and sincerely longs to extend to them the consolations of our holy religion. But, alas! this otherwise most excellent man, though he always gave liberally of his means toward the support of the Church, never gave the subject of his own salvation any attention, and dies, after a short illness, without any evidence that he is prepared to die. Of course our plain duty is to preach the Gospel to the living, and leave the dead In northern Russia and on the Steppes or Russian prairies, in southern and eastern Russia, farmers lead a roving life. They settle down upon and farm a certain tract for two or three years, or as long as it will yield a paying crop without manuring until they have exhausted the soil; then they move to another unoccupied tract and repeat the process. This is a very unwise kind of farming. Sooner or later they will have passed over the unoccupied lands. Af-in His hands who knows full well how ter the exhausted land will have rested five or ten years, they can return and farm it again. With all these agricultural drawbacks Russia has hitherto been one of the greatest grain-producing countries of the earth. A distinguished writer says: The more advanced parts of Europe would be starved out of their centres were it not for the grain of Egypt, Russia and America." The Death-roll of a Year. BY REV. D. W. GERHARD. What a rich experience Christian ministers have in visiting the sick and burying the dead! Many sad experiences are theirs. Perhaps one of the saddest is to visit the dying, and minister unto them in holy things, when they give evidence of having neglected all preparation for the solemn hour of death, and are now seeking reconciliation with God simply because they are afraid of being lost. Sometimes the Christian minister is called in only when consciousness is partly gone, and the patient is almost too weak to hold any conversation with, and yet is anxious to prepare for death. It is very difficult frequently, under such circumstances, to know exactly how to proceed. Unwise are all they that wait until then to prepare to meet their God. Another difficult experience. An aged father dies, and leaves a large and highly respected family to mourn his loss. Some members of his family are devoted and intelligent members of the Church. The father was kind-hearted in his family, charitable to the poor, a respected citizen, and a useful member of the community. Much sorrow is felt at his death, and the pastor of the family deeply feels the loss they have sustained, to mete out justice to all; and yet the hearers are waiting for comfort, and the preacher longs to impart it. No true comfort can be extended except as there is ground for it in the life of the departed. But the Christian minister has also many pleasant experiences in visiting the sick and dying, when they have been faithful followers of the Lord, and their past lives give good evidence that their hopes for a blissful hereafter are well grounded. In fact there are no enjoyments more satisfying throughout the whole year, and no pleasures more real and substantial than those which are afforded to us in the sick chamber of the dying Christian. "The Christian never dies, His years on earth are but the infancy vain." Much profitable thought is continually suggested to us by the experience of those who are called away. Many useful lessons we can learn by looking over the past year and calling up in mind those who started in with the rest of us at its beginning, but now are numbered with the dead. Let us then for our benefit and self-improvement pass in review before us the dead of an ordinary pastoral field, for the church year from the first Sunday in Advent, 1877, to the first Sunday in Advent, 1878. My charge consists of four congregations, not one of which is regarded as very large; but as our lot is cast in a community where many whole families stand aloof from the cause of Christ, except that they have their preferences for this or that church, my pastoral field is by no means one of the smallest. At thirty-five funerals I was called upon to preach the Word to the living, and conduct the services either in whole or in part. One aged father lived to within a few months of ninety years. Two brothers died within three weeks of each other, aged respectively eightyeight and eighty-three years. Six were upwards of seventy, and two were upwards of sixty years. These eleven persons were all spared to see a good old age, and yet six of them were not members of the Church, never enjoyed the pleasure of making a public profession of faith in Christ. "Isn't it strange," we hear it said, "that when people become so old they do not see the necessity of preparing for death?" Much more strange, we should say, if at such advanced age they do turn their backs on their whole former life, and like little children become learners in the school of Christ. If we are Christians at all we have great reason to sing, "I'm a miracle of grace," but how especially appropriate these words are on the lips of such as have, in their old age, by the grace of God, been rescued from the fearful consequences of a life of sin. Of these eleven, four died suddenly, two of them so suddenly that they had no conscious moments after the first attack. One, a most devoted follower of Christ, came with us to church on the Lord's Day, and was one of the guests that surrounded the communion table, when, on the following Friday, she took her bed at 9 o'clock in the morning, and at 4 in the afternoon breathed her last. Her last Sunday on earth was a fitting close to her life of faith; but what a solemn warning her death to the congregation from whose presence she was taken, as we fondly believe, to the upper sanctuary. Two impressive lessons we learn from a contemplation of the death of these aged people. The first is that we must all die However long our lives may be continued, the time is coming when we, too, must pass away. In the second place, the thought is suggested that a vast amount of good can be accomplished in such a long life. But as no one has a life insurance policy which can guarantee a moment for the future, the present should be wisely and profitably improved. By far the larger portion of the human race pass away long before they attain to such a good old age. At three funerals I officiated where the deceased had lived to between thirty and fifty years of age. One, called away at thirty-five, was a real Martha. A positive character by nature, she became a leading member of the church, and an earnest worker in the Sundayschool, as well as a highly useful member of the family and community. No wonder that I wept as I had not for many days before, when the tidings of her death were first brought to me. Her death was an unusually sad one, but yet there was very much in her past life to comfort the bereaved family and friends; also very much to incite others to an earnest and positive devotion to the cause of Christ. Another, who lived almost to see her fortieth year, was a devoted Christian until from some unknown cause she was deprived of her reason. How many such poor unfortunates there are whose bitter experience teaches us that we should labor for Christ not only while we live, but while we are in the enjoyment of our reasoning faculties. A father lived until he was in his fiftieth year. He was naturally inclined to be a good man. Interested in the Church, a friend of the Bible, and no stranger at the throne of grace. Peculiar circumstances, however, led him to defer union with the Church from time to time. When his eldest daughter died, under distressing circumstances. Noc quite six months before his death, he made up his mind that now he would take the solemn step already so long contemplated. He spoke freely of his decision, so that it was a fact well known to not a few of his friends. The ailment which had for several years deprived him of robust health was, however, making faster progress than was suspected, and he died suddenly without being either baptized or admitted to the Lord's Supper. His condition was widely different from such as spurn and utterly neglect the grace of God, but yet there was profound sorrow that his heart's desire and earnest wish to be received into the Church was not realized. A solemn warning here to all such as are assured now that I am accepted of the Lord; and if I am restored to health I shall be so much better prepared to en neglecting and postponing from time to time to do that which they acknowledge not only as a sacred duty, but as an exalted privilege. But how many-per-joy the services of the sanctuary, and if I haps I should say how few-will heed the lesson? 66 Five were called away between the ages of twenty and thirty years. This is an interesting age, and we cannot help but feel sad when we look for the last time on the lifeless forms of such as are called away in these early years. If they have been faithful Christians we are sad because they will be so much missed in the Church. But if, like so many others at this age they put off to a more convenient season what the Bible says should be done in early life, there are thoughts of a sad character; and where shall surviving friends find well-grounded hopes? But at least some who die in the prime of life give us consolation in their death. One young man, who had just attained to the age of twenty-one years, gave us much comfort in his dying experience. He frequently said, "I would like to live." And what for? "To serve the Lord." I have done so little," he said, "and it seems to me if I were spared I could make myself useful so many, many years, until I attain to the age allotted to man." Although he felt that he had done so little, he had taught school five years, had earned the means to defray his own expenses at the State Normal School, and what is the best of all had been a devoted and consistent member of the Church five or six years. He selected his funeral text, Heb. ix. 27: "It is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment." His request was, "Preach to the young, and tell them as we have but once to live we should make the best possible use of our time." It was a noble ambition with him to aim to be useful. A young mother died at twenty-nine. Her dying experience was full of interest to us. She was perfectly free and frank in expressing herself. In the early stage of her illness she lamented greatly what she regarded her neglect of her Christian privileges. Though a member of the Church for a number of years she felt that she had not been as faithful as she should have been. "I expect to get well again," she said, “but I want to be am not to be restored to health I know then in whom I have trusted." Before her death she said, "Of course I would like to live, I am still young, I have a small child, and life is sweet, but I have now given every thing into my Saviour's hands." "If I am to die I am perfectly reconciled to it." To be in her sick room was a real pleasure. How different this dying experience from that of many others Very often we are obliged to guess at the thoughts of the dying, but in this instance one could talk with the greatest freedom. And now let us turn to those called away in early childhood. Seventeen we followed to the grave of such as had not yet reached their twelfth year. The Advent season witnessed three deaths in one family. After an illness of but two days the first one died. In less than two weeks two more were claimed by the angel of Death, and these two less than twenty-four hours apart. And so it came to pass that the day before Christmas, the happiest festival of the entire year, we wended our way to the house of mourning, where we witnessed the unusual sight of having two coffins bafore us in which were contained the mortal remains of two beloved children, both of them belonging to one and the same family. Though the father is a successful physician, and has often administered medicine with favorable results in other families, there was no remedy for his own. In another instance death entered for the first time into a family on the last day of the old year, while the sad funeral services were held on the third day of the new year. And so it is that we carry our sorrows and our pleasures of one year over into the next following, and our lives on earth are no less the beginning of what is in store for us hereafter. It has been beautifully said, "The streets of heaven have their openings on earth." Early last spring a little babe-one only child-was called home. Then both parents were outside of the Church, now both are communicant and interested members. One dear little girl was taken sick in the morning, and died at midnight. Do you say "she was only a child, not quite two years old?" I would reply, if you want to know how much such a little one is missed, blow out a faint little light in a very dark night. who had got into one of his tantrums of passion that very afternoon and broken some furniture, besides striking his twinbrother, Ernest. It was on receiving a report of these proceedings, as I returned from husiness the day before Christmas, that I told the young rowdy in a general way that Santa Claus didn't bring presents to boys that behaved like him; and now I was firmly insist Another little babe failed to reach full three months, and yet it was remarked, "One would not think that a child could suffer so long and so much. Poor little babe; it is a relief to knowing, against the meek objections of my that her sufferings are ended." What a consolation that the Saviour says, "Suffer the little children to come unto me." Although in these precious words He tells us to bring them to Him in life, consecrate them to His service in the hope of training them in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, yet this saying is also full of comfort when He takes the little ones in His arms and bears them safely home. The list which we have now rapidly glanced at includes persons from two and a half months of age to the good and ripe old age of ninety years. We find then that in the death-roll of a year all ages and all classes are included. None are exempt. Prepared or unprepared, when the death summons comes, we must go. In many instances the call to go is very unexpected and sudden. How important that we should take home to ourselves the Saviour's exhortation to watch and pray. It is a noble ambition to aim to be useful. One of the Wesleys was asked whether he was not afraid to die. His reply was: "I have nothing to do with that, my business is to see to it that I live right." It is well for us at the beginning of a new year to look at the object and aim of our own lives. To assist in this work is the purpose of these lines. The Wrong Stocking. Nearly twelve at night; the children. fast asleep in their little room opening out of ours, and my wife and I sitting up to fill the stockings. Two boys, two stockings; two lots of presents of equal value. But, unfortunately, the harmony and pleasure of our preparations had been disturbed by a piece of " original sin" on the part of Master Harry, wife (who is a sweet little thing without judgment, and never would get along with the children if they took a notion to disobey her as they do me)—firmly insisting, I say, that Harry needed a good lesson, and a good lesson he should have. Nothing must go into his stocking but a piece of charcoal and a bunch of rods. Ernest should have all his presents, of course; he was a good, gentle and affectionate boy; but those destined for Harry must be put away on the top shelf in the cupboard till some future_day. As I said, my wife made objections. She is an ingenious woman, and she approached the subject somewhat as follows: "We can't keep these cakes on that shelf, Harry." (My name is Harry, too, and the boy is just like what I was at his age-which makes me determined that his temper shall be subdued before he grows up. It took me twenty years to conquer mine, and I mean to take the thing in the bud with him.) 'Very well, then," said I, "eat 'em yourself, or give them to Ernest, or send them to the poor, or throw them away, or let the rats find them on the shelf. I don't care what you do with any of the things-only don't use them to reward a naughty child." "Don't you think it is a very severe punishment to destroy the boy's Christmas pleasure? It comes but once a year, you know; and Harry has been looking forward to it for months." "The more careful he ought to have been not to throw it away by his unruly spirit. I tell you, the child is defiant still. When I said to him that he was a bad boy, and Santa Claus wouldn't bring him anything, he stamped on the floor, and told me to my face he didn't care." "But I think he does care," timidly 66 remarked my wife (who, in her soft sob, "Oh! don't put a rod into Harway, has a remarkable ability for stick-ry's!" ing to her subject;) "he cried a good deal to himself in bed, although he turned his back to Ernest, and wouldn't speak." "Rather a meagre repentance," said I, "and it comes too late besides. I tell you he don't deserve any presents.' "Do we give presents out of justice or love?" persisted my wife. "And there is Ernest; it will spoil his Christmas, too, if his brother is unhappy." "I am sorry for that, but I cannot help it; the innocent always suffer more or less with the guilty." Just then we heard voices in the next room. The boys had woke up, and were talking in low tones. say, Ern," whispered our little Hotspur, "there's a light in the big room. I guess Santa Claus has come!" "We must lie perfectly still and not look at him," replied Ernest; "he is filling up the stockings." "Oh, dear!" said Harry, "and he will leave for me the switch and charcoal that he carries for bad boys. Let him, then; he may keep his old presents; what do I care?" "Now don't talk so," replied Ernest's sweet voice. "If you are sorry, perhaps he will give you something after all." "I tell you, I won't say I'm sorry, just to get something. That's too mean. But I am sorry I hit you, En; that's a fact. I say, let's snuggle." Thereupon there was some chuckling and rustling and suppressed laughter, with now and then a smothered exclamation "Owtch! you tickle!". and our two seven-year-olds went off to sleep, spoon-fashion. My wife gave me one of her looks, as much as to inquire what I thought of that. "A touch of feeling," said I, "but transient, merely transient. What the boy wants is to have a sense of sin deeply impressed upon him." She had filled one stocking by this time, and the other lay empty across her knee. I took them both and hung them up on either side of the fire-place, the full one nearest the boys' room. "Give me the labels to pin on them," said I. She gave them to me with trembling hand, and cried out with a 'Well, I confess," said I, "that does seem a little barbarous, on second thought. I was only meaning to comply with the legend, you know; not to indicate a whipping. I never whipped a child of mine, and I never shall. Justice and moral suasion (firmly administered, my dear!) are quite sufficient for family government. Now, what's the use of your crying? That doesn't affect the argument in the least. I'm not a brute; you've only to convince me by reason-don't try tears." My wife is at heart a sensible woman; and when I spoke in this calm and reasonable tone, she quietly retired, only saying, "I hope you are right." I pinned the labels hastily to the stockings and shortly after went to bed with a good conscience, It was barely daylight when I was awakened by shouts of triumph and laughter from the next room. It had always been our custom to let the young ones jump out of bed whenever they liked Christmas morning, capture their respective stockings from the fire-place in our room, and return to the warm retreat with their booty; and my wife and I took great delight in watching unseen their innocent wonder and joy. This morning the old habit was much stronger upon me than my recent recollections; I forgot entirely for the moment the little incident of family discipline, and springing up, dressed myself hastily, not to lose the Christmas fun. My wife, in her morning gown, was already watching the children through the crack of the door, and as I joined her, cast upon me a look of perplexity, gratitude and happiness that puzzled me strangely. “Ah!” said she, “you played me a cruel trick; but I am so glad!" "What do you mean?" said I. "Now you needn't make me believe any longer, you stern parent," she responded playfully; "look there!" Whereupon I posted myself behind her to get a good view over her shoulder through the crack of the door-in which position nothing was more accidental than the gentle sliding of one arm around her waist, and a whisper of Merry Christmas!" in her ear, fol .. |