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nearly forty years old: I was like the rich fool in the gospel; I trusted in riches, till, by one stroke of adversity, struck by God, through the French government, we lost half a million of money. One day my husband was a merchant prince, the next day we were beggars, at every one's mercy."

The next time I called she related the facts told in the introduction of this tract, and said, "Read these verses;" as she reached towards me her Bible, pointing to the forty-seventh chapter of Isaiah and the seventh verse, which she had marked. I read:

"Thou saidst, I shall be a lady for ever: so that thou didst not lay these things to thy heart, neither didst remember the latter end of it."

"I said, 'I shall be a lady for ever,' when I lived in my pride, without God in the world,'" she continued, repeating the eighth verse: "God said to me, 'Therefore hear now this, thou that art given to pleasures, that dwellest carelessly, that sayest in thine heart, I am, and none else beside me; I shall not sit as a widow, neither shall I know the loss of children." "Your experience since," I remarked, "has been the contrary of this, I suppose."

"The next verse," she added, "describes my case exactly. Will you read it, sir ?"

It runs thus: "But these two things shall come on thee in a moment, in one day, the loss of children and widowhood."

"That is it, sir," she interrupted; "after our failure in business, my husband died of a broken heart. This I thought hard of God; and I murmured and rebelled against his dealings. My heart was stubborn, and refused to yield to the stroke of love."

"It is hard for thee to kick against the pricks," I replied.

"I did not know it then, sir; but, soon after I buried my husband, I followed my children to the grave, one after another. Within the space of a few years I buried eleven out of the twelve ; and the one remaining was married in India, who had made arrangement for me to go out to her, and there to end my days: but" and here she wept profusely. When she recovered, she continued: "As the wise Father of all goodness would have it, just before I should have started, a letter came, sealed with black; it was in the handwriting of her husband. The sight of it overwhelmed me; I dreaded opening it; my lacerated heart bled afresh; I anticipated the news-ill truly it

was

s-it reported the death of my last child, who died of consumption; and I was then left alone in the world's wilderness of affliction, want, and woe."

"You have seen affliction !" I answered.

"But this was the turning point of my stubborn and rebellious heart. Now I turned to God. I read my long-neglected Bible; I went mourning to the house of God. In the bitterness of my soul I cried for mercy, and that the rod might be suspended. I had no one to comfort me, no one to advise me, no one to help me. Bereft of all my wealth, my friends, my husband, and now my children, all were gone, to be seen no more. Stroke upon stroke followed; till, like a little child, I sought God as my only friend. And, oh! what a wonderful thing He did not cast me off for my sins, so aggravated and long-continued as my rebellion was!"

"It is His peculiar delight to have mercy on the wretched," I answered.

"So I found," she continued, "to my surprise and joy. I did not feel the need of Christ till I had lost everything else; nor know the worth of my soul, nor the greatness of my sins, nor the depth of the redeeming love, nor the great work of God the Holy Spirit, nor the sweetness of God's promises, nor the value, comfort, and power of prayer."

"The true knowledge of Christ, as taught in the gospel," I said, "is the wellspring of life. He is the fountain of life, of eternal life."

Here the conversation closed. I read the seventeenth chapter of St. John, and departed.

The next time I called I found her in very good spirits, as she had just received a letter from her son-in-law in India, who had remitted a cheque for the payment of her expenses during her long and painful affliction: and this he did in addition to a pension he has allowed her for twenty years, sufficient to maintain her in tolerable comfort.

"I not only follow the cloud," she observed, "but I eat the manna, the true bread of heaven. How good God is to me, who dishonoured him so many years! When revelling in every pleasure and luxury; when my heart was wedded to the world and its fashions; when I idolized my children and my fortune, God was not in any of my thoughts: and now that He should make me a child of His care, His love, and His redeeming mercy, exalts my thoughts to admiring gratitude and warm devotion, and a fixed resolve to praise him with my latest breath. I will praise him even for my loss, which is real gain."

"God in Christ," I remarked, "shines with peculiar beauty to the eye of true faith."

"I feel," she replied, "the sympathy of Christ with our

infirmities is so truly divine, that it is comparable to nothing on this vain earth."

"He is a Mediator approved of God; for the Father says of him, 'in whom I am well pleased.""

"Yes, true; and the Father hears Him always. Oh that the rich and the great did but know the real value of Christ's mediation, how quickly would they fly to him for pardon and peace with God!

'If all the world my Saviour knew,

Sure all the world would love Him, too.""

"Let us rejoice," I continued, "that we have access to Him at all times."

"Yes, sir," she continued; "and to God, through Him." Mrs. M- was a very mature Christian. The trying furnace of affliction she had passed through moulded her soul to the will of God, so that she might be well compared to Mary, who had "chosen that good part," and "sat at Jesus' feet."

She constantly dwelt on such thoughts as the following: "The marks of a true child of God," which she would carefully note down with certain texts, to prove the justness of her conclusions. "A child of God," she would say, "is born of the Spirit," John iii. 3, 5; "is conformed to the image of God, Rom. viii. 29; is chosen to holiness and love, Ephes. i. 1—11; has a lively hope in God's mercy, 1 Pet. i. 1-7; has a reverence for God, and a filial affection towards him," 1 Pet. ii. 2, 3. "If such is your experience," I said, "yours is a happy state of mind."

"Who can be more happy than I?" she would ask with emphasis, "when my heavenly Father has adopted me for his child; has exchanged my earthly, perishable inheritance for one eternal, and on high; has taken my family from me, and joined me to the family of heaven; has made me a widow, only that he may be my husband? He has forgiven all my sins, for the sake of his dear Son, who loved me, and gave himself for me.' He has given me a title to the mansions of the blessed, a charter to them, and authority to receive them.”

The last time I called on this true child of God, she was very infirm, but her hope was bright, and she was full of the joy of the Lord, which was indeed her strength. I spoke of the blessedness of Divine forgiveness, and read Isa. xii.

"Ah, sir, the voice which speaks our sins forgiven, to the soul is soft, sweet, and delightful!"

I spoke of the security of God's people, and the certain salvation of the believer.

"To prove the truth of that," she added, "you only need refer to 1 Pet. i. 9;" to which I turned, and read, the Bible being in my hand. I concluded my observations by a reference to the happiness of heaven, and read Rev. vii. 13-17. Catching the strain, she remarked:

"Heaven is the rest for my weary soul; it is the home for my wandering spirit; it is the haven for my tempest tossed mind; it is the reward of all my toils and sufferings here."

She was very fond of the following beautiful hymn, which she would repeat with emphasis and grace:

"On wings of faith mount up my soul, and rise,
View thine inheritance beyond the skies;

No heart can think, nor mortal tongue can tell
What endless pleasures in those mansions dwell:
Here our Redeemer lives, all bright and glorious;
O'er sin, and death, and hell he reigns victorious.
"No gnawing grief, no sad, heartrending pain,
In that blest country can admission gain;
No sorrow there, no soul-tormenting fear,
For God's own hand shall wipe the falling tear.
"Before the throne a crystal river glides,
Immortal verdure decks its cheerful sides;
Here the fair tree of life majestic rears
Its blooming head, and sovereign virtue bears.
"No rising sun his needless beams displays,
No sickly moon emits her feeble rays;
The Godhead here celestial glory sheds,
The exalted Lamb eternal radiance spreads.
"One distant glimpse my eager passion fires;
Jesus, to thee my longing soul aspires;
When shall I at thy heavenly home arrive?
When leave this earth, and when begin to live?
For here my Saviour is all bright and glorious;
O'er sin, and death, and hell he reigns victorious.”

J. F. SHAW, BOOKSELLER, SOUTHAMPTON ROW, AND
PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON:

AND W. INNES, BOOKSELLER, SOUTH HANOVER STREET, EDINBURGH.

London: J. & W. RIDER, Printers, 14, Bartholomew Close.

WHERE SHALL I SPEND MY
ETERNITY?

I WELL remember having had, in early life, my attention arrested by the following brief but deeply interesting narrative. It presented a powerful illustration of the mournful fact, that one chief cause why many people remain, even under the richest spiritual privileges, practically strangers to God and to eternal life, is INCONSIDERATION.

A devoted servant of God had nearly finished his earthly career, and on his death-bed was earnestly anticipating the great change just at hand. He had no anxiety about his own eternal interests, for he knew whom he believed, and was persuaded that when he breathed his last breath, his happy spirit would, through the merits of his Redeemer, be borne to heaven in the arms of ministering angels. But his chief, his great affliction was, that his only son was yet destitute of vital godliness, and, however amiable in outward conduct, was still seeking, all his happiness in the fleeting and most unsatisfying trifles of this world. On his dying couch he diligently pondered the question, why it was that all the means he had earnestly employed for the salvation of his son had hitherto failed? He fervently sought divine teaching on this awful question. At length he came to the conclusion, that one principal solution of the mystery was, that his son would never be alone to consider his latter end, nor his prospects for eternity. He saw that he hurried from object to object, from book to book, from amusement to amusement; but solemn, earnest consideration in retirement, he manifestly strove to avoid.

Having again sought the Holy Spirit's guidance, he sent for his son, and announced to him his approaching dissolution. The son was greatly affected, for he loved his parent. The father continued:-"I have now but one last simple request to make of you, my son; you can easily comply. Will you promise me, before I mention it, that you will? It is my dying request." Had it been any other time, the youth would have determinately refused to answer, till he previously

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