fellow-men to blame.

If Jesus is yours, you are rich, though seeming poor; if he is not yours, however poor, you are far more wretched than you seem to be. With such a Friend, do not utterly despond. Forget for a moment the whom you feel induced (perhaps justly, perhaps unjustly) Think of your Father and your Friend in heaven, whom you cannot blame. Ask, why has God permitted this bitter suffering to befal me? He means assuredly my good by it. He does not willingly afflict nor grieve the children of men (Lam. iii. 33). Cast thyself at His feet; ask thyself, have I not lived hitherto a forgetful and impenitent sinner? "He delighteth in mercy;" "humble yourself, therefore, under the mighty hand of God, that he may exalt you in due time" (1 Peter v. 6). May you find, afflicted reader, that affliction leads you to see your sins, to seek your Saviour, and thus proves to be the very means of your obtaining, through Christ, eternal joy and glory. F. CLOWES.

"IF I GO TO HELL, I SHALL NOT GO THERE

ALONE."

Feeling it my duty, some years since, to expostulate with an aged man for neglecting public worship on the Sabbath, he seemed to be somewhat annoyed, and replied in a surly tone, "Well, if I go to hell, I shall not go there alone." This reply showed an awfully hardened state of the heart, and was the more distressing as proceeding from an aged sinner, who had but a brief portion of his probationary period remaining, and seemed disposed only to squander that away in neglect of his salvation and defiance of God. Dear reader! perhaps you are yet in the deplorable condition of this hoary-headed transgressor, impenitent, careless, negligent of the means of grace, and regardless of the salvation of your soul, with no prospect before you but that of going to hell when you die, and yet congratulating yourself that if you go to hell, you shall not go there alone. Did you ever seriously consider what hell is, as a place of banishment from God, as the dark and dreary abode of devils and lost souls, and as a state of awful suffering and hopeless despair? Did you ever solemnly reflect on the inevitable anguish of the damned, and endeavour to realize the thought of being lost-lost for ever? Think of this,-think of "the blackness of darkness for ever," "the worm that dieth not,""the fire that is not quenched," "everlasting punishment." Ponder these things, and surely you cannot imagine that it is a trifling calamity to go to hell, or feel that you are at liberty to be indifferent to your salvation.

Are you comforting yourself with the thought that, if you go to hell, you shall not go there alone. This will be no comfort to you when you get there. This will be no comfort to you when you come to die. Doubtless if you go to destruction, you will not go there

alone; you will have plenty of companions; for "wid
broad is the road, that leadeth to destruction, and ma
go in thereat.", But this, instead of comforting you,
vate your case and increase your misery. Those with
associated in sin will become your tormentors. Thos
ungodly example, you have led astray, will eternall
one of the guilty agents of their own everlasting rui
flatter and deceive yourself; open your eyes to the
alarm in time. Neglect no longer. Let it be your so
tion that you will not go to hell, nor be any longer
leading others thither. "Flee from the wrath to
Christ, the gracious and only Saviour.
He i
e is able an
you, even should you be an aged sinner, or the grea
men. "He will in no wise cast you out." Go to hi
and give yourself up to his service, that you may both
be the means of leading others to heaven.

BEHOLD, I STAND AT THE DOOR AND

Give, now, your heart to God! He well deserves,

From hands like yours, to take the precious treas aquone He made it first, its powers he still preserves; baby To make it pure, his care has known no measure Oh, grant, without delay,

A boon for which Omnipotence will pray!

Around your child your warm affections rove,
You long to make its heart become your own;

No bliss to you is like the well-earn'd love

That springs from seeds of love your hands have
Oh, why thus seek to gain

An infant's love, when God asks yours in vain!

Twere hard if you might never pluck a flower,
From plants both raised and watered by your hand
No fragrance catch, whene'er a passing shower
Sweet odours raises as the buds expand;
God makes your heart to bloom,
Forbid him not within its bowers to come!

Oh, highly honoured man! that such a Guest
Should deign to ask within thy heart a home;
Henceforth let hope and fancy find no rest,
While this great Friend without thy doors shall roa

Some way wody o Let sighs and tears declare
You beg for evermore his presence there!

DANGEROUS SITUATION OF A SHIP'S CREW.

A short time ago, an East Indiaman, meeting with stormy weather, foundered on her passage home. The crew succeeded in reaching a large bare rock. They had no food but what they obtained by fishing, and by snaring the sea-fowl; neither had they a drop of water but what they caught on the eighth day of their existence on that desert spot. By that time their case was desperate. They strained their eyes continually over the wide waste of waters in hope of seeing some sail. On the highest point of the rock they fixed a flag, and one of their number, by turns, stood near it, to keep up a perpetual watch. But the ninth day came, and no appearance of salvation. The tenth came, and still no rescue. The eleventh was followed by the twelfth, and still all was as before. Who can conceive the feelings they must have had, to see hour after hour, night after night, morning after morning, come and depart, in such fearful circumstances? It might probably seem strange to you, reader, if it were said that you are, at this moment, in a situation not less affecting. What you have just read is a narration of literal facts. Is it not equally true that you have suffered shipwreck, and that that ocean of sin which rolls around you, cannot be crossed without a Deliverer? Perhaps you have waited long, and are still unsaved. Fifteen, twenty, or thirty years, it may be, have rolled over you, and still you are without rescue. Another day has dawned upon you,-SHALL THAT CLOSE ALSO WITHOUT A CHANGE?

There is something so remarkable in the circumstance of your waiting in your present condition, and even refusing to seize any opportunity of inoving out of it, that it may be well to pause for a moment to consider your reasons.

You say this life occupies so much attention, that you cannot find time to think of your soul. Business of all kinds must be followed with spirit or not at all. Rising early, and retiring late, are the only conditions on which life can be maintained, and how can leisure be found for eternity? All this may be so; but still the soul is of more consequence than the body, and will be alive when the body lies in the grave. We may wish it were otherwise; but so it is. What

is of most value, ought, in any case, to have most attention; but if you should this day set in good earnest about this matter, you will find that so far from attention to the soul losing time, it will gain time, and every thing you do will be done better.

Perhaps you say, that though convinced of this, there can be no harm in delay. No harm in staying on the rock, when you have the

opportunity of bearing off! May not a storm sprin you away never to be recovered? May not starvati death, and scatter your bones around as a monume harm in delay! Does not one delay lead to another been delaying all your life up to this moment, an probable that you will continue to do so until all o gone? Oh, that you were ready to snatch at an offer these seamen did?

On the morning of the fifteenth day these miseral almost to the point of death, caught sight of a fa Their hearts beat with anxiety. Hope and fear fou their hearts. Death would be more dreadful if glimmer of safety; but it pleased a merciful God tha of some hours, the commander of the ship discovered distress, and bearing down towards them, took the tection. They were gradually strengthened, and land shores of Britain. Y axe de

Fix your eye, dear reader, on Him who came that which was lost,"- -on the Son of God, who, from "Come unto me, and be ye saved," and you als and landed in heaven. Liverpool.

WHAT SIN CAN I HAVE DONE TO

I was conducted once, by an excellent man, to th woman in the worst part of the city of Bristol. Sh in life, most unpromising in appearance; her form an coarse and masculine,-I may say repulsive. After a tion with her, in which I could not succeed in shewi was in any important sense a sinner, I enquired, "D have committed a single sin to day ?" She exclaimed "Oh, sir, what sin can I have done to day;-sin, non lying here." "Well," I replied, "I wish I could say I had done no sin to day."

It was some time before circumstances permitted again. When I did so, the first thing she said w do you remember telling me that you wished you coul done no sin to day; I could never forget that; I thoug came to talk to me for my good, and relieve my wa that day, surely I must too; and the Lord has shewn have a heart that can sin when my body is ill in bed."

To be brief, this woman became a delightful christia street respected her; her example-for she said littl become christians too. She recovered enough of t power of reading, to ponder over the New Testament truly happy, the most irreligious around confessing t

was so great, that if any were gone to heaven, she was. I never myself saw a body interred in more "sure and certain hope of a joyful resurrection."

But what began these joyful hopes in herself and others? It was her finding out that she could be a sinner even when lying helpless on a sick bed; and that a friend, engaged in the very duties of charity and religion, could be a sinner too; and she learned yet further, that even such sins must be matter of real shame and sorrow, and that the blood of Christ alone could take them away. It is sin-not our sins being a few more or a few less-it is sin in any degree of it which ruins us. It is a fatal, because an unnoticed evil, in our very bosoms. We have done to day (were all other days blameless), we have done TO DAY, enough to condemn us as breakers of God's most righteous law. We have done it in our hearts, and have we not in our words and deeds too? Now, have you thought this day's sin of consequence enough to go to Christ for pardon? Has the thought of your day's sins, and Christ's death, as the only possible atonement for them, entered your mind at all? Friend, let me commend to your reflections the experience of this poor and unlearned, but strong-minded and truly. excellent, woman, and may our last end be like hers. Bradford.

"HOW CAN I COME TO CHRIST?"

A. T.

To an awakened sinner, this question is often involved, for a time, in the most profound and inscrutable mystery. A young man of strong mental powers, and amiable deportment, was led, under an awakened conscience, to make the great enquiry, What must I do to be saved? Pressing on successfully in the path to honourable distinction, he had before thought little about the subject of his soul's salvation, under the vague idea that he needed no other preparation for heaven than he already possessed. But now he looked into his own heart, and in the light of God's holy law, he saw the pollution that was there,-forgetfulness of God, deadness, insensibility to his love. He now discovered his lost condition, and earnestly sought instruction. He conversed with his pastor, who, after setting before him his real state by nature and by practice, insisted upon that Gospel direction to "Come to Christ." This was explained and enforced in repeated interviews, with the greatest possible simplicity and earnestness. But his distressed conscience found no peace. He was satisfied that the advice was good; but what did it mean to come to the Saviour?-this he did not understand. Philosophy, which had been his favourite study, failed entirely to cast any light upon the great practical question which engrossed his mind. The conviction of his guilt and danger became more deep and distressing; and most gladly would he repair to Jesus, he thought, if he only knew how. This problem must be solved. And,