many family vaults which would still be left tenanted after "the first resurrection," and expatiating on the blessedness of being (if not among those "who are alive and remain") among the "dead in Christ" in that day, his eyes sparkled with the happy assurance, that, though it might not be so with all his house, yet he was safe "in Christ;" that with himself God had made a covenant "ordered in all things and sure." During all this time he was subject to great bodily suffering, which however be was enabled to bear with Christian fortitude; for he knew where to look for comfort, and could say, "This is my comfort in my affliction, for Thy word hath quickened me."

At length the time drew nigh when the "silver cord" was to be loosed, and the "golden bowl" broken. His sufferings at this time were very great, but his faith never wavered, and he met the "last enemy" as a friend. For nearly four months it had been our Reader's privilege to visit the poor sufferer; and to show the value he set upon his ministrations to himself and others, he sent for him on the 19th May, and on his appearing before him, he presented to him a Bible, with the earnest prayer that he would read it to others as he had read it to him, and that God might abundantly bless its contents, as they had been blessed to his own soul.

On the 3d June, they met for the last time. It was evening. The neighbours had retired to rest. The patient was at times insensible. At other times he was quite himself, calm, and collected, and in perfect peace. No fear assailed his mind, for his mind was "stayed" upon his God. "Trust ye in the Lord for ever for in the Lord Jehovah is everlasting strength." He spoke calmly of his approaching departure, and of those joys which awaited him "at God's right hand for evermore." He expressed, too, a great desire that the Reader should attend his funeral. The still hour of midnight had come and gone, and the Reader yet lingered by the bedside, along with the poor wearied wife, who, through all the long affliction, had nursed him with the utmost care. Soon afterwards the happy spirit wafted its way to the realms of eternal rest until the morning of the Resurrection-day, when it shall be reunited to "this corruptible," which shall have put on "incorruption," and to "this mortal," which shall have put on "immortality." "Then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, 'Death is swallowed up in victory.'" Till then, till the last trump shall sound, when, in the twinkling of an eye, we shall all be changed, his mortal remains lie among the cold and silent dust in Brompton Cemetery, with a plain stone to mark the spot, and a few solemn words upon it from that Book which was sweeter to him than honey or the honeycomb.

THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER; OR, "THE FLASH
GENTLEMAN."

"The wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord."-Roм. vi. 23.

BOUT ten years ago one of our Scripture Readers commenced his labours in a very poor, very degraded, and very populous parish of London. The population included a large proportion of superior mechanics, who earned good wages, and might have lived, with their families, in the greatest comfort, had those liberal earnings not been unhappily intercepted on their way home. In the midst of this population of mechanics lived a mysterious stranger, evidently by education above the class of men amongst whom he lived, but with whom he never associated. What his occupation might be, none could tell. None knew anything of the family, save that they lived in comfortable style, and yet were never known to work; and that they were occasionally seen in the evening, the man dressed in the first style of fashion, the females in silks. They were known to be frequently visited by "dashing-looking fellows," as the neighbours remarked, but of whose homes or whose history they were as ignorant as of the mysterious stranger himself. On the second or third day of his visitation in the district, the Reader came to the house in which this most unpromising family lived; and his reception was such as, had he known the mysterious character of the house, he might have been led to expect. He rapped at the door, which was cautiously and but very partially opened by the The Reader could just make out the man's face, and barely had time to inquire after the welfare of the family, and to explain who he was, and the desire of the Clergyman that all his parishioners should be cared for and visited, when the man's impatience could no longer be restrained, and he poured forth such a torrent of abuse and threats as made the Reader shudder, and it would be quite impossible to repeat.

man.

Such was the unsatisfactory character of the Reader's first call at the house of the mysterious stranger. But he was not to be daunted by a first rebuff. It was evident that, whatever the nature of his occupation might be, he was living without God in the world, and had no desire to live otherwise. To him, therefore, the Reader resolved, if possible, to carry the message of the Gospel. Call after call was made at the house, but always with the same result. Sometimes, indeed, his ring was not even

heeded. At other times, the door was half opened, as at the first, to be followed with similar language, mingled with sneers and derisive compliments. Seven long years and upwards thus passed away, and then the Reader's patience being exhausted, he was tempted to pass by the door. He still, however, saluted him in the street, whenever he happened to meet him, that he might know he was as willing as before to visit him, if ever a visit should be desired.

Two years more passed away; and then two females appeared at the Reader's door. They came to say that the man was ill, and wished to see him! The Reader almost feared there must be some mistake, but being satisfied as to the identity of the house and "the mysterious stranger," he lost no time in hurrying off, to hear from his own lips the cause of his most unexpected summons. On his arrival at the house, the same two women opened the door, and showed him up-stairs. The sick man was lying in bed; and the Reader extended his hand towards him, at the same time expressing his sorrow at seeing him so ill. Tears were standing in the man's eyes, and soon began to flow; and then he put out his hand to meet that of the Reader, and said, "I don't think I ought to take that liberty, after having acted towards you as I have done." A long conversation followed, of a painfully interesting character ; after which the Reader took out his Bible, and read part of the fifty-first Psalm, and part of the fifty-fifth chapter of Isaiah, and then kneeled down and prayed. At this interview there was evidently much that the poor man wished to say, but could not. On parting, he begged him, if possible, to call again soon. This the Reader did the next day, and also the day following, on both which occasions he did his best to smooth down the ruffled feelings of the man, concluding his visits with reading the Word and prayer. From this time the Reader was always welcome, and even hailed as a friend by him, who for nearly ten years had refused to allow him within his door.

Seeing there was no Bible in the house, the Reader presented him with a copy, which he greatly valued, keeping it constantly by his side, and frequently asking those who were nursing him, to read to him the portions which the Reader had marked out for special meditation. About this time he suggested his seeing one of the parochial clergymen ; but the mere mention of the thing produced such an outburst of feeling as the Reader was little prepared for. "He detested the parsons," he said, and gave many reasons for doing so reasons, we may add, which the Reader by a little explanation easily disposed of. He made him, moreover, confess that he did not know them, and explained to him that they were

sent by our blessed Master, "to preach good tidings unto the meek, to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound," and "to comfort all that mourn.' The man at last gave way, and consented to receive the proposed visit from one of the clergy of the parish, whom he ever afterwards received with great respect, and soon learnt to love for his works' sake, as the minister of Christ. The change in the man's whole life and conduct was now most strikingly apparent. It was delightful to behold the steadfastness of his faith in Christ. What never interested him before deeply interested him now. Things that formerly engrossed all his thoughts were banished from his mind. The very remembrance of them was grievous to him. The burden of them, if he had not happily cast it upon the Lord, who he well knew "cared for him," would have been intolerable. And well indeed it might; for he had led a most terrible life-so terrible, that for some time he felt he could never hope for forgiveness. He spoke of the wrong he had done to others by word and deed-alluding, we presume, to the false oaths taken by him at various times to implicate others and to clear himself. The mystery now began to clear up. He had got his living partly by uttering base coin, and partly by receiving and disposing of stolen goods! No wonder the neighbours felt there was a mysteriousness about him, and exclaimed when they saw the Reader going to visit him, "Oh, there is the Scripture Reader going to visit the strange man, the flash gentleman."

The Reader felt curious to know what induced him first to send for him, and plainly asked him if he was influenced by the fear of death. "No," was his reply; "when I first wished to see you, I

did not think of dying, I merely felt miserable. I felt I hated myself; and when I thought of my past life, I knew not what to do. I knew you were a religious man, that you go to read and pray with the sick, and those in trouble. I knew, too, that if any one could tell me about forgiveness, and about Jesus, you could. That is why I sent for you." He then asked him, further, if he had any fear of death, now death seemed so near. Putting his hands upon his breast, he said most solemnly, "If I could have health to-morrow and live on, I would not ask for it ;" and then added, with great emphasis, "I know where I am going." The last visit now drew near. The dying man was calm and happy. He expressed his thankfulness to the Reader for all that he had done for him, and begged him to convey his thanks to the clergyman who had so kindly visited him. "Tell him," he added, "all is right now." He then stretched out his hand, already cold with the dew of death, looked up in the Reader's face, and, with a smile

upon his countenance, feebly said, "Up there, sir, meet me." He then swooned away, and when the Reader called a few hours afterwards he found that he had reaped a portion, at least, of "the wages of sin," which is "death;" but only, he trusts and believes, to realize more fully the precious truth, that "THE GIFT OF GOD IS ETERNAL LIFE, THROUGH JESUS CHRIST OUR LORD."

JANE, THE YOUNG SERVANT; OR, ANOTHER MAGDALEN AT THE FEET OF JESUS.

"There are many devices in a man's heart; nevertheless the counsel of the LORD, that shall stand."-Prov. xix. 21.

ELDOM, perhaps, has the truth of these words been more forcibly exemplified than in the case of poor Jane, the young servant. At the age of sixteen she entered a gentleman's service in the east of London, where she remained for several years with a good character, and respected by all who knew her. At length she was led into bad company, and induced to give up her place. From this moment sorrow and suffering became her portion. She gave herself up to a wretched course of life in another part of London, where she remained for some years, until, ruined and disgraced, she retraced her steps to the far East. The night of her return was bitterly cold, and one of soaking rain. A small row of houses had but lately been built, and the plaster had just been laid upon the walls. Not one of these houses was fit for occupation; for death was in the mortar of those reeking walls. Still this young creature must be sheltered from the wind and rain, and there was little choice for one in her position. So she took a room, and laid herself down to sleep.

Little did she dream of the mighty consequences of that night's lodging. Her chosen career was to terminate, but a new and happier career was to begin. Her career of sin was to be cut short, but God's purposes of mercy were now to be revealed to her. Life itself was to close, but she was to get a new Life, which death could not touch. Well indeed was it for her that she returned to the east of London, though the bare boards were her only bed that night, and the damp from off those walls her covering. For after a little time the Scripture Reader of the district found her out; and, seeing she was very ill, expressed his deep concern for her. But sympathize as he did with the suffering body, he knew there was within that frail and failing tabernacle a soul of infinitely