glory has diminished nothing of his condescending regard to the beneficence of his people. It should be our aim in all the good we do, to approve ourselves to his all-seeing eye, both by the purity of our motives, and the amount of our donations. Alas, what are we the better for the notice of those perishing and impotent eyes, which can only view the outside of our actions; or for that word of applause which vanisheth on the lips of the speaker? Thine eye, O Lord, is piercing and retributive. As to see thee, is perfect happiness, so to be seen of thee, is true contentment and glory.

It may be fairly inferred from this passage, that the Lord Jesus, while he beholds with favour the gifts of all, receives with special acceptance the offerings of the poor widow. It is often the sorrow of such, in this age of christian missions, that they cannot share in the glorious undertaking of converting the world to Christ. In happier times, when the candle of the Lord shone in their tabernacle, and the light of prosperity irradiated their path, they too had something to give, and delighted to give it, to pour the blessings of salvation on this dark earth : but now they feel shut out from the feast of benevolence, and denied all fellowship in the great work of evangelising the nations; for they have nothing to give. Nothing? "Nothing," you reply, "worth my giving, or any society's receiving!" Is that the language of pride, despondency, or parsimony? Can you no*. then, stoop to give a penny, after you have

nad the privilege of giving a pound? Do you blush to offer the copper, after the silver and gold have glittered in your hand, as you approached the treasury? O woman, cast away that feeling, and carry your two mites, and if given "with a glad heart and free," that little offering will draw upon it a more benignant smile from the Lord of all, than ever he bestowed upon your costlier gifts in the days of your prosperity. If you are ashamed to give it, he is not ashamed to receive it, nor backward to reward it. Ashamed of your little! Why it is relatively more than the hundreds of the rich. It is all self-denial, and sacrifice, and generous zeal.

"In the obscurity of retirement, amid the squalid poverty, and the revolting privations of a cottage, it has often been my lot to witness scenes of magnanimity and self denial, as much beyond the belief, as the practice of the great; an heroism borrowing no support, either from the gaze of the many, or the admiration of the few, yet, flourishing amidst ruins, and on the confines of the grave; a spectacle as stupendons in the moral world, as the falls of the Missouri, in the natural; and like that mighty cataract, doomed to display its grandeur, only where there are no eyes to apprehend its magnificence." Yes, there is an eye that looks on both, but with more admiration on the little offering of benevolence that drops unheeded and unheard by man, into the receptacle of mercy, than on the river that falls with. the roar of thunder into the basin of its mighty

waters. Think of aged widows sacrificing the sugar of their tea, and poor men giving up the small portion of their beverage at dinner, to save a mite or two for the missionary cause: O how little are the offerings of the rich, though the announcement of their hundreds from the platform makes the building to shake with applause, compared with the penny of such self-denying friends to the cause as these, but whose contributions find their way in silence, to the mighty agregate of funds. Ashamed, my friends! Your mites are the richest trophies of your cause; and if it were possible to divide the results of our success, and apportion so much usefulness to each particular contribution of property, we should find, perhaps, the richest allotment assigned to the widow's farthing.

Is there a less worthy motive, that holds back your slender offering? Is there a feeling of grudging? A reasoning in this strain,—“Surely they cannot take the poor widow's penny for the cause of missions." Certainly not, unless she feels it to be one of poverty's deepest woes, to have nothing to give to such an object, and would esteem herself unhappy, if her little contributions were despised. Have you nothing then to give for widows poorer than yourself? "Poorer than myself," you exclaim, in a tone of indignant surprise, “who can be poorer than I am ?" I answer, the Pagan woman, left forlorn and desolate, without a Bible, a sabbath, or a minister, to direct her to the widow's God: and

there are millions of such. You have the gospel, which abolishes death, and brings life and immortality to light. You can look beyond the grave, and see the orb of celestial day rising in majesty before the eye of Christian hope, and gilding with his glorious effulgence, the dark clouds which collect over the valley of the shadow of death. You hear voices of joy, and sounds of life, floating like heavenly music, over the still chambers of mortality. In pity, then, to those who clasp the urn in silent despair, give a little, even of your little, to send them the gospel, which keeps you from sorrowing as others which have no hope. Have compassion on the widows that sit down by the grave of a husband, who has gone away in the darkness of paganism, or who still, in some parts of India, are doomed to mingle their ashes with his, in that funeral pile, the flame of which is kindled by the hand of a first-born son. Is there not, then, a widow far more wretched than yourself, for whom the scant penny of poverty, or the two mites lute destitution, should be consecra

all but abso

God.

CHAPTER V.

WIDOW OF NAIN.

Addressed to Widows who are called to lose ther Children also.

And it came to pass the day after, that he went into a city called Nain; and many of his disciples went with him, and much people. Now when he came nigh to the gate of the city, behold there was a dead man carried out, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow: and much people of the city was with her. And when the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her, and said unto her, Weep not. And he came and touched the bier; and they that bore him stood still. And he said, Young man, I say unto thee, arise. And he that was dead sat up, and began to speak. And he delivered him to his mother."-Luke, vii. 11-15.

THE mercy of Christ, as it never wanted objects in this sorrowful world, so it was never wearied in relieving them. One day he healed the servant of