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orphan houses, for 1,150 orphans, costing between £60,000. and £70,000. and involving an annual expense of £8,000. He also supported one hundred missionaries, at a cost of £5,273. a-year. He had received since 1832 considerably more than £200,000. in voluntary spontaneous offerings, never asking any man for a farthing. Mr. Spurgeon described with much emotion his feelings on going over these institutions. They so overcame him at the time, that after the children had sung a hymn he was unable to address them, as Mr. Müller had requested him to do. The rev. gentleman was loudly and repeatedly applauded at different periods of his address, and sat down amidst a long round of cheering.



The Lady-Bird sat in the rose's heart,

And smiled with pride and scorn,
As she saw a plain-dressed ant go by,

With a heavy grain of corn.
So she drew her curtains of damask round,

And adjusted her silken vest,
Making her glass of a drop of dew,

That lay in the rose's breast.
Then she laughed so loud that the ant looked up,

And seeing her haughty face,
Took no more notice, but travelled along

At the same industrious pace.
But a sudden wind of autumn came,

And wildly swept the ground,
And down the rose, with the Lady-Bird went,

And scattered its leaves around.
Then the houseless lady was much amazed,

For she knew not where to go,
Since cold November's surly blast

Had brought both rain and snow.
Her wings were wet, and her feet were cold,

And she thought of the ant's warm cell ;
And what she did in the wintry storm

I'm sure I cannot tell.
But the careful ant was in her nest,

With her little ones by her side ;
And she taught them all, like herself, to toil,

Nor mind the sneer of pride.


“ You whom God hath entrusted with the care of
children, I would persuade to the great work of
helping them to the heavenly rest. Think what a
comfort you may have if you be faithful in this duty.
If you succeed, the comfort is inexpressible, in their
love and obedience, their supplying your wants, and
delighting you in all your remaining path to glory.
But the greatest joy will be when you shall say,
'Lord, here am I, and the children thou hast given
me:' and you shall joyfully live with them for ever.
I alsu entreat parents to consider what excellent
advantages they have for saving their children.
They are with you while tender and flexible: none
in the world have such power over their affections as
you have: you have also the greatest authority over
them: you best know their temper and inclinations;
you are ever with them, so can never want opportu-
nities ; specially you mothers, remember this, who
have most of the children's company while young.
What pains are you at for their bodies, and will you
not be at as much pains for the saving of their souls?

THE DRUNKARD'S DOOM. Arthur B. was the son of wealthy, influential parents, in one of the southern counties. He commenced business for himself early in life, and exhibited considerable shrewdness and energy of mind. But the safeguards of virtue and piety did not shield him in the perilous season of youth, and he soon became (in the language of the world) a bold, generous-hearted fellow, growing in popularity and wealth. He was above the fear of religious admonition or commands, and was considered quite able to confute any Christian believer. He was, indeed, a young man of promise; but his life was a dreadful illustration of talents perverted, and also of the downhill progress of a vicious life, and his last end was a scene of horrors, at the recital of which an ungodly man may tremble. The substance of what I am about 10 relate is well known in the neighbourhood where he lived and died.

About a year before his death, and not above five years ago, Arthur

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was riding with an intimate friend, when the conversation which follows was held. This friend, as he now says, was, at the time, considerably impressed by religious truth, though impenitent; but that he might be comforted in his impenitence by the scepticism of his more intelligent and reckless comrade, or for some other reason, he felt desirous to know Bi's sentiments fully on religion. Accordingly after a little hesitation, he commenced by saying

“B., you and I have been much together, and have confidence, I believe, in each other as friends. We have conversed freely upon almost every subject, but there is one that we have never seriously talked about. It is a subject that has troubled me for some time, and I should like to know what are really your candid opinions. If you don't wish to have them told, I will keep the matter to myself.”

Certainly,” was the reply. “I've no objection against making known any of my opinions."

“Well then,” said Henry (for so I will name his triend), “ what do you think about the Bible ? Is it true? And is there any such thing as religion, or is it all a delusion?

“Why, as to that,” said B., “I've no more doubt that there is a God, and that religion is a reality, and that it is necessary to be what the Christians call pious, in order to be happy hereafter, than that we are riding together."

Henry was greatly surprised; and looking at him intently, to see whether there was not designed trifling, B. proceeded.

“ It is plain enough that the Bible is true. It's a book that no mere man could ever have written, and a book, in my opinion, that no one, however wicked he may be, can read, and believe in his heart to be an imposition. I have often tried to believe so. And no one can look at the Christian religion, and see what it is designed to effect, without feeling that it must be from God. In fact, no man can be a Deist who isn't a fool. For reason and conscience confirm the Christian doctrines, and satisfy me that there is a place of happiness and of misery hereafter."

Henry was amazed by these confessions from one who had been nurtured in infidelity, and was regarded by the pious as a daring, irreligious young man.

At length he replied, “ If this is your belief, B., you're in an awful situation. What do you think of your present course ?”

Why, it's a pretty bad one, to be sure; but I've no notion of dying

I expect to become a Christian. But the fact is, a man must have property; unless he has, he is scarcely respected in the world. And I mean to make money, and enjoy life; and when I've got these things Caround me to my mind, then I will be liberal, and feed the poor, and do good; that's the way men do in the present day."

“But how long do you think it will be safe for you to indulge in your present habits ? Being out late, and drinking, have already injured your health.”

“I've thought of that,” answered B.; “but I'm young and hearty; though I do mean to quit cards and drinking pretty soon.”

I speak as a friend, B.; but I didn't suppose, from what I heard you say, that you believed in a Saviour, or in heaven or hell."


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"I do, as much as you, or any man."

Do you remember playing cards at - - ?” And here Henry referred to most horrible profanity uttered during a night of carousal.

“Oh, when I swore so, I was a little inioxicated; but I felt sorry for it afterwards. I know it's wrong, and I always feel sorry. But when I'm among those fellows I can't very well help it."

“But how often,” continued his still doubling querist,“ have I heard you say that religion was nothing but a kind of priestcraft, and that Christians were a pack of cursed fools ?”

“I know I've said so, when they've crossed my path, and made me angry. And I think now that a great many of those who pretend to be Christians are nothing but hypocrites. But there is real religion, and there are some who possess it, and have what you and I know nothing about, it's no use to deny."

The conversation continued much in this strain for some time, and, it is useless to say, made a deep and most happy impression on the mind of Henry.

As for his companion, madness was in his heart so long as he lived, and he soon came to sorrow. He continued to drink, until he was known to be a drunkard. He mingled with gamblers till his moral sensibilities seemed wholly blunted. At length, after a night of dissipation, he started for home, was thrown from his horse, and badly bruised; disease set in, with dreadful severity, upon his constitution, greatly' enfeebled by irregularities, and in a little space delirium tremens hurried him to his. grave.


By Mr. G. M. MURPHY. INDIFFERENCE AND HOSTILITY. The opposition to the efforts of the temperance reformer have ever been severest from quarters least expected. Interest might have led the makers and sellers of drink, like the craftsmen of Athens, to cry

“ Great is Diana of the Ephesians ;” or lovers of liquor, to sympathise with the downfall of their vile deity, like the Philistines over the fall of Dagon : but, who could have expected the hub-bub that social reformers, men of progress, physicians, philanthropists, and christians, have raised over the attempts of temperance men to stay the tide of social and moral death, caused by intemperance ?

The Band of Hope Movement-commending itself, as its friends and founders had fondly hoped, to all friends of the young-has not been without its detractors and opponents. And this, not from the systematic opposers of all that is

cellent, but from men, willing in almost every other respect to lay down their lives--to spend, and be spent-in the cause of God,



and of humanity. Why is this? It cannot be from hatred of what is right, but from a misconception of what right is. Sometimes, indeed, the injudiciousness of friends has tended to the alienation from, rather than the drawing to, our cause, of men of strong antipathies; but after all, the question is not a question of men, but of manners--of principle, and not of persons. Christianity, tried by the inconsistencies, absurdities,

. and injudiciousness of its professors, would be a laughing-stock to the heathen. But the plan of salvation is pure as God's own throne, though every professor of godliness were vile as the guardian of hell's gate.

We must, then, be prepared for hostility and indifference, without being vexed with the one, or chafing beneath the other. In boring the tunnel through the Alps, where the rocks were hardest, the utmost power was concentrated, and the massive granite ·was forced to yield. Had the engineer wrung his hands in despair, he might have been wringing them now; but the rock would have still barred his way. Action was the wisest, and best, and though progress was slow, it was no less

So let it be with us. Are men careless of our efforts to save the young from the snares of drink? The greater necessity exists for our increased anxiety. Are obstacles offered, and opposition engendered ? Live, and labour it down, with earnestness and love. Nehemiah builded the walls of Jerusalem, notwithstanding the enmity of Sanballat, Tobiah, and Geshem. They said to the noble patriot, “Come, and confer at Ono."

“ , He said “I am doing a great work,” and went on with his building. His foes then suggested that he was fortifying the city for rebellion, but he continued the work; foiled here, they suggested fears of his personal safety, and suborned false prophets to urge him to take refuge in the temple. But how noble was his reply. “ Shall such a man as I flee ? and who is there, that being as I am, would go into the temple to save his life? I will not go in." Glorious determination! and in two-and-fifty days the wall was finished. Mind it was only the wall, not the temple—a work as necessary, though less important, than erecting the sacred edifice. The temple was protected by the wall and its battlements, from foes who otherwise might have crept in to its destruction. It was the work of God, and Nehemiah meant it for good; and only God's enemies opposed him in its doing.

Let us compare our temperance efforts to the outer walls of the holy city, the New Jerusalem ; and say what men may,

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