children, to take them into the wilderness where they have none but Himself to lean upon. I have seen and proved this again and again, with many a suffering child of God. They have been hovering about, as it were, round the outer courts, till God sent His own messenger, Affliction, to bring them into the inner sanctuary of his presence. Now let us go to the Balm of Gilead, and apply a few drops to heal this wound," and turning over the leaves of the large Bible which lay on the table before him, he read the following verses, pausing awhile between each verse:

"We know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose."

"Before I was afflicted I went astray, but now have I kept thy word."

"As many as I love I rebuke and chasten."

"Now no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous; nevertheless

M

afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby."

"It is I, be not afraid."

"Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him."

"By this, therefore, shall the iniquity of Jacob be purged, and this is all the fruit, to take away their sin.”

"Wait on the Lord, be of good courage, and He shall strengthen thine heart; wait, I say, on the Lord."

"What are these which are arrayed in white robes, and whence came they? These are they which came out of great tribulation." "Shall we pray?"

The old man replied by reverently falling on his knees, and Mr. Marsden besought, for himself and his poor neighbour, that every event in life might be an instrument, in God's hand, to bring them nearer to Himself—that they might have a more abiding conviction in His love, who having not spared His own Son,

would surely never willingly afflict nor grieve those children of men whom it had cost Him so much to save.

As he rose from his knees, Mr. Marsden said, "There is no evil on this side the grave too heavy to bear, while we have such a

mercy-seat to go to.

Surely He hath borne

our griefs, and carried our sorrows.' Now, then, we have laid the burden on One able and willing to bear it, and be you sure you shall not faint under it. I shall call and see you to-morrow." He put out his hand as he said this, to bid farewell to his poor friend. The man reverently took it in both his, and said, "Sir, the blessing of Him that was ready to perish come upon you, and may the Almighty God say Amen to it."

And so say

ing, he opened the study door, slowly, however, and with a lingering step, as though he were still unwilling to go, and at length departed.

He waited now nearly half an hour before another visitor appeared. He thought much

of the old man, and remembered many things he might have said to comfort him; and especially how he had seen himself, in so many instances, that the apprehension of blindness weighs more heavily on the spirits, than the real evil itself when it comes. He remembered his promise to call at the cottage, and stored in his memory many anecdotes replete with comfort, for the interview on the morrow. Presently a heavy foot was heard outside the door, and, when it opened, a respectable-looking farming man entered.

"Well, Gibson, good morning," said Mr. Marsden; "is all well at home, my good friend? I fear not, by that anxious look of yours."

The man went to the door again, as if to make quite sure that it was shut; then returning to the table, he stood opposite to Mr. Marsden, declining the chair which was offered him.

"I'm in a power of trouble, sir, and it's all along of the boy; but my wife doesn't know half of it; and I don't want to tell her."

"Your boy! which one, Stephen?”

"Ay, sir, Stephen. He's always been a trouble, as you know; he won't take to the farming, he won't take to anything steady, and last night he was out with the poachers. I know he was, I am quite sure of it, and it's just the road to his ruin, and the ruin of us all, and I can't tell what to do."

Mr. Marsden drew a long breath, and sat for some time considering. At length he said, "Is not Stephen the boy that set his mind upon going to sea last year?"

"Yes, sir, and you know his mother couldn't abide the thought of it, no more couldn't I."

"I remember. Well, you meant to do right as regarded his mother, but I doubt whether you did by the boy."

"Why, sir?"

“Why, you see, my good friend, in planning for our children's future lives, we ought to take into account, as far as we can, their own peculiar characters and wishes. That