66 "Let are bound to keep the light of truth we possess burning brightly at all times: for we know not what storm-tossed fellow creature on the voyage of life may be looking out for the guidance we are able to afford. How is it really with you, reader? Are you allowing yourself to slumber at your post, and to say, Yes, I am a Christian, but that is no reason why I should always be bringing forward my Christianity. Others may do as they like, they have the same means of becoming Christians that I had of becoming what I am.-Am I my brother's keeper? It is very right for clergymen for professed ministers of the gospel-to preach to people, to try and convert them; but that is not my business. I have to look after myself, to go to church, to do my duty generally, and to say my prayers night and morning." Surely, dear reader, these things ye ought to have done, but not to have left the others undone. What think you our blessed Lord meant when he said, your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven." That you should trust in him and love him, and that you should prove and exhibit your faith and love by showing the effect which his blessed example and teaching has on your life and conduct; that your religion should ever be kept burning brightly; that you should go constantly to the throne of grace for that power of God's Holy Spirit which alone can keep it burning. And why is it to be kept burning? That others, through you, may glorify your Father which is in heaven. How are you to induce them to do this? By sitting still? No surely. By remembering that every human being has a soul to be saved; by lovingly urging on all you meet the inestimable advantages of belonging to Christ; by speaking of him; by showing what he has done for man; by glorifying him. This you will do if you get pure oil and keep your lamp ever burning. The poor woman whose history is here recorded, had she not once been more thoughtless than was her wont, might have saved the life of him she loved best on earth; and by her after-watchfulness she was the means of saving the lives of numbers of her fellow-creatures. How many souls of those dear to you might you not have brought to a knowledge of the truth, and of saving faith, had you been ever watchful, ever awake to your responsibilities as a servant of Christ,—had you always kept your light burning. They have gone; for them you can do nothing now: but there are thousands around you; for them the day of grace still lasts. Speak to them boldly, affectionately; show them their danger; tell them of Christ's love for them; say to yourself," At my hands their souls may be required." For their souls you may be required to render an account at the day of judgment. Oh, be not ashamed of Christ. Oh, let the light that is within you ever shine forth brightly and gloriously to the end. KITTY CARROLL; OR, "TO THE UTTERMOST." } PART I. "The trivial round, the common task, "How late Jim is to-night!" said Mary Edmonds, as she glanced towards an old-fashioned Dutch clock at the end of her room: 66 why if it isn't half-past eight o'clock, and he is not come home; I wonder what's keeping him: but there, his supper's ready; I only hope the potatoes won't be boiled to squash!" and with this fear uppermost in her mind, Mary removed the cover of the saucepan, and giving the contents a good shake, placed a clean coarse cloth over the white floury vegetables, to suck up any extra moisture and prevent such a misfortune. Having done so, Mary resumed her seat and her work, which was one of Jim's shirts, undergoing the well known process of new backing. "Jim must have some new shirts soon," thought the busy little wife, "and if the work holds out, I'll get them for him before the winter, poor fellow! 'Tis wonderful how men try their clothes; the lifting and straining makes it good for the drapers." Whilst Mary Edmonds stitches away, we will look round her room and see how she kept it. It was not a very large apartment that Mary and James Edmonds occupied, but it was a very convenient one, being generally styled by the other lodgers in the house the right hand parlour: originally it might have been a breakfast or housekeeper's room, for opening into it was a large pantry or closet, now containing a good sized bedstead, where the occupiers of the room slept. Standing by the side of the clock was a mahogany chest of drawers, and on its top a very bright tea-tray and a large Bible. Half a dozen Windsor chairs were ranged round the room, and a large arm chair stood on either side of the fire place, in one of which Mary was sitting. A corner cupboard with glass front disclosed a brilliant set of china tea things, and six silver tea spoons standing erect in the cream-jug. The boarded floor was white as hands could make it, with a slight sprinkling of red sand here and there; the fire sparkled and blazed; the kettle hummed, the clock ticked, and all looked peaceful and happy: but the brightest and happiest looking thing in that room was Mary herself; for a regular picture of happiness was Mary. She had a round face, with large round laughing eyes, and a round spot of red upon each cheek; she had a round figure, and round arms and hands,-in short, Mary Edmonds had not one sharp corner about her, her very tongue might have been round, so smooth and kind were her words. There she sat in the large arm chair with her feet perched upon a stool (they could not reach the floor, so short was she), busy at her Jim's shirt; ever and anon glancing at the clock or at the saucepan on the hob. The rain pattered against the window panes, and every now and then a rough gust of wind shook the frame, and rumbled in the chimney; but Mary did not care a jot for it, she still stitched away with right good will, only stopping when a distant footstep was heard, and going on again as soon as it passed the house. The clock had warned for nine, when Mary raised her head once more to listen, and this time she was not to be disappointed, for the heavy step she heard approaching stopped at the outer door, and after a few moments seraping and stamping, her room door opened, and a rough burly man entered, exclaiming, "Well, wife, didn't you think I was lost?" "Why, I have been wondering where you were got to, Jim; but better late than never, say I, so make haste and get ready for supper, for I am pretty certain you must be hungry enough.' Jim seized a candle, and, lighting it, left the room, whilst Mary set herself to dish up the potatoes; and taking from another tiny saucepan a bit of bacon, proceeded to place it upon the table with evident satisfaction. By the time Mary's supper arrangements were completed, Jim reappeared, water trickling from his face and hands. Standing behind the door, rubbing himself with a reel towel depending therefrom, Jim expressed his 'conviction that there was nothing like cold water for freshening a man up after a day's work. "And now, my lass, what's the news?" inquired Jim, as he took possession of the vacant arm chair opposite his wife, and drew it up to the table. "How has the world used you all this long day ?" Mrs. Edmonds assured her husband that she and the world, or rather her neighbours, had got on very comfortably during the day; and admiringly watched Jim as he despatched his meal with evident appetite; then clearing the remnants away, and removing the clean white table cloth, she took down from the chest of drawers the large Bible, remarking, as she placed it before Jim-"It's so late to-night, you must read at once, or we shall be behind hand to-morrow morning." "And that will never do, wife, for the Venus' is in Kingroad, only waiting for wind to come up the river; I heard master tell them so to-day-so if the wind shifts, she'll be up with the next tide." "Well, how thankful I am, Jim, that the work keeps on so; but the winter will soon be here, and then there will be no ships unloading." "Now don't you be distrusting Providence, Mary; didn't we have work all last winter, and don't you think that God will take care of us this?" "I know he will, Jim, only I'm so afraid like; but just read what he says to us in that blessed book." Jim solemnly opened the Bible, and began reading in a clear manly voice, whilst Mary leaned back in her chair, and folding her plump little hands one on the other, listened intently she could not read herself, but then her Jim was, as she often said, "quite a scholar, and read like any parson." Jim was going through Proverbs, and this evening he read from the 16th chapter: "The preparations of the heart in man, and the answer of the tongue, is from the Lord. All the ways of a man are clean in his own eyes; but the Lord weigheth the spirits. Commit thy works unto the Lord, and thy thoughts shall be established." "There now, Mary, listen to that," said Jim, pausing and looking towards his wife. "Isn't it wonderful, that the great good Lord should condescend to tell us poor creatures, to commit our works to him? Surely he never would have said that, if he did not intend to help us in them." 66 No, that he would not, Jim; and our Saviour says, 'Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest and what do you think, Jim, our good parson said the other day? he said, Mrs. Edmonds, don't fret' (for you know, Jim, I was just crying a little bit. thinking of Charley), 'you must take your sorrows, as well as your sins to Jesus, and he will help you to bear them."" At this moment, whilst the worthy couple were holding sweet converse together, a rough blast of wind shook the window violently and rattled in the chimney, whilst above all was heard a shrill piercing cry. Jim rose from his seat hastily, exclaiming, "What's that?" and Mary tremblingly answered, "Why it must be that those poor children in the garret are awake again." "But where's their mother?" asked Jim. "I expect she is not come home yet; she's been out all day, and the children have been crying dreadfully; I have been up to them lots of times, and so have all in the house, but the poor little creatures are locked in." "How old are they, Mary?" "The girl is nearly seven or eight, the boy is but a baby child, somewhere about three years old." ""Tis enough to kill them with fright up there in the dark; without fire or candle, not even the moon shining tonight, and perhaps nothing to eat either; let's go up, Mary:" and, taking the candle, Jim went upstairs, closely followed by Mary. Having reached the garrets, they could hear a low wailing cry proceeding from within one of them; and Jim, putting his mouth to the keyhole of the door, shouted, 'Young ones, what's the matter?" 66 "We are frightened," was answered from within. "There, don't be frightened, young ones; nothing hurts good children." "But I'm not a good child," sobbed out a voice, "I'm a wicked girl; but Charley's good-he's a good boy." 66 Mercy on us, Jim, and the little one is a Charley too," cried Mary, sitting down on the stairs and beginning to weep. 66 Hush, Mary dear!" said Jim, "God has our little Charley; it is better to be with him than to be left in this wearisome world. Suppose we had died before him, why he would have been cast upon strangers-but I'll see what we can do for these young ones. Young ones!" cried Jim again, applying his mouth to the keyhole, "unlock the door." "We haven't got the key," was the reply. Jim scratched his head and looked downwards, knowing that many of his neighbours deposited their key under the |