and in many ways was able to show a sou's love and care to nurse, who was now childless. Robert's mother had died before the events narrated in this chapter. And here this simple story must end. Possibly it may have this by-lesson for Christ's ambassadors not to lose heart, although they are conscious of weakness and insufficiency, and although they may have seemed, even all through life, in many cases, to have bestowed labour in vain. God has, to be sure, many undreamed-of results written down in His Book, against the great day of Revelation of secret things.

But our chief subject of thought as we end, must it not be, How well for those whom God FINDS OUT in this life, when the door is still open for the penitent's prayer-and not only when that door is for ever shut, and the day has come, not of mercy, but of judgment. And oh, how wise to make agreement with His kind, stern Officer now, whiles we are in the way, before the time comes that he shall indeed relax his grasp, but only to deliver the unforgiven debtor into other and terrible custody, and the Judge give the irrevocable sentence, and he be cast into that prison from which he shall not depart, until the uttermost farthing of his debt, with all Time's arrears, and Eternity's still gathering interest, be paid --which then can be paid-NEVER. For the Ransom, now so freely offered, will then have been withdrawn; and the "Come unto Me," have passed into "Depart, ye cursed," and the knocking at the closed door be no longer that of the Saviour's, but of the sinner's, vain entreaties. And how shall they be saved whom the Saviour repels? And how shall they then escape who, now, are rejecting so great salvation?

J

THE SEALSKIN CAP.

N my younger days, sealskin was not reckoned such a costly fur as it is at present. And I never see a lady carrying a pretty golden-coloured muff like yours without being reminded of an incident which happened many years ago.”

These words were spoken to me by a grey-haired man who stood before the counter in a bookseller's shop. I had entered hurriedly, driven to seek this shelter from a heavy shower, and my dress and muff were already besprinkled with large drops. With grave courtesy, the old gentleman had taken the muff from my hand, carefully shaking the rain from the fur; and while thus occupied he had made the foregoing remark.

He was not altogether a stranger to me. More than once I had met that thoughtful, kindly face in my walks; and oftener still I had marked him taking his way into the back streets and. crowded alleys of our large town. And I had felt some desire to know who and what he was.

"I should like to hear the incident," I said, frankly, as the shopman gave me a chair.

"Old men like myself are fond of prosing about their early days," he answered, with a smile. "My little story relates to something which took place in my own youth: but I must warn you that it is a very simple tale."

"One learns the deepest lessons from the simplest things," said I.

"True enough," he replied; "and lessons abound everywhere; but we lack the patience to stand still and learn them. Well, to make a beginning,-I must have been about eight years old when I came into possession of a sealskin cap, the very same colour as

your muff. It was given me by an uncle of mine, who was a clothier; and my mother, being a poor widow, was grateful for the gift. She had a hard matter, sometimes, to get garments for her boy; and as winter was just then setting in, my uncle's present was doubly acceptable. The cap was really a beautiful one, soft and glossy and golden, and lined throughout with silk; a proud lad was I when I wore it for the first time. We lived in London, and our lodging-house stood in a narrow street close by Lambeth Palace. The neighbours around us were chiefly poor and respectable, working hard for their daily bread, and knowing what it was to be sorely distressed when times were bad; but in the next street to ours there were folks of a more questionable class. My mother avoided that locality as much as possible, and strictly charged me never to stray far from our own home. In a general way I was obedient, and seldom transgressed her commands: but on a certain December afternoon I suffered myself to be led astray. It was three o'clock already the shades of dusk were gathering fast, the weather was cold, and I had just decided to go indoors by the fire, instead of loitering near our doorsteps. But scarcely had I taken this resolution, when a boy about three or four years older than myself came up to me.

"Hollo! my man,' said he. You'd like to have some of these pretty things, wouldn't you?'

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He put his hand into his pocket as he spoke, and drew out a number of bright gilt buttons.

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They are made of real solid gold,' he averred, solemnly. "Then I suppose you wouldn't part with them?' returned I, with a longing look.

“Yes, I would,' he answered, readily. 'You're such an uncommon nice little chap that I've took a fancy to you quite sudden, like. Just you come along with me, and I'll give 'em to you.' "Can't you give them to me here?' I asked.

"Bless yer!-no. I should have all the other boys in the street a-botherin' me for 'em. Come along!'

"Rather reluctant to trust him, but beguiled by his friendly manner, I accompanied him to the end of our street, and turned with him into the next. At the entrance of a dark alley he paused, and dropped a button on the pavement at my feet.

"There's one for you,' said he.

"I stooped to pick it up, and in an instant he had made a grasp at my cap. I felt it snatched from my head, and then the thief ran off swiftly down the alley. For a second or two I stood petrified by the misfortune which had befallen me. My muchprized cap was gone-gone beyond recall; and how should I break the bad news to my mother? Bursting into tears and sobs, I hastened home as fast as my legs would carry me, shivering as the cold winter wind whistled through my hair. On hearing my story my mother forbore to scold me; I was indeed severely punished for my act of disobedience, and the loss was a serious one to me. I was forced to content myself with a plain cap of coarse cloth in lieu of the soft warm fur. All through the bleak winter days I lamented over my folly; but when the summer came I ceased my vain regrets, and left off troubling about the matter. Yet I never quite forgot the wrong that had been done

to me.

"Years passed on, and I had grown up into manhood. In my youth I was never ashamed to work hard, and save my earnings; and God prospered my efforts to gain an honest livelihood. In all times of temptation-and there are many such times in the life of every young man-His right hand upheld me, and kept my feet in the narrow way. And, as I became older, and the due sense of all His mercies grew stronger and stronger within me, I longed to do something to prove my love for Him. Therefore I went forth into the by-ways of the world, seeking out the

sorrowful and the sinful ones, and speaking to them my Master's message. I was a lonely man; my mother had gone long ago to her everlasting home, and the only relatives left to me were dwellers in a foreign land. None of my own kindred stood in need of my aid; but Christ hath said, 'The poor ye have always with you;' and for His sake, and in His name, I ministered to their wants.

"I soon grew familiar with the dark places of the great city, soon learned some of the terrible secrets of poverty and vice and crime. But only one experience of this kind has to do with my story; and I shall confine myself to that alone.

"One bright evening in May, I set out upon my errands, taking my way through the crowded streets, and musing as I went. The causeway was still moist with rain, and the sky overhead had that peculiar clearness and tranquillity which sometimes succeeds a showery day. At evening-time it shall be light,' thought I, as I lifted my gaze to the fair heaven above the countless roofs and chimneys; and I prayed for those whose day of life had been clouded with sorrow and sin. Father,' I pleaded, 'there are thousands in this vast city whose childhood and youth have been shrouded by the mists of guilt and ignorance. Let the pure light of Thy peace be theirs at last! Even at the eleventh hour, O Father, Thou canst say, "Let there be light.":

"At the time of which I am speaking, city missionaries were neither so numerous nor so active as they are at present. The spot that I was about to visit had long remained unpenetrated, and those who dwelt there were scarcely more enlightened than heathen. But in that miserable court there were already some souls in whom the Holy Spirit had wrought effectually, and that poverty-stricken place was dear to my heart. One woman-a penitent who had wept at her Saviour's feet-was awaiting my coming; and I turned my steps at once to her abode. She