

What has the child done,' I asked the furious mother?

Done!' she replied angrily; 'I gave him sixpence to pay for a fourpenny loaf, and he has spent the change in gingerbread for himself.'

Like father like son,' remarked a man who stood at the door.

Twopence is but a small matter,' observed another bystander, 'to bring down such a beating.'

It may be a small matter to you,' returned Mrs. Fox sharply; but many a one is ruined by pennyworths.'

A good remark, thought I to myself; and in a more enlarged sense than poor Mrs. Fox intended. It reminded me of the beginnings of evil, and of those sins which a corrupt world esteems light and venial.

The sick man, who had been an attentive observer of all that had passed, could contain himself no longer, but burst into an agony of

tears.

Like father like son,' he repeated; it is too true: small matters have ruined me.'

Here his wife interposed, and was beginning to describe how he had been unfortunate in trade, when he interrupted her, exclaiming bitterly, 'It was no misfortune, it was my own doing; I was careless in my business, and put off looking into my affairs, till I dreaded to do so; and while I pretended to laugh at the very idea of danger, I feared to examine my books; and then I went from bad to worse, for I borrowed money on false pretences, and wronged an honest man. Oh that 1 could redeem the past, but it is too late.'

A kind neighbour who had entered while Fox was speaking, now joined in our endeavours to lead the unhappy man to the only Mediator between himself and an offended God; reminding him, that although he had hitherto been a careless sinner, it was not too late to pray for grace to repent; Jesus Christ having promised not to cast out those who come to him in faith confessing their sins.

The poor

man at last seemed to receive the comforting saying that the Son of man came to seek and to save that which was lost, (Luke xix. 10.) and that unto them therefore which believe, he is precious. (1 Peter ii. 7.) Praying that the divine spirit would render these impressions abiding, we bade him farewell.

I then separated from my companion, and pursued a path which led to a number of small cottages on the opposite side of the village. One of them was the abode of Thomas Elridge, the benevolent labourer, who had accosted me the preceding evening. It was a poor looking place, but the sun cast a cheerful gleam upon it, and I reflected with pleasure that the inmate was one in whom the true light shone. (2 Cor. iv. 6.)

He was just coming home to dinner as I approached, and he gave me a hearty welcome to his cottage; as I cast my eyes round

the room, I was struck with the contrast to the scene I had so recently witnessed. On a welldusted shelf, lay a family Bible, Prayer Book, and a few religious tracts, and on the table below, a missionary box made its silent appeal. I was pleased with the interest shewn by my neighbour in the condition of the heathen, and expressed myself accordingly.

can do but little,' he said, 'but the seed that is sown in weakness may, under the Divine blessing, be raised in strength: all of us have talents to account for, and there is no one so poor or afflicted, but he may do something in his Redeemer's service. I have read that a single penny will circulate a Christian tract, and a weekly penny more than secure the weekly instruction of a heathen child in a Christian school. My gatherings are mainly pence; but small rain may lay a heavy dust' you know.' I now reverted to the distressed neighbour.

state of his

Poor man,' he said, . I knew him in early life, and slothfulness was even then his besetting sin. It has cast him into a deep sleep, (Prov. xix. 15.) and he has awoke on the verge of eternity.'

• Do you think he has any idea of the extent of his debts?' I asked.

I do not suppose he has; debts and sins are always more than one takes them to be.'

I felt strongly the truth of this remark, especially when Elridge added, that it was one of Satan's commonest devices to turn our thoughts away from all serious examination, in order that we may follow him more heedlessly.'

I then inquired if he thought his neighbour's creditors were charitably disposed towards him.'

I trust so, he answered, although some have given him rough words, which a man who has lost his independence feels very keenly.'

What are the circumstances

He told me one day that he had been thinking again and again of his dying neighbour's embarrassments, and that a plan had occurred to him which he wished to mention to me.'

What is that Elridge?' I asked.

'I was thinking, he replied, that if his creditors would enter without delay into some arrangement, it might be a means of relieving his mind, and of withdrawing it from those earthly cares which sadly interfere with things of things of greater importance. I would speak to them myself if I thought it would do any good.'

'Are his worldly troubles still uppermost in his thoughts?'

They appear so,' said Elridge sorrowfully, and like Asa of old, (2 Chron. xvi. 12.) I fear he flies to broken cisterns for relief. I sat with him some hours yesterday, and his whole mind seemed to run on his debts, and his creditors, and family concerns. Such an example ought to teach us to Set our

house in order, while we are blessed with health and strength.'

After discussing the plan which Elridge proposed, and finding it practicable, I advised him to prosecute his kind intentions, and as the day was not far advanced I proceeded to the village. Passing through several fields where the mowers were at work, I thought with reference to the dying man I was about to visit, of the words of the Apostle-All flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. flower of grass. (1 Pet. i. 24.) And then I remembered the words of comfort which follow ---But the word of the Lord endureth for

ever.

She

The poor man was much altered, and wasted nearly to a shadow. A kind neighbour having undertaken the charge of the children during the day, his wife was enabled to attend to his wants. informed me that her husband was much worse, and that he had scarcely spoken since the preceding evening. I imagined indeed that he was insensible, till on my rising to leave the room, he made signs that he wished to speak to me. I approached the couch: grasping me with some energy by the hand, he implored me in a faint voice to write to his landlord in his behalf. I could not resist such an appeal at such a moment, and I promised to fulfil his request, entreating him at the same time to employ his remaining strength in seeking to be reconciled with an offended God. He made some reply, but it was, inaudible, and I left the house without being able to ascertain the state of his mind.

The following morning I learned that he was still alive, and towards noon prepared once more to visit him. I had scarcely left the house, when the slow tolling of the church bell led me to conclude that the unhappy man had been called into eternity, which Elridge, whom I met immediately after,