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on, step by step, until they had him completely in their power. First they got him to the ale-house and skittleground, then to the theatre, the ball-room, and the races, until his money was wasted, he was heavily in debt, his morals were corrupted, and his health ruined. At length, with an empty purse, a broken constitution, and a wretched mind, he had to go home to be a burden to his family and a misery to himself. As he lay panting for breath on the bed on which he had soon to die, he could not bear to think of the sinful past, and he dared not look into the future, Poor James ! He became a piteous victim of the fallacy of those fatal words, " There's no fear of me,”

One evening we met with a young woman in the Field Lane Ragged School, who, when a servant, once promised fair to be useful and happy. But when she began to get higher wages, she became more and more dissatisfied with her place; the good advices of her mistress were unheeded; her money was spent on dress and in folly; and when reproved for being out too late at night, or for pleasuring on the Sabbath instead of going to the house of God, she would reply in a haughty tone, There's no fear of me.” Was she right in saying so ? Let us see :

The sleet is falling in fitful showers on the muddy streets, and at times it is driven in fleecy clouds by the cold, piercing, winds that sweep furiously along Victoria Street and Holborn Hill. The last omnibus has passed for the night, and the poor driver says to himself as he sits on the box holding the reins and wbip in one hand, and slapping the other against his shoulder, “Thank heaven, this is our last journey ; I shall soon get to my little home now, and when I get down at the cosy fire,

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51 with a mug of warm coffee on the one knee, and my little Billy on the other, I shall soon forget this bitter cold”... What poor wretched creature is that crouching on the cold stone step of the warehouse door? She is a poor girl, without home, or character, or friends.

There are plenty of happy homes in this great London, and loving hearts too, but there are none for her. The rags she has on are drenched with the cold sleet, and in her pocket there is a handful of pawnbroker's tickets, received for the good clothes she once had ; but she pawned one thing after another-warr

-warm gowns and gaudy trappings—until all were gone. Oh! if she had them now. Her sighs rise up to heaven on the moan of the night-wind, and in the bitterness of anguish and despair she wishes she were dead. But who is she? What is her name? Pray, don't ask. All you need to know, my friend, is this :- she is the wreck of the once happy, but giddy servant girl, who used to say in reply to all the warnings of her best friends, There's no fear of me.” Found by some kind Samaritan in this deplorable state, she is now in the way of being restored to industry and comfort once more; but you may be sure that the fatal words—There's no fear of mer will never cross her lips again, except as a word of warning to the thoughtless and the young.

“There's no fear of me," said a youth to his sister one evening as he left home to join a party of “fast”

young men ; "I have been taught to take care of myself.” Yes, he had been taught to take care of himself, or rather to serve and trust in One who could take care of him, for he had been brought up in a godly home, attended a Sunday. school, and had been speaking of becoming a member of the Church of Christ. As he crossed the threshold of the theatre that night for the first time in his life, the text

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go not in the way of evil men” rushed into his mind; conscience reproved him ; but he silenced its accusations with “ It's only for once; I know too well what's right, so there's no fear of me.” But it proved the first step down into the dark valley. That night the hardening process began-that process by which the heart and conscience get “seared as with a hot iron.” The fresh, warm feelings of love to God and His truth soon left him, never to return. Down, down, down he went-not all at once, but step by step-until his heart was as “hard as the nether millstone," and he could“ glory in his shame.” Thus he went on until God in his mercy took hold of him and laid him on a bed of suffering. Then his sins rushed into his mind; he wept, he groaned, but felt as if he dared not pray. At length, through the help of God's spirit, he managed to crawl back to the Cross; he did not find even there his former fresh heavenly feelings; they were gone for ever here; but he was saved “as if by fire,” taught to have no confidence in the flesh,” to “rejoice with trembling," and daily to offer the needful prayer, "Hold Thou me up, and I shall be safe.”

Once I spent an evening in a thieves' meeting. About ninety were present, all young. Most of them had begun life by saying, There's no fear of me," but when I saw them, they were full of fears, trembling even at the footsteps of a policeman. One young man wept bitterly when he told me he had once been a Sabbath scholar, thon a teacher, and a Church member. He thought himself a Christian then. But I found him in spiritual darknesspoor for both worlds--sighing and trembling at the “fearful looking-for of judgment " that awaited him.

My reader, take warning from the mournful wrecks that lie all around you. The ocean of life is full of them,

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broken and strewn upon the waves. They have been dashed to pieces on that fatal rock“ There's no fear of me.” Beware, then, of feeling or saying it. Walk softly; and never begin the day without offering David's prayer,

Order my steps in thy word, and let not any iniquity have dominion over me."

“A little theft, a small deceit,

Too often leads to more;
'Tis hard at first, but tempts the feet

As through an open door.
Just as the broadest rivers run

From small and distant springs,
The greatest crimes that men have done

Have grown from little things.”

A PERSECUTED HINDU BOY. A HINDU boy, attending the mission school at Madras, in India, informed the missionary that he had determined to give up the worship of idols and all other heathen practices, and become a follower of the Lord Jesus Christ. He could not do this and be allowed to live with bis parents, because he would then have broken caste, and would be compelled to leave father and mother, and all his friends, for ever. But this boy had resolved to do this, and so he asked the missionary to take him into the mission school altogether. This was done; the poor boy seemed for ever delivered from the chains of idolatry. So his friends thought, but no : his parents applied to the magistrate, who, on hearing the case, decided that he must return to his idolatrous home again, because, they said, he was under age. A sad decision this for the poor boys but good may come out of it. His parents, fearing exposure, have not treated him cruelly, but, contrary to all Hindu law and custom, have allowed him to sit at the family meal with them, and in this way they have all broken caste themselves. But you shall hear what Mr. Braidwood, the missionary, says about this, and do not




He is very

forget to plead with God in prayer to protect the poor boy. His letter to Mr. Braidwood is a very beautiful

Would that all the readers of The Juvenile Messenger could honestly say what he says :-“I am very desirous to believe in Christ, in view of hell-fire and the wrath of God, which is to be the portion of all the Christless." Mr Braidwood says :

“The conduct of his relatives towards C. Narrainsawmy Chetty, in the matter of caste, is scarcely less important. After the purgations and washings of a day or two, they admitted him to the family meal, a course which excites strange feelings of separation and strife in the more strictly orthodox, but must gradually eat through and destroy the entire system of caste, which, in Madras, has up to this time been three-fourths of Hinduism. Poor Narrainsawmy sent me a Tamil letter yesterday, of which I enclose you a translation, and was here to-day, knowing I was to set out to Nellore on the morrow. anxious to be received under Christian protection, and feels his soul desolate. At present I can only nake known his case to Christians, and ask them to plead on his behalf that he may be preserved from deceit and violence. “ Translation of Tamil Letter by C. Narrainsawmy

Chetty :"To Very Dear Reverend Mr. Braidwood this petition is written with many salaams.

I was sent away to my house by the Judge against my conscience on the 24th September last. Since that time I was subjected to many sins. Among such sins I may mention the worshipping of idols, and the ceremonies I was obliged to perform in connection with my being restored back to caste. I beseech of you to admit me again in your mission, and enable me to believe in the Saviour Jesus, and enjoy the freedom of will. Though it is right that I should obey my parents, it is my duty to ronder obedience to God, who is my Father and Creator. As I have not that freedom in-my house, I am filled with

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