to show by all you do and say that Christ is ever present to you. "Love moved him to die-on this we rely ; Our Saviour hath loved us, we cannot tell why; As to lay down his life to redeem us from hell. "I'll quietly rest on Jesus's breast, And wait for the time till he calls me to rest; He will not be in glory and leave me behind.' "Cling close to Jesus, dear Mary, to his holy word, and be often in prayer; and you will find the more you go there, the more you will want to go. You must try to tell to sinners around what a dear Saviour you have found. It makes me very happy to hear that so much good has been done where dear Mr. has been; and I was very pleased to hear that you have got a little meeting. "Remember me to them, please; and when you have that gathering, would you remember my sister. She is living so far from God. She is living as you and I were once. But all old things are passed away. Let us hope it may be so with her. "God has turned our grief to gladness, He has made our hearts rejoice; "You must excuse all mistakes, and my writing, as I am in great haste. I will conclude with Christian regard; and believe me, "Your ever loving friend in Jesus, Writing to a friend about a month since, this dear irl says: "It is now five months ago since I was born agairof the Spirit. I often think of this verse WHO IS MY NEIGHBOUR? "Saved from the awful guilt of sin, 121 "I can now say, My soul is as a weaned child. I now know experimentally what it is to be dead to the world by the Cross of Christ, and to feel an habitual determination to devote my future life to God my Saviour. Each time I go home I see and feel more and more the misery of living without Christ, and it serves to draw me further from them and nearer to Jesus, till my soul seems to cry out ""Nearer to thee, my God, nearer to thee !' "Please to excuse all that looks amiss; and, perhaps, dear sir, you would not mind me asking you to write to me. Being confined so much at my work, I never have an opportunity to talk to any one about my soul. I should like it so much; but I find great comfort in telling Jesus all my feelings. "I am, your grateful servant, Reader, are you in the habit of telling Jesus all your feelings? or do you try to ". wrap them up," and hide them from him, as many a poor deluded sinner does ? All the blessedness of ten worlds could not equal the privilege of knowing Jesus as the poor girl does. WHO IS MY NEIGHBOUR? THY neighbour? It is he whom thou Hast power to aid and bless Whose aching heart, or burning brow Thy soothing hand may press. 122 AN AWFUL LOOK OF REMEMBRANCE. Thy neighbour? 'tis the fainting poor, Whom hunger sends from door to door- Thy neighbour ? 'tis that weary man Thy neighbour? 'tis the heart bereft Thy neighbour? yonder toiling slave, Whene'er thou meet'st a human form, Oh! pass not, pass not heedless by- This breaking heart from misery, AN AWFUL LOOK OF REMEM. A FEW years ago I was travelling in South America. As I approached the base of a mountain which lay in my AN AWFUL LOOK OF REMEMBRANCE. 123 route, I found it covered with what I supposed to be an undergrowth of weeds. But I pressed my way onward, and climbed up its sides, till I reached the summit. When I had gained the top, I gazed around me with de. light, and happened to look back upon the winding path in which I had ascended, and lo! my whole path was clearly marked out, to the very foot of the mountain. I found it was caused by my having walked through a growth of the sensitive plant, as it is familiarly known to us, which grows indigenous there. It had left all my way plain before me, so that I could trace my footsteps in all their curves and deviations, as I had struggled up the sides of that beautiful mountain. A few months after that, as I was reposing in my tent in California, at twelve o'clock at night, a man came to the door of an adjoining tent, and called out : "Are there any Christians here, gentlemen ?" One man sprang from his bed. "Yes," said he. "Come with me, then," said the stranger. "There's a man dying out here, just beyond the walls of Captain and he says he wants to talk with a 's fort; Christian." They ran out together, although the rain poured down in torrents, until they came to where the dying man lay. He was stretched on a couch, I was going to say, but I hardly know what to call it, for it was made up of broken branches. On these he lay, while a few bed-spreads were thrown over him. He was dying. Let us hear his testimony. He said to my Christian friends who gathered around him, "I have now reached a point at which the whole scene 124 THE ALTAR ON THE PRAIRIE. of my life seems to lie visibly before me. Every action that I have committed, every sin, every crime that I have perpetrated before God, seems to stare me right in the face. I can see my way clear back to my youth; and as I look, the scenes of iniquity and guilt in which I have engaged pass one and another before me in terrible review." They sang with him, and prayed with him, and endeavoured to console him, and point him to Jesus; "but," said he, "It's all over now-all over! I have rejected Christ, and there is no salvation for me." He ceased speaking. They sang and prayed with him again; and while thus engaged, he closed his eyes in death. His immortal spirit passed into the presence of the God whom he acknowledged to have sinned against and rejected all his life. Unconverted friend, you will reach that point by-andby, when every scene of your life, like the life of this dying man, or like my path up the mountain, will pass in terrible review before you. Then your anguish and witness, when you reflect your agony will be terrible to that you have rejected Jesus Christ, and that he is about to leave you to perish in your sins! THE ALTAR ON THE PRAIRIE. ONE day a gentleman was riding on a western prairie, and lost his way. Clouds arose in the sky, and not seeing the sun, he quite lost his reckoning. Night came on, and as he knew not which way to guide his horse, he let his horse take his own way. It was a western horse, and |