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A Personal Witness.

THE Outlook, in a review of "Is Life worth Living? an Eightfold Answer," says:- :

"Mr. Clifford's answer to the primal difficulty of believing in God at all, and in Him as knowable and lovable,' as well as in the doctrine of immortality, is given so briefly and pointedly that we offer no apology for quoting it entire. It is evidently the answer of one who has worked out the problem in his own experience:

"(1.) I was obliged to admit that Christianity is here; it is part of the life, of the best and worthiest life of the day. That I could not deny. It is moreover a historical fact. It is as undeniably in the third century as it is in the last; and in the second as it is in the nineteenth. There is no more denying that, than there is the splendid sun of the mid-day heaven. And its corruptions notwithstanding, it is a glorious history, a history of slow but real progress, and must have an adequate cause.

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"(2.) I found a new type of character in that second century; and by the side of it 'the gospels.' Those 'gospels' give credible evidence of being the product of the earlier century; and they trace this new and prolonged effect to the man Christ Jesus. THAT MAN IS SINLESS. This was the startling phenomenon. No one could be more pitiful to sinners; no one more sensitive to infirmity; and yet He did no sin.' He tells others to repent; but never repents Himself; to pray for forgiveness; but never asks for it Himself. It seemed to me He was not as other men are; and therefore could not have come here as other men did. His holiness is supernatural. He must be supernatural. (3.) Seeing what Christ was, I could not but trust Him, and trusting Him I could not but welcome His words when He said 'Let not your heart be troubled, believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions, if it were not so I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you:' and I found that His words were 'spirit and life,' and He became to me the way, the truth, and the life.'

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"(4.) Faith in God and immortality became a delight. The love of God became joy and strength, and the service of men for God's sake an unspeakable privilege.

"(5.) And now after more than twenty years' experience I cannot be brought by any process to doubt the efficiency of that method. It is part of my life. It is my solace now. Again and again I have suggested this same method to men and women who have been exiled in the Egypt of scepticism, and they have found it a pillar of fire by night and cloud by day.' Roman Catholics, driven into scepticism by the false and unchristian representation of Christ given by that Church, have laid hold of this thread and travelled out of subterranean gloom into the light of day. And I proclaim it now; with an invincible faith in the Master's word, 'no man cometh to the FATHER but by ME,' and moreover, that no man cometh to the life most worth living save by the same Redeemer and Helper and Guide."

MAKE DISTINCTIONS.

DISTINGUISH between desiring a thing and merely deeming it desirable. You admit that a pure religious experience is desirable, but do you really desire it? Distinguish also between prejudice against a thing and disapproval of the particular means and methods that may be used to gain it. All men are not opposed to revivals whose judgment is against certain revivalistic tactics. Distinguish, too, between a sin, which implies guilt, and an error, which does not. Distinguish between wilful rejection of the truth and the doubtings of an honest mind. Almost everything in this world may be, at times, mistaken for something else. Be on your guard. Be not misled. Make distinctions. Draw them carefully and finely. Between two things that look alike there may, nevertheless, be all the difference between the true and the false, life and death, heaven and hell. In reference to such things, pray God you may do no injustice to yourself, nor to another.-Morning Star.

Friend or Foe?

A SEQUEL TO "OLIVER RAYMOND."

BY E. JOSEPH AXTON.

CHAPTER X.-THE OUTCAST.

It is surprising with what speed ill news travels, and how mysteriously it finds its way about. Within a few days, everybody seemed to know that " Bradford & Co.," that promising firm, was about to go through the Court. And with the acquisition of this knowledge, everybody, of course, knew the causes of the failure. It was not alone that "that heartless, ungrateful manager" had absconded with such a large sum of money; the firm was young-only established about a year and a half,-had worked on too small a profit to pay itself; had felt the dreadful depression in trade lately; and so on: much of which was true, and much false. Amongst those who knew all this were, of course, the Drewes; and, wonderful to say, those worthy people, Helena particularly, suddenly found that they were not at all surprised at Raymond's conduct; they had half expected it, somehow, all along. But perhaps the fact that Mr. Golding had at last made the desired proposal, had something to do with this.

Whatever outside people said or thought, the blow was a really crushing one-more violent, indeed, than it had at first seemed. Heavy bills were due at Christmas, now very near; the two shops that had been burnt were worth all the rest put together; through carelessness, the manager had bought huge quantities of stock, some unsaleable, and some rotting in the warehouse from want of being sold; expensive alterations and improvements had been made in the warehouse and the shops; and two debtors, after being allowed to run up giant bills, had decamped. Debt, debt, everywhere, and very little to meet it with. The case could not have been much worse than it was.

In all this confusion and failure, Rearden came forward, as Mr. Bradford and Mr. Weston thought, nobly. There must be something left out of the wreck, he said. If Mr. Bradford would accept, he would work his hardest to utilize that little to the greatest advantage, and what few pounds he possessed should go to help. Even Elsie, whose good opinion he had not yet quite won, could not avoid admiring him for his conduct, and for the disinterested way in which he spoke and made his offers.

The worst remained behind, however. Mr. Bradford thought that, with the few hundreds he had at the bank, he could at least be equal to his debts-which should be met, he said, if he sold everything but the coat on his back. Then came the intelligence that the account had been overdrawn to the extent of five hundred pounds! Within the last fortnight two sums, one of three hundred, the other five hundred, had been withdrawn, the cheques signed, as usual, "Oliver Raymond." Mr. Weston and Elsie were present when Mr. Bradford, sitting in his arm-chair with his foot bandaged, received this news from Rearden. Elsie went pale as death. Mr. Weston-who had hitherto tried to find excuses for Oliver, and to soften his friend's anger against him-burst out: "The unmitigated scoundrel!" While Mr. Bradford really forgot himself so far as to utter an oath, and all but jumped up from his chair. Rearden stood and looked on gravely; nor could the closest observer have seen anything like the light of triumph in his eyes.

"This

"A common thief and forger!" cried Mr. Bradford, purple with rage. is the accursed villain I have made a son of! This is the return he makes"

Elsie here came forward, her face white, but fixed with resolution. "Uncle," she said, with quivering lips, her eyes gleaming with a new light, "you wrong Oliver." She spoke in unnaturally steady tones, whose steadiness only betrayed the concentrated passion she was holding in check. "I will never believe he has robbed you. He has done wrong, but he is no thief; and if I hunt England through I will bring him to disprove this charge!" And, having uttered the impulsive words, she flew out of the room, and a little later out of the house.

FRIEND OR FOE?

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Such is woman's love-mysterious, wonderful, divine! Conquering Pride, destroying Wrath, rising in strength and in divinity as the misfortunes of its object increase, and clinging to it the more, the more the world hates it. Surely, this is one of the noblest and sweetest gifts of God to men!

What seasonable, old-fashioned weather! How thick the snow lies; how it clings to every ledge on the fronts of the houses-to the railings, to the windowsills, to the door-handles; how softly it hoods the dimly-burning gas-lamps; in what clouds the flakes sweep round the corner and along the street; in what heaps they pile themselves against the doors! Glorious Christmas weather! Come from the window and let us draw close round the fire. This is the time for ghost-stories. Hark! how the wind whistles; with what a ghostly sound it moans in the chimney!

Alas! for the outcasts in such seasonable weather, Alas! for him who has cast himself out, not from warmth and food alone, but also from love, from sympathy, from friends, from very Hope! Who is this that passes with bent figure, so swiftly and shiveringly; on whose face the lamp-light shows, momentarily, such gaunt despair? Though the wind howls out here in the dark street, bearing along its whirling snow, there is evidence in the bright warmth that shines on the window-blinds, and in the sounds of merry laughter and sweet music that reach our ears, that the sons and daughters of men, shutting out the cold and the storm, have shut themselves in with Peace, and Mirth, and Warmth, Friendship, and Gladness. Is not he of the bent figure about to do likewise? Does he not feel some of the cheer and brightness of this joyous Christmas-season? Alas, we have met him before. Had we not caught that glimpse of his face, with its lines of suffering, its hunger and fear and remorse, we should still know there could be no cheer for him. No. He must crawl through the storm, silently, almost like a thief, open yonder door, and, passing along the dark passage into which, from the parlour, come some of the sounds of music and merrymaking, glide upstairs to that ill-furnished, dismal room which has been his home for more than a week, and hide himself there, like a rat in his hole.

No wonder that, when he has lit his candle, and for a few moments has paced up and down, casting a weird shadow on the wall as he passes and repassesno wonder that he stops suddenly, and looks round, almost with madness in his eyes. The sense of utter desolation must be strongest just now, when the sounds of laughter and music come faintly to his ears.

"O God of heaven, it is unbearable! Have mercy-have mercy upon me!" A terrible cry, mingling with that merriment. No wonder he flings himself, groaning, on the bed, and strives to stifle the mocking sounds-to stifle consciousness itself.

....

An hour passes, the sounds of laughter and happiness still ascend to that dismal room; the candle on the table burns lower and lower; but the figure on the bed moves not. Another hour; the mirth increases; the storm rages as fiercely as ever without; the candle has flickered its life away; and still, in the semi-darkness, the figure lies there, breathing heavily. Sleep on, unhappy one, and dream, if thou canst, that Warmth, and Love, and Peace, have not deserted thee.

Unhappy, even in his dreams! Why must he go again through this horrible week? Alas! not even sleep-perhaps not the grave itself-can give us refuge from haunting memory. For a moment, he is again the child of peace; his step is light; his eye merry; his heart hopeful. How sweet is that musical voice, that speaks to him so gently! how like an angel's her blue, truthful eyes. Everybody is his friend, everything works in his favour, and ever near him there seem to be two bright forms, floating on airy wings, watching him and whispering, "BE TRUE”

Suddenly the scene changes. He moves about with a clouded forehead; his bosom friend spurns him; the blue eyes burn with scorn. He is an outcast! everybody is his foe, everything mocks him. Hungry, desolate, he walks the streets from morning till night, the worm at his heart ever growing more maddening. Why do people look at him like that? do they know? They must, for

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every eye gleams with an accusation. It is Sunday-how the bells ring out! How happy people seem-fathers, and mothers, and children, even the wretched poor who take their dinner to the bakehouse. He is now passing a church; a moment's hesitation, then he has crept up to the door; is listening there to the throbbing, exulting music within. He would go on, but cannot-he must stop, though the mingling tones of the organ and voices of the congregation, rising and falling in one grand volume of sound, mocked him a thousand times more than they do.

"Above its sad and lowly plains,
They bend on heavenly wing,
And ever o'er its Babel sounds,
The blessed angels sing."

He cannot stay here! and low his head must hang as he dashes away, for the accusing eyes must not see these blinding tears.

A churchyard! How white gleam the "storied urns" and beautiful monuments of woe. How pure and holy seems the dazzling robe covering the earth ; how the streaming flakes whirl about his figure, seeming to keep time to those wild bells ringing out their Christmas-morning Halleluia. Mock on, ye bells, and tell of joy and hope-when there is no more joy and hope in the whole world! Mock on! ye cannot do more than break the heart. And here prostrate beneath the falling snow, the Christmas bells ringing joy-peals from a score of tongues, he lies now, upon a grave, the stone of which bears the motto: "BE TRUE TO JESUS CHRIST!"

Grim Reality again. Tap, tap, tap. The troubled dreamer starts from his sleep and opens the door. A woman's figure, in black and deeply veiled, enters; the veil is lifted, and he just catches a glimpse of a white, stricken face, when she would sink to the ground but for his arm that bears her up. "Elsie!" he cries. Is this a part of his terrible dream?

No, no-this is no dream. To hear that sweet voice-how like the voice of an angel of mercy, now !-pouring out sorrow, confession, appeal, hope, in one burning stream of words; to look into that upturned face, which he had hardly dared hope to see again-this, this is no dream, thank God! Yet, why does he hide his face in his hands, even in the semi-darkness? Rather, how can he, outcast, ingrate, wretch as he is, look into those pure eyes?

There are many and bitter tears shed in that room during the next halfhour. At length, standing before her, he takes her hand-yet holding himself aloof, as though his touch were contamination to her-and says:

"May God bless you, Elsie. I have been an unutterable coward to run away. But I will return again, as you ask, though it be only to receive my just punishment. I thank you for your trust, Elsie: I am not guilty of this charge. Come."

A PLEA FOR OLD TESTAMENT STUDY.

A RIGHT understanding of the historical genesis of Christianity is at once the problem of Biblical scholarship and the necessary presupposition for the effective use of scripture in the church. To know what Christianity is, not merely in its power for the individual soul, which, God be thanked, requires no scientific study, but as a power in history still stored with all the principles that are needful for the regeneration of society, we must study it in its birth from the old dispensation. In this sense the Old Testament is the key to the New, and no church which loses sight of this fact, and is content merely to read the law and the prophets by the aid of the gospel, without also reading the gospel by the aid of independent historical study of the old dispensation, can hope to attain that thorough comprehension of the fundamental significance of Christianity which is the first condition for successful dealing with the religious problems of our day. It is this necessity which is the practical justification for those labours of modern historical students of the Old Testament which are so often slighted as if they had no value for actual religious life.

-DR. W. ROBERTSON SMITH.

Scraps from the Editor's Waste-Basket.

I. THE BRITISH ASSOCIATION has met this year at Southport. More than 2,300 tickets were sold, and the enthusiastic interest of the people of Southport and the neighbourhood reached an exceptionally high degree. Professor Cayley's address was one of special ability and special knowledge. It was the work of a specialist from beginning to end. Not one in a dozen understood it who heard it, and numbers failed to hear it. Never have we seen a more impressive illustration of "shooting," as the phrase goes, "over the heads" of an audience than in this utterance from the chair of the British Association. We are glad to see that increasing prominence is being given to an Association "Sunday" in the town where the Parliament of Science is held, and that it is dedicated to the utterances of some of the most cultivated and accomplished preachers of the day; a prophecy, we will hope, of that complete absorption and utilization of Science by Christianity which is surely not far off.

II. THE MONTH OF CONGRESSES AND OF UNION MEETINGS is upon us. The Church of the State presents an appetising programme at Reading. The Independents will discuss vital themes at Sheffield; and the Baptists will congregate at that great Free Church centre, Leicester. With Baptists, Foreign Missions, as usual, lead the way, and absorb the forepart of the engagements of the week. On Wednesday the Union begins its own work, and we General Baptists are a portion of the Union. We were in at the beginning, and have been along the whole course. Of late, as everybody knows, the Union has changed its front to a large extent, and is rapidly becoming a BAPTIST HOME MISSION Organization. From that part of its work "Generals" are shut out; but we feel we ought to do our utmost for the "Annuity," "Augmentation," and "Education" Funds, and therefore we have, at our recent Assembly-remembering that what is everybody's work is likely to be treated as if it were nobody's!--created a Baptist Union department, of which the Rev. W. J. Avery is Secretary. Will the churches generously respond to his appeals? It is to be feared that in this, as in other matters, we have not done all we ought. Since we have no reason for belonging to the Union except to aid in its work, we ought to do that as far as we possibly can.

III.

ACCURATE STATISTICS of our churches are necessary, amongst other reasons, for the safety of those "dear" men in the nation who do everything by the slate, and reckon up church-members and their obligations as farmers do sheep. "So many heads, so much money ;" and whose strongest appeals are framed on such lines as these: "If" (what a gigantic potentiality that is!) If only-and how could we ask less?" If only each member would give one penny a week, that would be £100,000 per annum, and we would engage to convert the world (on the slate) in the space of five years, three months, and twenty days." It is perhaps cruel to remind these Christian statisticians, that other societies than those they plead for exist; that a little work has to be done for the world in other ways than by societies; and that churches and individuals differ indescribably in their giving power; but at least we might take care that a large percentage of "dummies" in our returns should not introduce confusion into their arithmetical calculations.

IV. WENDOVER.-A letter reaches me too late for insertion in full from the pastor (J. H. Callaway) of the church at Wendover, Bucks, renewing his appeal for help in the renovation of the home of this ancient church, and reciting some of the features of its long and chequered history. Friends who, in the holidays, have lost sight of this request, would do' well to send their aid at once to the brethren at Wendover. They are too feeble to do the work unassisted, and they should not be burdened with debt for these most necessary repairs.

V. THE MOSQUITO QUESTION. Several communications have come to hand concerning Rev. S. G. Winslow's paper on this subject. I have only been able to make room for one in this issue.

VI. NEW COMERS.-We may learn to give a cordial welcome to new converts and new comers in the church. Ananias went as soon as he was sent, and said, "Brother Saul." Oh, how these words must have thrilled the heart of the blinded one! And how much he would be pained when, on his first appearance as a disciple at Jerusalem, the members or the mother church stood aloof from him, and treated him with coldness. Blessings on thee, Barnabas, for taking him then so warmly by the hand! Thou wast always a son of consolation, but

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