BIBLE TRUTHS.

SUNDAY, December 6.—" Now the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing" (Rom.

TRUE

xv. 13). TRUE religion is true happiness. No one has so good a right to be peaceful and joyful as the Christian. He has God for a Father, Christ for a Saviour, heaven for an eternal and glorious home. His sins are all forgiven. All things work together for his good. Death, which is so dreadful to others, is gain to him. If these things do not fill us with joy and peace, I do not know what can. We should feel that to be happy is our duty as well as our privilege. It is when others see

us to be always rejoicing that they learn the value of faith. Nothing is so likely to lead the unconverted to a serious concern for salvation as an example of Christian cheerfulness, especially when displayed in the midst of trial and sorrow. Solomon says, that the laughter of fools is as the crackling of thorns under a pot; that is, it flames up very brightly for a short time and then it dies out, leaving only cold, dark ashes behind. Very different

his employer, and if he be found unfaithful he will be punished for his dishonesty or neglect. all stewards.

our own.

We are We have nothing of We have nothing of Everything which we

to tell us how we may become free from all care: "In everything by prayer prayer and supplication let your requests be made known unto God." Prayer is the great cure for care: call our own really belongs to God. "Casting all your care upon Him Our property, our time, our bodies, who careth for you." Leave your our souls, are his, and " every one care in his hands and you will find of us shall give account of himself | peace. With prayer join thanksto God." How shall we be able to giving. Instead of fretting over stewards, using what God has endo so? Are we honestly, as good what you have not, thank God for what you have. trusted to us? Will he say to us, Well done, good and faithful servants? Or are we wasting our lives, our powers, our possessions, in sin and folly? Woe to the wicked and slothful servant who

"What various hindrances we meet
In coming to a mercy-seat;
Yet who that knows the worth of prayer
But wishes to be often there."

SUNDAY, December 27.-" God sent forth his Son, made of a woman, made under the law, to redeem them that were under the law, that we might receive the adoption of sons" (Gal. iv. 4, 5).

does so. It is a dreadful thing to be found dishonest towards God. WELL may Christmas be a time But if he pronounces us faithful, we need not fear what others may of us.

say

"So let our lips and lives express
The holy gospel we profess;

So let our works and virtues shine
To
prove the doctrine all Divine:
Our flesh and sense must be denied,
Passion and envy, lust and pride;

of gladness. It reminds us that God's dear Son came down into this sinful, suffering world to redeem us from the curse of the law and make us the sons of God. This is, indeed, good tidings of great joy. The angels sang joyful songs to celebrate this event. And

Whilst justice, temperance, truth, and love, surely we for whose salvation the

Our inward piety approve."

SUNDAY, December 20. "Be careful for

Saviour came ought to rejoice and be glad too. What a wonderful

which the God of hope fills those who believe.

"O happy soul that lives on high,

While men lie grovelling here!
His hopes are fixed above the sky,
And faith forbids his fear."

How

us! He "sent forth his Son" to suffer and die for our redemption; and he did this when we were enemies and rebels. If it had been for his true and faithful servants

we might well have wondered at his goodness. But when we remember that it was whilst we were yet enemies that Christ was born and died for us, we must feel that this, indeed, was the love, not of

cation with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God" (Phil. iv. 6). can we escape from fretting, anxious care? Surely every one wishes to do so. But in no condition of life can we find perfect peace. The rich have their cares as well as the poor. The cares of this world are everywhere. There is a crook in every lot; a sorrow in every house; an anxious fear, a weary care, in every heart. Yet the Apostle commands us to "be careful for nothing." Impos-gift." sible! you say; I should be only too glad to do this if I could, but I But see how he goes on

cannot.

man, but of God. "Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable

"Hark! the herald angels sing Glory to the new-born King; Peace on earth, and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled."

A

SOMETHING PRECIOUS.

MAN was sitting on a gate. He had been sitting there all the morning, and from the looks of him, he might be going to sit there till night. He was ragged, and dirty, and forlorn. He was hungry too, but he had not the means of satisfying his hunger. He had no money, and his wife and children were gone out to beg. It was a sad condition to be in. And yet this man has something precious belonging to him, if he did but know how to use it. It is time.

Many people have nothing else. to start in life with. They have no money and no possessions. But they have time, and that is all they want. See what it does for them. They take their time to market, and sell it to whoever will pay them the best price for it. It is the capital God has given them to trade with. By diligently using it, it brings them food, and clothing, and a roof to shelter them, besides a trifle in money to put by against a rainy day.

The man on the gate has never thought his time of any value. He might have earned a livelihood if he had had a mind. But he liked better to lounge about and eat the bread of idleness. He has let his time run to waste year after year, and it has brought him no return. He is as poor now as when he first set out in life. Nay, he has come to positive want. But he never thinks he has still the precious gift of time.

Time is precious as far as the things of this world go; and it is our wisdom and duty to make the most of it. But it has a more important use. God has given us

time in which to prepare for eternity. It will soon be over. Days, and months, and years, fly swiftly past. But, when we come to die, of what great importance will it be how we have spent themwhether we have wasted our time or improved it for eternitywhether we have sought the Lord with all our hearts, and been diligent to work out our own salvation with fear and trembling. If we have done this-well. But if we have trifled away our opportunities, and turned our time to no account, we shall have to cry in anguish of soul, "The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved."

"I WISH HE WERE ALIVE NOW."

A

YOUNG and pleasant-looking woman came to see me the other day, in great distress about her husband and youngest child, both of whom were so ill that it was not expected they would recover. While she was talking to me, I saw her eyes glance up every now and then at a picture that was hanging over my fire-place. It was an engraving of "Christ the Healer," and represented our Lord,

dignified and compassionate-looking figure, surrounded by objects of charity, and engaged in laying his hand on the eyes of a blind man, while several other sufferers were trying to attract his attention. The poor woman at last broke out into tears, and said, pointing to the picture, "Oh, I wish we only lived in those days now, and had Him among us!"

"Well," I said, "you know he is ever among us now; and you can take them to him in prayer every day. If he were on earth still, you know he could only be in one place at once-at Nazareth, or Capernaum, or Jerusalem; and then what would you do? for you could never take your husband and child so far to get to him.”

"Oh, but I would," she replied with an outbreak of earnestness; "I would get them there somehow, and get a cure for them."

How earnest people are when a cure for their body is in view; what difficulties they will surmount! But when it is only pardon for their sins, only grace and strength for their souls, only eternal mansions in heaven that Christ offers them, how little trouble will they take. Lord, help our unbelief!

The next time I heard of this poor woman, her husband and baby were both dead. The doctors could do nothing for them; and the time will come to each of us when medical skill can do nothing for us. If we have the first physicians in the land, there is only one thing before us-death, and after death-the judgment.

But if we fly to Jesus as the Physician of souls, he will cure our diseases, and impart such heavenly strength and vigour that our souls shall never die.

ARRIVAL IN TOWN.

THE COTTAGE AT THE FIRS.

THAT

CHAPTER XII.-CONCLUSION.

HAT sad history of his old fellow-labourer, which was contained in Nancy's letter, made considerable impression on John Godwin's mind. He did not talk much about it, but the thought of poor Jem Crocker, who in past years had worked so merrily by his side, and who had often shown him kindness while he was yet a stranger in Newton, was continually present with him. It haunted him as he lay awake at night, and followed him in his work about the farm, every object in which brought his old comrade to his recollection. Resolving to do what he could to help the unfortunate man, he watched for an opportunity; and one day, when Mr. Fowler came into the stackyard where John was at work, he laid the matter before him, and pulling his daughter's letter from his pocket, read that part of it which related to poor Crocker.

"Poor fellow," said Mr. Fowler, "that legacy of his was the worst thing that could happen to a man of his sort, who never had the strength to resist temptation. But we must see what can be done for him; he served me well for many a year, and I'm sorry indeed to hear what you tell me. Do you think he would care to come back to Newton and work here again if the chance was offered him?"

"Well," said John, "now that there is nobody but himself to please, perhaps he would. At any rate, I'll soon be certain about that; and I'm much obliged to you, sir, for what you've said."

This talk with his employer encouraged John in an idea which had long been running in his head, and that was nothing less than paying a visit to London, which he had never seen in his life, and spending a few days with his daughter. In that case he would find out Jem Crocker, and he had little doubt but that he should be able to prevail on him to return. A trip from the village of Newton to London was not now nearly so great an undertaking as it would have been only a twelvemonth earlier, for the branch rail

way which had been laid down from the markettown to Bolton, ran within half a mile of Newton Church, and there was a neat little station at the nearest point, from which London could be reached even by the parliamentary trains in six or seven hours.

When John discussed the proposed excursion with his wife, Mary, you may be sure, wanted to go too, and to this he had not the slightest objection. The end of it all was, that one fine sunny morning, John Godwin and his wife took their seats, not without some misgivings at the first sight of the snorting iron horse, in one of the big carriages, and before one o'clock in the afternoon, were landed on the huge platform in Paddington. The honest couple were amazed at the tumult, the noise, and the apparent confusion of a place in which everything they saw was new to them, and stood looking about them in a bewildered sort of way, when John felt a smart slap on the shoulder, and on turning round, there stood Harry Bryant laughing at their astonishment, and holding out his hand in welcome. In a few minutes he had got their luggage out of the van and on to the roof of an omnibus, and all three were jogging on merrily towards their city home, the country visitors being lost in wonder at the wilderness of tall houses they travelled through, and the ever moving multitudes of people that thronged the streets.

We need not describe the meeting between Nancy and her parents, but shall leave the reader to imagine that and all the kind things that were said on either side. The following few days were spent in seeing the sights of London, under Bryant's guidance, who got a holiday for the purpose. They saw enough to talk about for the rest of their lives, and more than enough to make them contented with their peaceful cottage at home. John, for his part, though admiring the wonders he saw, and admitting that the Lodging-house was "a fine smart place for having things handy about one," declared that he couldn't live in any place without a bit of land to work on, and that London would be the last place where he should find a bit to his liking.

On the second evening after their arrival in town, Bryant went in search of poor Crocker, and brought him in to supper. John saw that his old companion was much shattered in health, and had plainly suffered a great deal; at first he was very silent and downcast, but John's cheerful face and Mary's smile of welcome soon made him feel at home and among friends, and put him more at ease. In the course of the evening John took him aside, and in a kindly way let him know the feeling of Mr. Fowler towards him, advising him to take advantage of it and return to his old place. Perhaps had any one else given him this advice, Crocker would have refused it, for, like most imprudent people, he felt ashamed to return as a poor man to a place where he had once been considered as better off than his neighbours; but Godwin spoke in such a brotherly way, and seemed to look forward so heartily to recovering an old comrade, that the feeling of shame vanished from his mind, and he at once told John that he would follow his advice. The consequence was, that when the Godwins, having had their fill of London, went back to Newton, Crocker went along with them. For

several weeks he was John's guest at the cottage, where, such was the effect of good, wholesome food, and a return to his native air, that he soon recovered his strength, and resumed his work at the old farm.

We have now said as much concerning John Godwin and his family as we intended to record, and we hope we have shown that there are solid pleasures to be enjoyed under a cottage roof, and solid comforts by the man who cultivates a grateful trust in God, and, while labouring for his daily bread, trains up his family, in the fear of the Lord, to the same humble trust and active industry.

Godwin still dwells contented in his cottage. Before we bid him farewell altogether, let us look in upon him once more to see how he fares. It is a Sunday afternoon in the summer. The day is hot and sultry, though a pleasant light breeze is waving the tops of the tallest trees and whispering among the leaves of that old lime from which John had so terrible a tumble fifteen years ago. The windows of the cottage are all thrown wide open to admit the cool air and the fragrance of the blooming red roses which have climbed up the western gable and overtopped even the stumpy chimney. In a neat rustic arbour made of knobby sticks and gnarled roots, sits our friend John, reading aloud out of the large print Bible. The once bushy brown locks that covered his head have dwindled down to a rather thin crop, whose hue is a silver grey. But the voice of the man is sturdy and deepchested; his limbs are strong and hearty, and there is still the glow of health in every fibre of his frame. We cannot say so much of the neighbour who sits opposite to him listening to the words of the Holy Book; that is James Crocker, on whom Time has laid his hand more heavily, and who now in his old age is paying the penalty of youthful follies. But Crocker, like his friend, has learned where to look for consolation under all trials, and his heart is now full of praise, and not of complaint, for the troubles which were made the means of his repentance and reformation.

And, lo! from the open door of the cottage comes Mary Godwin, in close cap and neat print gown, looking at this distance almost as young as ever. She is dancing a baby in her arms, and the little fellow is laughing and crowing, and grasping at her sun-lighted face with his tiny fat fingers, and rolling his large blue eyes about as if he would see all the world at a glance. That is Nancy's youngest boy, and see, there comes Nancy herself, who is grown quite plump and matronly; she is leading by the hand a shy little girl of six; who is not so shy, however, but that on secing Grandad in the arbour, she quits her mother's side and runs to Godwin, who has to lift her on to his knee and sign to her to be quiet until he has finished the chapter. See how still she sits, with one finger on her lips.

If you look in at the open window you may see Bessy Godwin, now a tall young woman and still unmarried, who is busy setting out the tea things; and if you were to wait for another half-hour you would see Tom Godwin coming in with his brother Sam, and Sam's wife. They are coming to bid good-bye to Nancy, who has been down for a short visit, but returns to her husband in the morning.