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scale ; below him is the fearful abyss of death, with the death that never dies. There is but the breath in his nostrils between him and the bottomless pit. O awake, fellow-sinner ; awake to thy true and perilous position ! It is late, but not too late. There is yet the rope that hangs from the cross of Jesus, or rather from the throne of God;

that rope can lift thee over the mount of thy guilt, and land thee on the brink of the shore of eternal safety and peace. O leap, and live! “Fly for refuge, and lay hold of the hope set before you ;” and as God liveth, your soul shall live! He is “slow to anger, and plenteous in mercy.” “As I live, saith the Lord God, I have no pleasure in the death of a sinner, but rather that he should repent and live. Turn ye, turn ye; for why will ye die?"

THE JUVENILE REPORTER. New Year's Day! The Reporter remembers in his young days with what interest he looked forward to the new year-how slowly passed the weeks and days that preceded it, and how eagerly he listened to hear the clock strike twelve, which was to usher out the old year and in the new. But he takes these things more coolly now; the days appear more nearly alike, and the distance betwixt one New Year's Day and another does not look near so great. The shadows are shortening, but he would look even with hopefulness and joy to the years as they speed away, for they bring him nearer to his eternal home. “Then welcome change and death, since these alone

Can break life's fetters, and dissolve its spell ;
Welcome all present change that speeds us on,

So swift to that which is unchangeable.” What changes have taken place among families and friends during the past year! What sadness does the




word INDIA bring to many hearts, reminding them of the tortures and slaughter and death in that benighted land of fathers and mothers and brothers, sisters and friends. But the clouds are breaking ; let us all pray that they may very soon be dispelled, that sorrowing hearts may be comforted, and that over all India the Sun of righteousness may speedily arise with healing on his wings.

The Reporter is very glad to find that his old friends at St. Andrew's, Manchester, have got a new school room. It was quite time, for the doors and windows and floor and ceiling of the old one were so rickety and broken, that had it stood upon a river instead of the land, it would have sunk long ago. The new room looked very beautiful, a few months ago, at the tea-meeting, when the walls were decorated with flags and flowers and evergreens. The singing was good and the evening joyous. All the boys and girls who could possibly come were there, and the Reporter hopes that in future they will just be as anxious to get to the school in good time as they were to get to the tea-meeting. Let careless boys remember this. He hopes, too, that the excellent addresses of Mr. Paterson the minister, Mr. Wood the superintendent, and other teachers, will not be soon forgotten ; that every scholar will do what he can to bring others with him, that the house

may be filled, and that the heathen abroad and the heathen at home will share in their thoughts and prayers.

The Reporter looked in upon the Lord Mayor and the East London Shoeblacks the other evening, who were enjoying themselves over tea and speeches. He has seldom seen a happier, heartier set of fellows than they were. This brigade lias been three years at work; the first year the boys earned £383 6s. 10d. ; the second, £616 14s. 4d. ; the third year, £735 28. 2d., and all for blacking boots and shoes in the streets.

The friends in Scotland who raise money to support two of our missionaries at Amoy, held their annual meeting lately in Edinburgh. They collected last year £777 18. 8d., but £200 of this was received for copies of “The Way Home," the history of the two little boys who were the means of originating the Chinese Bible Fund. Being dead, they yet speak.

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A FIRM BANK. TAE following verses written by the celebrated Rowland Hill, more than a quarter of a century ago, at a time very much like the present, when the banks of the country were breaking, great distress prevailed, and “men's hearts were failing them for fear."

I have a never-failing bank,

A more than golden store ;
No earthly bank is half so rich;

How, then, can I be poor ?
'Tis when my stock is spent and gone,

And I without a groat,
I'm glad to basten to my bank

To beg a little note.



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Sometimes my Banker smiling says,

Why don't you oft'ner come;
And when you draw a little note,

Why not a larger sum ?
Why live so niggardly and poor?

Your bank contains a plenty ;
Why come and take a one-pound note,

When you may have a twenty ?”
Yes, twenty thousand, ten times told,

Is but a trifling sum,
To what your Father hath laid up,

Secure in God his Son.
Since then my Banker is so rich,

I have no cause to borrow;
I live upon my cash to-day,

And draw on him to-morrow.
I've been a thousand times before,

And never was rejected ;
Sometimes my Banker gives me more

Than asked for, or expected.
Sometimes I felt a little proud,

I managed things so clever!
But ah ! before the day was gone,

I felt as poor as ever.
I know my bank can never fail,

Its funds always the same;
The firm, “Three Persons in one God,"

Jehovah is his name.
Should all the banks of Britain break,

The Bank of England smash,
Bring in your note to Zion's bank,

You'll surely get your cash.
And if you have but one small note,

Fear not to bring it in ;


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Come boldly to the Throne of Grace,

The Banker is within.
All forged notes will be refused,

Man's merits be rejected ;
There's not a single note will pass

That God has not accepted.
There's none but those beloved of God,

Redeemed by precious blood,
That ever had a note to bring-

These are the gifts of God.
Though thousands, doubting, often say

They have no notes at all,
Because they feel the plague of sin,

So ruined by the Fall.
This bank is full of precious notes,

All signed, and sealed, and free,
Though many a ransomed soul may say,

"There is not one for me." Base unbelief will lead the most

To say what is not true ;
I tell all souls that feel they're lost,

These notes belong to you.
The leper had a little note,

“ Lord, if you will, you can ;" The Banker cashed this little note,

And healed the sickly man.
We read of one young man, indeed,

Whose riches did abound,
But in the Banker's book of grace

His name was never found.
But see the wretched dying thief

Hang by the Banker's side!
He cried, “Dear Lord, remember mo ;"

He got his cash, and died.

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