C Arrows

C "Carry me, father!".

I begin to like rought places, even as Rutherford fell in love with the cross he had to carry, When the road is smooth, I have to walk; but when it is very rough I am carried. Therefore, I feel somewhat like the little boy I saw the other night. His father had been carrying him uphill; but when he reached a piece of level road, the boy was a great lump to carry, and his father set him down, and let him walk. Then the little gentleman began to pull at his father's coat, and I heard him say, "Carry me, father! Carry me father! Carry me again,

Just so. Any sensible child of God will still say, "Carry me, Father! Carry me still, I pray thee!" The Father's answer is, "I have made, and I will bear; even I will carry you" Therefore call upon Him, and ask that when the road is rough, or miry, He will carry you; and He will carry you.

Caves of Truth

There is a wierd charm to my mind about caves: I like to visit all that are in my way. One is pleased to pass from one subterranean room to another, and mark the secrets which are revealed by the glare of the torches. Here there is a spring of water, there a grand stalactite; here is an ascending staircase leading to another hollow, and there you must go down by a ladder to a greater depth. This is a fair allegory of the way in which the Spirit of God leads us into all truth. In God, even in Christ Jesus, are hid all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge, and within these hiding places we find our habitations. David was so much at home with God that he entered by earnest trust into one attribute after another, and delighted in them all.

Ceaseless warfare.

It is with us Christians as it was with the Highlanders in battle, when their leader called out to them, "Lads, there they are. If you dinna kill them, they will kill you." There is no room for peace, it is war to the knife, not only now, but to life's end.

Charity by proxy This is the age of proxy. People are not charitable, but they beg a guinea from somebody else to be charitable with. It is said that charity nowadays means that A finds B to be in distress, and, therefore, asks C to help him. Let us not in this fashion shirk our work. Go and do your own work, each man bearing his own burden, and not trying to pile a double load on other men's shoulders. Brethren, from morn till night sow beside all waters with unstinting hand.

Chastisement proof of love. mr. rutherford, writing to a lady who had lost five children and her husband, says to her, "Oh, how Christ must love you! He would take every bit of your heart to Himself. He would not permit you to reserve any of your soul for any earthly thing," Can we stand that test? Can we let all go for His sake?

Child of God—preciousness.

How precious in the sight of the Master His saints are! I have been trying to work out a calculation: if the hairs of their heads are worth so much that God registers them, what are their heads worth? Who shall tell me that? If their heads are worth so much that the Lord Jesus Christ died to redeem them, who can tell what their souls are worth, or rather what they are not worth? They are worth more than all the worlds put together.

Ask a mother what her child is worth. "What will you take for your boy, mistress?" My friends, if she sold him at the price she would consider a fair compensation, we could not all of us make up the money if we put all that we have into one common fund. The Lord set such a value on His children that He gave His Son Jesus Christ to die sooner than he would lose one of them; and Jesus himself chose to die on the cross that none of His little ones should perish. Oh, the value and the preciousness of a child of God! Worlds would not serve for pence to be the basis of the valuation.

Children—idolized.

It is very common to idolize children. A mother who had lost her babe, fretted and rebelled about it. She happened to be in a meeting of the Society of Friends, and there was nothing spoken that morning except this word by one female Friend, who was moved, I doubt not, by the Spirit of God to say, "Verily, I perceive that children are idols." She did not know the condition of that mourner's mind, but it was the right word, and she to whom God applied it knew how true it was. She submitted her rebellious will, and at once was comforted. Cease ye from these little men and women; for, though you prize them so they are of the race from which you are to cease. Cease ye from them, for their breath is in their nostrils, and indeed it is but feebly there in childhood. A proper and right love of children should be cultivated; but to carry this beyond its due measure is to grieve the Spirit of God. If you make idols of children you have done the worst you can for them, whether they live or die. Cease from such folly.

Christ all in all. The first line of the covenant of grace is Jesus Christ; the last line of the covenant of grace is Jesus Christ; and all in between is the Lord Jesus Christ. Begin with him as A, go right through to B, C, D, E, F, and so on till you end with Z, and it is all Jesus Christ. He is all; yea, he is all in all.

Christ for all.

I recollect in Martin Luther's life that he saw, in one of the Romish Churches, a picture of the Pope, and the cardinals, and bishops, and priests, and monks, and friars, all on board a ship. They were all safe, every one of them, As for the laity, poor wretches, they were struggling in the sea, and many of them drowning. Only those were saved to whom the good men in the ship were so kind as to hand out a rope or a plank. That is not our Lord's teaching: His blood is shed "for many," and not for the few. He is not the Christ of a caste, or a class, but the Christ of all conditions of men. His blood is shed for many sinners, that their sins may be remitted.

Christ glorified.

You will glorify Christ by darning stockings, and mending the socks of the little ones, quite as surely as by washing His feet with tears.

Christ loved best.

We love relationships, but as compared with Him we could hate father and mother, and sister and brother, for His name's sake. When a certain martyr was about to be burned, they brought out his wife and his eleven little children, and bade them kneel in one long row, to ask their father, for their sakes, to consent to deny the faith and live; but as he kissed them one by one, and lingered longest over the dear mother of them all, he said, "I would do anything for your sakes, my dear ones, that I might live with you, but since it is for Christ, my Lord's sake, I must tear myself away even from you." When Jesus is in the soul, the idols leave their thrones. He loves us out of the pit of idolatry.

Christ omitted. A famous picture has been lately produced, which represents our Lord before Pilate. It has deservedly won great attraction. A certain excellent newspaper, which brings out for a very cheap price a large number of engravings has given an engraving of this picture; but, inasmuch as the painting was too large for the paper to give the whole, they have copied a portion of it. It is interesting to note that they have given us Pilate here, and Caiaphas there, but since there was no room for Jesus upon the sheet, they have left out that part of the design. When I saw the picture, I thought that it was wonderfully characteristic of a great deal of modern preaching. See Pilate here, Caiaphas there, and the Jews yonder—but the Victim, bound and scourged for human sin, is omitted. Possibly, in the case of the publication, the figure of the Christ will appear in the next number; but even if He should appear in the next sermon of our preachers of the new theology, it will be as a moral example, and not as the Substitute for the guilty, the Sin bearer by whose death we are redeemed. When we hear a sermon with no Christ in it, we hope that He will come out next Sunday; at the same time, the preaching is, so far, spoilt, and the presentation of the gospel is entirely ruined so long as the principal figure is left out. Oh, it is a sad thing to have to stand in any house of prayer and listen to the preaching, and then have to cry, "They have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid him!" Rest assured that they have laid Him in a tomb. You may be quite certain of that. They have put Him away as a dead thing, and to them He is as good as dead. True believer, you may comfort your heart with this recollection, that He will rise again. He cannot be holden by the bonds of death in any sense; and though His own church should bury Him, and lay the huge lid of the most enormous sarcophagus of heresy upon Him, the Redeemer will rise again, and His truth with Him, and He and His Word will live and reign together for ever and ever.

Christ—only foundation.

Having once made Christ my foundation, I shall take a leaf out of the book of the Puritans of Massachusetts. I have heard that in their early days, their counsellors agreed, "That the State of Massachusetts should be governed by God, till they had time to find a better ruler." So I will rest on Christ alone till I can find a better resting place. When we find that God has laid an other foundation, we will look at it. When we discover a foundation more suitable for sinners than the sinner's Savior, we will consider it; but not till then.

Christ receiving sinners. When one of our professional beggars knocks at a door, and gets well received, he is very apt to send another. I have heard that vagrants make certain marks near the door by way of telling others of the confraternity which are good houses to call at. If you want many beggars at your house, feed one and another of them well, and birds of the same feather will flock to you. You know how one sheep leads another; and perhaps when some come to Christ, many others will follow.

Christ's presence, Salvation. Have you not seen people engaged in earnest work, who did not understand their business, apprentices, and other unskilful people, and muddling away time. They are making bad worse, and running great risk. Perhaps a great calamity will occur if the work is not done well and quickly. A first-rate workman is sent for. See, the man has come who understands the business. He cries, "Let me come! Stand out of my way! You are on the wrong tack, let me do it myself!" You have not blamed him for egotism, for the thing needed to be done, and he could do it, and the others could not. Everybody recognized the master workman and gave place to him. The announcement of his coming was the end of the muddle and the signal of hope. Even as Jesus comes to you sinners, and in His presence is your salvation.

Christ to be fed upon.

What is the use of bread if it is never eaten? If you go to the Orphanage, you will see a large batch of bread there kept upon the shelves. It must not be eaten the first day, you know; it would go too fast, and would not be very wholesome for the youngsters. It must get rather staler by being kept a little while. Now suppose that I were to go down there, and say to the baker, "Lock that door: I want to keep that bread. I am going away to Mentone, and I shall take the key with me, that I may save that bread." Suppose I were to do so, and come back in a couple of months' time. Should I say to myself, "I have saved that batch of bread?" I am afraid that it would turn out to be very bad economy. Let us go and look at the loaves which we have kept from use! Come away at once! The sight is not pleasant. Decay and corruption have fallen upon what we have hoarded. It would be a poor matter for the bread. Why, it is the very end of bread, the object of bread, the portion of bread, to be eaten. It is honored in being eaten; it would be degraded by being left to grow stale and mouldy. Now the Lord Jesus Christ is never so famous a Christ as when sinners come and feed upon Him. This precious bread must be eaten, or it has not answered its design.

Christ the way. A minister in America some time ago was going up the aisle of his church during a revival, when a young man earnestly cried to him, "Sir, can you tell me the way to Christ?" "No," was the answer, very deliberately given; "I cannot tell you the way to Christ." The young man answered, "I beg pardon; I thought you were a minister of the gospel." "So I am," was the reply. "How is it that you cannot tell me the way to Christ?" "My friend," said the minister, "there is no way to Christ. He is Himself the way. All who believe in Him are justified from all things. There is no way to Christ; Christ is here."

Christ triumphant.

"There," said a dying man in a ditch, when the great Emperor Napoleon rode by, and he heard a shout of victory, "let me die. The Emperor has conquered." And oh, may not you and I be well content to be blotted out and forgotten so long as Christ the King shall come to His own again? He soon shall triumph.

"Christ would be the loser." A Scotch minister tells the story of an aged saint who, on her dying bed, said that her Savior would never leave her to perish. "But suppose that He did not keep His promise, and you were lost?" She answered, "He would be a greater loser than I." When asked what she meant, she answered, "It is true that I would lose my soul; but God would lose His honor and glory if He were not true." If we have trusted in God, and have come out of the Egypt of the world through His grace, and have left all our sins behind us, if we were left to die in the wilderness, the Lord Jesus Christ would lose His glory as a Savior, the divine Father would lose His name for immutable faithfulness, and the Holy Ghost would lose His honor for perseverance in completing every work which He undertakes. The Lord God of Israel will never stain His glory, wherefore be confident that He who brought you out of Egypt, will bring you into Canaan.

Christians like eagles. As I rode along in the South of France, the driver, turning to me, exclaimed, "See, there are eagles!" "No," I said, "not eagles, for eagles fly alone." Seven or eight large birds together, might be hawks or falcons, or kites, but not true eagles. A royal eagle soars alone into the blue; his mate may bear him company, but he has no crew of comrades around him. The child of God, the true eagle of the skies, when he rises into the diviner ranges of his spiritual life, is, and must be alone.

Christians neglectful of means of grace. At a prayer-meeting, some time ago, one brother prayed that the Lord would bless those who were at home on beds of sickness and on sofas of wellness. The last words were unexpected, but very needful. Certain of our friends practice the art of tarrying at home, but I fear they do not divide the spoil. As to prayer meetings and week night lectures, they are regarded as tasks more than privileges by many professors. They live on one meal a week.

Christians—"Off and on."

I heard of a brother who claimed to long having been a teetotaller, but some doubted. When he was asked how long he had been an abstainer, he replied, "Off and on for twenty years." You should have seen the significant smile upon all faces. An abstainer off and on! His example did not stand for much. Certain professors are Christians off and on, and nobody respects them.

Christians on duty. A policeman wears an armlet to show that he is on duty, and all believers should feel that such a badge is worn upon their very heart, day and night.

Christians—pilgrims.

We are pilgrims. We journey along a road which has not been smoothed by a steam roller, but remains rough and rugged as a path to an alpine summit. We push on through a wilderness where there is no way. Sometimes we traverse a dreary road, comparable to a burning sand. At other times sharp trials afflict us as if they cut our feet with flints. Our journey is a maze, a labyrinth: the Lord leads us up and down in the wilderness, and sometimes we seem further from Canaan than ever. Seldom does our march take us through gardens: often it leads us through deserts. We are always travelling, never long in one stay.

Christians—so called. A boy in the streets, selling mince pies, kept crying, "Hot mince pies!" A person bought one of them, and found it quite cold. "Boy," said he, "why did you call these pies hot?" "That's the name they go by, sir," said the boy. So there are plenty of people who are called Christians, but they are not Christians—that's the name they go by; but all the substance is drained out of them by other matters.

Christians—some like old china. My venerated grandmother owned a set of choice china, a part of which, I believe, is in use now. Why does it exist now? It has seen little service. It only came out on high days and holidays, say once in six months, when ministers and friends came to tea. It was a very nice set of old china, too good for children to break. Some Christians are like that fine old ware, it would not do to use them too often. They are too good for every day. They do not teach their servants, and try to win the poor people in their neighborhood to Christ. But they talk well at a conference. Oh! you fine bits of eggshell china, I know you. Don't fear. I am not going to break you; yet I would somewhat trouble you by the remark, that in the case of such ware as you are, more pieces get broken in the cupboard than on the table. You will last longer if you get to work for Christ in every day work. Jesus was not sent out for particular occasions, neither are you.

Christians—Valley.

Numbers of Christians seem to live in the marshes always. If you go through the valleys of Switzerland you will find yourself get feverish and heavy in spirit, and you will see many idiots, persons with goitre, and people greatly afflicted. Climb the sides of the hills, ascend into the Alps, and you will not meet with that kind of thing in the pure, fresh air. Many Christians are of the sickly valley breed. Oh, that they could get up to the high mountains and be strong!

Church—A dead. A dead church is a reeking Golgotha, a breeding place of evils, a home of devils. The tombs may be newly whitewashed, but they are none the less open sepulchres, haunts of unclean spirits. A church all alive is a little heaven, the resort of angels, the temple of the Holy Ghost. In some of our churches everybody seems to be a little colder than anybody else. The members are holy icicles. A general frost has paralyzed everybody; and though some are colder than others, yet all are below zero. There are no flowing rills of refreshment, but everything is bound hard and fast with the frost of indifference. Oh, that the Lord would send forth His wind and melt the glaciers. Oh, that the Spirit of God would chase winter out of every heart and every church. No human power can keep a church from a frost bite which numbs and kills. Except the Lord be there, growth, life, warmth, are all impossible.

Church—back door to the.

One good old lady I know of used to say sarcastically that she hoped the church would take care that the back door was easy to open, for she was quite sure that if so many came in at the front, there would be a good number who would soon have to be turned out at the back. I am half afraid that she hoped it would be so to justify her criticisms.

Church of God enduring.

Standing in the Colosseum at Rome, I could not, as I looked around on the ruins of that vast house of sin, but praise God that the Church existed though the Colosseum is in ruins. Anyone standing there, when the thousands upon thousands gloated their eyes with the sufferings of Christians, would have said, "Christianity will die out, but the Colosseum, so firmly built, will stand to the end of time." But lo, the Colosseum is a ruin, and the Church of God more firm, more strong, more glorious than ever.

Confidence—misplaced.

I remember conversing with a person, who was concerned in one of the great speculations which brought loss and ruin to many, and as I looked into his honest face and heard his open hearted talk, I said to myself, "This is not a man who is capable of robbery. He is a plain, blunt, farmer like sort of a man, who might even be the victim of the confidence trick." I afterwards learnt that this is the usual style of the man who puffs a company, or betrays a trust. Of course if a man looks like a thief, you button up your pockets, and smile if he invites you to take shares; but you are off your guard when the man appears to be the embodiment of simple honesty. The woman in the omnibus who picks your pocket looks like the last person to be capable of such a thing, and this is why she is able to do it. Transfer this knowledge to other matters, and it may save you sorrow. If you get to trusting anybody with a blind confidence beyond what you ought to give, and especially if you trust your soul with any priest or preacher, whoever he may be, you are a fool, and your folly may turn out to be an everlasting mischief, which can never be undone.

Contingencies—none with God. With God there are no contingencies. The mighty charioteer of Providence has gathered up all the reins of all the horses, and He guides them all according to His infallible wisdom. There is a foreknowledge and predestination which concerneth all things, from the motion of a grain of dust on the threshing-floor to that of the flaming comet which blazes athwart the sky. Nothing can happen but what God ordains; and therefore, why should we fear?

Conversion. A man may turn his head, and turn but little; he may turn his hand, there is not much movement of the whole body in that; but when he turns his feet, he turns himself completely. The turn we sinners all need is a whole turn.

Conversion—cannot hide.

I remember a poor man who was converted, but he was dreadfully afraid of his wife—not the only man in the world that is in that fear—and therefore he was fearful that she would ridicule him if he knelt to pray. He crept upstairs in his stockings that he might not be heard, but might have a few minutes' prayer before she knew he was there. His scheme broke down. His wife soon found him out. Genuine conversion is no more to be hidden than a candle in a dark room. You cannot hide a cough. If a man has a cough, he must cough; and if a man has grace in his heart, he will show grace in his life.

Conversion—delayed.

I have heard of a man who had long attended one of the kirks in Scotland, and as he did not get any good, he went off to listen to certain irregular preaching, and there he found peace with God. The old minister warned him of his wickedness in being away from the kirk, and said, in Scotch,, what I must put into English, "Donald, you should not have gone to hear that man; he is not of the old kirk." "Well," said Donald, "but I wanted a blessing, and I felt I must go anywhere to get it." "Well," said the minister, "Donald, you should have waited at the pool, like the man in the gospels, till the water was stirred." "Well, sir," said the man, "but you see that man saw that the water was sometimes stirred, and though he did not get in himself, yet he knew that others stepped in and were healed, and that encouraged him to wait a little longer, in the hope that his turn might yet come. But I have lain at your pool these forty years, and I never saw the water stirred, neither did anybody get healed in it; and so I thought it was time for me to look somewhere else." Indeed it was. We cannot afford to be lost for the sake of kirks or chapels.

Conversion—Joy in Heaven.

I remember Mr. Knill, speaking of his own conversion, used an expression which I should like to use concerning one of you. Here it is: "It was just a quarter past twelve, August 2nd, when twang went every harp in Paradise; for a sinner had repented."

Conversion—Remarkable.

There was one who went to hear Mr. Whitefield—a member of the "Hell-fire Club," a desperate fellow. He stood up at the next meeting of his abominable associates, and he delivered Mr. Whitefield's sermon with wonderful accuracy, imitating his very tone and manner. In the middle of his exhortation he converted himself, and came to a sudden pause, sat down broken hearted, and confessed the power of the gospel. That club was dissolved. That remarkable convert was Mr. Thorpe, of Bristol, whom God so greatly used afterwards in the salvation of others. I would rather have you read the Bible to mock at it than not read it at all. I would rather that you came to hear the Word of God out of hatred to it than that you never came at all.

Conversion—Strange.

I read in the "Life of John Wesley" a story of Methodists meeting in a barn, and how certain of the villagers, who were afraid to break through the door, resolved to place one inside who would open the door to them during the service that they might disturb the congregation. This person went in before service began, and concealed himself in a sack in the corner of the barn. When the Methodists began to sing, he liked the tune so well that he would not get out of the sack till he had heard it through. Then followed a prayer, and during that prayer, God worked on the man in the sack, so that he began to cry for mercy. The good people looked around, and were astonished to find a sinner in a sack seeking his Savior. The door was not opened to the mob after all; for he who in-tended to do so was converted. It does not matter why the people came to hear the gospel; God can bless them in any case.

Conversion—Strange. A young man had been for some time under a sense of sin, longing to find mercy; but he could not reach it. He was a telegraph clerk, and being in the office one morning he had to receive and transmit a telegram. To his great surprise, he spelt out these words,—" Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world." A gentleman out for a holiday was telegraphing a message in answer to a letter from a friend who was in trouble of soul. It was meant for another, but he who transmitted it received eternal life, as the words came flashing into his soul.

Conversion—Sudden.

I knew a man who had lived a life of carelessness and indifference, with occasional outbursts of drunkenness and other vices. This man happened one day, on Peckham Rye, to hear a preacher say that if any man would ask anything of God, He would give it to him. The assertion was much too broad, and might have done harm; but this man accepted it as a test, and resolved that he would ask, and thus would see if there was a God. On the Saturday morning of that week, when he was going early to his work, the thought came upon him, "Perhaps there is a God after all." He was ready to swoon as the possibility struck him, and there and then he offered the test petition, concerning a matter which concerned himself and his fellow workmen. His prayer was granted in a remarkable manner, and he came then to be a believer in God. He is more than that now, and has found his way to be a believer in all that God has spoken, and has found peace through believing in Jesus Christ. It struck me as wonderful that this man, who never had any religious care at all before, should, on a sudden, be turned to serve the living God. The preacher on Peckham Rye never had a more unlikely hearer, and yet he succeeded with him.

Conversion—Sudden.

There must be a moment in which the man is dead, and another moment in which he is alive. I grant you, life would be very feeble at first; still there must be a time in which it was not there at all; and again, there must have been an instant in which it begins. There can be no middle condition between dead and alive. Yet a man may not know when the change took place. If you were going to the Cape you might cross the equator at dead of night, and know nothing about it, but still you would cross it. Some poor landsmen have thought that they would see a blue line right across the waves; but it is not perceptible, although it is truly there; the equator is quite as real as if we could see a golden belt around the globe. Dear friends, I want you to cross the line this morning! Oh, that you might go out of this house saying, "Glory, glory, hallelujah! God has had mercy upon me." Though you feel this morning that you would not give two pence for your life, yet if you come to God through Jesus Christ you shall go away blessing God not only that you are alive, but that you shall live forever, happy in His love.

Conversion—surprising. The chaplain of a jail, a dear friend of mine, once told me of a surprising case of conversion in which a knowledge of the covenant of grace was the chief instrument of the Holy Spirit. My friend had under his charge a man most cunning and brutal. He was singularly repulsive, even in comparison with other convicts. He had been renowned for his daring, and for the utter absence of all feeling when committing acts of violence. I think he had been called "the king of the garotters." The chaplain had spoken to him several times, but had not succeeded even in getting an answer. The man was sullenly set against all instruction. At last he expressed a desire for a certain book, but as it was not in the library the chaplain pointed to the Bible, which was placed in his cell, and said, "Did you ever read that book? "He gave no answer, but looked at the good man as if he would kill him. The question was kindly repeated, with the assurance that he would find it well worth reading. "Sir," said the convict, "you would not ask me such a question if you knew who I was. What have I to do with a book of that sort?" He was told that his character was well known to the chaplain, and that for this very reason he recommended the Bible as a book which would suit his case. "It would do me no good," he cried, "I am past all feeling." Doubling up his fist he struck the iron door of the cell, and said, "My heart is as hard as that iron ; there is nothing in any book that will ever touch me." "Well," said the chaplain, "you want a new heart. Did you ever read the covenant of grace?" To which the man answered sullenly by enquiring what he meant by such talk. His friend replied, "Listen to these words—' A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you.'" The words struck the man with amazement, as well they might; he asked to have the passage found for him in the Bible. He read the words again and again ; and when the chaplain came back to him next day, the wild beast was tamed. "Oh, sir," he said, "I never dreamed of such a promise! I never believed it possible that God would speak in such a way as that to men. If He gives me a new heart it will be a miracle of mercy ; and yet I think," he said, "He is going to work that miracle upon me, for the very hope of a new nature is beginning to touch me as I never was touched before." That man became gentle in manner, obedient to authority, and childlike in spirit.

Conversion—unexpected.

There was a woman who had been in such a dreadful despair that she would not even hear the gospel for years. She came to be very ill, and she said to one who called upon her, "You sent a man to preach under my window three months ago, and I got a blessing." "No," the friend said, "I did not send anyone to preach under your window." "Oh," she said, "I think you did, for he came and preached, and my maid said there was nobody listening to him. I did not want to hear him, and as he made such a noise, my maid closed the window, and I lay down in bed; but the man shouted, so I was obliged to hear him, and I thank God I did, for I heard the gospel, and I found Christ. Did you not send him?" "No," said the good man, "I did not." "Well," she said, "then God did. There was nobody in the street listening to him ; but I heard the gospel, and I got out of my despair, and I found the Savior, and am prepared to die."

Convincing testimony.

I remember the story of a lawyer who attended a class meeting. He heard about a dozen tell what the Lord had done for them ; and he said as he sat there, "If I had a case in court I should like to have these good people as witnesses. I know them all, they are my neighbors, they are simple minded people, straightforward and honest, and I know I could carry any case if I had them on my side." Then he very candidly argued that what they all agreed upon was true. He believed them in other matters, and he could not doubt them in this, which was to them the most important of all. He tried religion for himself and the Lord heard him, and very soon he was at the class meeting, adding his witness to theirs. If I were to put the question at this present moment to my audience, what would be the result? You that have had answers to prayers, say "Ay." (The response came like a thunderclap.) I am sure there are none of us who have ever tried the power of prayer would have to say "No." If I were to put the contrary, there would be no answer. All who are accustomed to pray will vote with the ayes.

Courage.

Splendid was the courage of Alexander when they told him that there were hundreds of thousands of Persians. "Yet," he said, "one butcher fears not myriads of sheep." Ah!" said another, "when the Persians draw their bows, their arrows are so numerous that they darken the sun." "It will be fine to fight in the shade," cried the hero. O friends, we know Whom we have believed, and we are sure of triumph!

Covenant—The.

Remember the old Scotch wife, who thanked God for the porridge, and then thanked Him that she had a covenant right to the porridge, since He had said, "Verily, thou shalt be fed." Oh, it makes life very sweet to take everything from the hand of a covenant God, and to see in every mercy a new pledge of covenant faithfulness! It makes life happy ; and it also inspires a believer to do great things for his gracious God. Standing on covenant ground we feel consecrated to the noblest ends.

Covenanters—The. In my bedroom I have hung up the picture of an old Covenanter. He sits in a wild glen with his Bible open before him on a huge stone. He leans on his great broadsword, and his horse stands quietly at his side. Evidently he smelleth the battle afar off, and is preparing for it by drinking in some mighty promise. As you look into the old man's face you can almost hear him saying to himself, "For the crown of Christ and the Covenant, I would gladly lay down my life this day." They did lay down their lives, too, right gloriously, and Scotland owes to her covenanting fathers far more than she knows. It was a grand day that in which they spread the Solemn League and the Covenant upon the tombstones of the old kirkyard in Edinburgh, and all sorts of men came forward to set their names to it. Glorious was that roll of worthies. There were the lords of the Covenant and the common men of the Covenant; and some pricked a vein and dipped the pen into their blood, that they might write their names with the very fluid of their hearts. All over England also there were men who entered into a like solemn league and covenant, and met together to worship God according to their light, and not according to human order-books. They were resolved upon this one thing—that Rome should not come back to place and power while they could lift a hand against her; neither should any other power in throne or Parliament prevent the free exercise of their consciences for Christ's cause and covenant. These stern old men, with their stiff notions have gone. And what have we in their places? Indifference and frivolity. We have no Roundheads and Puritans; but then we have scientific dress-making, and we play lawn-tennis! We have no contentions for the faith; but then our amusements occupy all our time. This wonderful nineteenth century has become a child, and put away manly things. Self contained men, men in whom is the true grit, are now few and far between as compared with the old covenanting days.

Credulity.

Credulity towards man and incredulity towards God are singular things to find in the same person. We cannot help seeing in the daily papers how easily people are duped. Get up a prospectus, and a list of names as directors, including a titled pauper, and you can bring in money by wagon loads. The confidence trick can still be successfully performed. One impostor lived for months by calling at the door of guileless old people in almshouses, and telling them that a cousin in America had died, and left them a fortune, but it was essential that fees should be paid at the government offices, and then the legacy would at once be handed over. Times and times the money has been scraped together, the rogue has gone his way, and no more has been heard of the cousin in America. There are so many simpletons about that rogues reap harvests all the months of the year.

Cross our all—The. The cross is all I want for security and joy. Truly, this bed is long enough for a man to stretch himself upon. The cross is a chariot of salvation, wherein we travel the high road of life without fear. The pillow of atonement heals the head that aches with anguish. Beneath the shadow of the cross I sit down with great delight, and its fruit is sweet unto my taste. I have no impatience even to haste to heaven while resting beneath the cross, for our hymn truly says,—

" Here it is I find my heaven, While upon the cross I gaze."

Cross our sign—The. As Constantine, in his dream, saw the cross, and took it for his emblem, with the motto, "By this sign I conquer," so today our only hope of victory for the gospel is that the cross of Christ displays it, and the name of Jesus is in it. His name is named on us, and in His name we will cast out devils, and do many mighty works, till His name shall be known and honored wherever the sun pursues his course, or the moon cheers the watches of the night.

Children of shame may be made heirs of glory.

Christ is a great frequenter of cottages.

Christ is all blessing.

Christ is ready for every emergency.

C. H. S.: Away with him! I. H. S.: Let that dear name be glorified.

Communion with God is a great maker of music.

Constancy is the proof of sincerity.

Continued delay of duty is a continuous sin.

Conversion days are our high holidays.

Conversions are not run into moulds.

Cries are not for musicians, but for mourners.