every tint in the water, every curve in the shore. When storms arise I know by the sound of the wind whether the waves are black or leaden. I see the deep green of the firs, and the pallor of the olive boughs. I was an artist in my youth, and my music paints it now, and serves me as once did the pencil and the brush. Beauty lived for me in colour; now it embodies itself in tone, and the tones are vivid, or deep, or strong, or tender as the colours are. I passed whole seasons painting among these hills, till people said the air on my canvas stirred, and they could feel the chill in my mountain mists. My pictures began to have life, and I had love of my art, and hope of fame, and youth." He paused; the old man was fast asleep. He clasped his hand about the bow of his viol, and went on. "There came a day when, on the cliff yonder," pointing to a rock that overhung the lake, "I sat painting a sky such as this has been to-night. You need not smile; I felt what a sky it was in the air, and in the tones of your voices. I was engrossed in my work that day, and had not noticed a gentleman and lady who had approached, and stood looking at the view I was trying to paint. But I had heard the voice of a child playing among the rocks, and caught a glimpse of a little golden-haired girl flitting in and out among the firs. Suddenly a cry of terror and dread broke the stillness, and a rattle of stones and rush of crumbling earth told their horrible tale. The child, reaching for flowers, had gone too near the precipice, had seized a slender sapling as she fell, and it had yielded at the root, and the loose earth hurried her down over the slippery wooded rocks to the lake. I lost no time. To slide down the rocks, grasping at the trees, to the edge of the water, to see the white face and golden hair just rising to the surface, to make the awful leap and seize and save her-this was the moment's work. A boat shot out from the village at the shore. I held her up, and they drew her in. Grasped tightly in the child's locked hand was the bough to which she had clung. As they took her from me, it swept its sharp twigs and stems across my eyes. Maddened with pain, I kept my hold until the child was safe, and the boat that held her, moved off. But another boat was watching for me. They drew me in, and bore me to a cottage at the nearest point. The child's uncle and aunt had rushed down to the village by the nearest path, and had found their darling safe. The little girl was quickly restored to consciousness, and the downward steamer touching at the little wharf, took them back to her father and mother, who had remained at Lucerne, having trusted their treasure to the uncle and aunt for the excursion of the day. In their haste they did not forget to ask for the youth who had saved her, but, on being told that I was saved and cared for, they hastened to return their little charge to her thankful parents. That same night, raving with fever, I begged to be taken home, and two boatmen who knew me well rowed me gently to the nearest town from which conveyance to Geneva could be secured. Here I became so ill that they were forced to place me in the convent for nursing, and send word to my widowed mother of my piteous fate. When the parents of the child sought her deliverer I was supposed to have gone to Geneva. At Geneva they arrived before my return, so they never knew what price had been paid for their little daughter's life. As for me, it was only after long illness that health came back to my frame, but the light of my eyes was gone." Once or twice while he talked a suppressed moan as of one in great anguish had broken on his ear, but he could not see the young face that, white and wild, was lifted to his, as the girl knelt leaning against the balcony; but he paused, then added gently, "It has been too sad a tale, dear friend, but I am not wretched now. Music has come to comfort me; it is the divinest art of all. My soul speaks in it as it never could have done in colour, and it is only those who never saw who are really blind. I am so grateful for that last vision of a human face-a child's white face lying close to my heart, a vision all the fairer that the next instant it was drowned in pain. Your face is like the face of the child to me, grown older and sweeter with the years, and your voice is her voice softened and deepened by time, and the only pain in my blindness is that I cannot look upon you once. "It was! it is her face! O father, mother, don't sleep, when I have found him, the friend who saved my life!" But only the slow-coming stars saw the hands drop the viol, and take in their warm grasp the hands of the fair young girl, and the winds only heard the words whispered beneath the autumn sky. But this we know that patiently and bravely, two lives went on thereafter. One pair of blue eyes had to serve for two; nevertheless their souls walked daily in the light as they moved toward the city of which it is said, "There shall be no night there, and it hath no need of the sun." MARY L. DICKINSON. OUR PIONEER COLUMN. THIS column always to receive the names those our lume is alwe propelling to assist us in extending the circulation of our Magazine, either by distributing our illustrated prospectus leaflets among their friends, or by personally recommending them to become readers and subscribers. We have had a fresh lot of leaflets printed, different and superior to the old kind, and we shall be happy to supply any of our address. We rely, of course, on the good faith of such readers readers with a packet if they will send us their name and to see the prospectuses put to a proper use. Since we started this scheme no less than 324 young people of both sexes have come forward as volunteers. The following are the latest additions to the list :Ernest Triggs, Penzance George Brantingham, Sunderland W. H. Ashbee, Margate Louisa S. Fleetwood, South Kensington Mary A. Boyden, Lewisham E. G. Packman, Lower Norwood Edward J. Durham, Ipswich Robert G. Tyson, Louth. H. W. Durham, Ipswich I. JULY 1. BY REV. JOHN BYLES, Ealing. CAN remember well, that, when I was a boy, I used to think sometimes, how few people whom I had known had died. My parents were alive, my schoolfellows were alive, my friends and neighbours were most of them alive. It seemed as though I were living among a race of immortals. But when I grew to be a man things began to alter, and now I can think of nearly as many people who are dead as I can of those who are alive. And if I live to be a very old man, I shall feel, I suppose, as though I were being left quite alone, with all my old friends and acquaintances gone; as one of our sweetest poets has sung "They are all gone into the world of light, And I alone sit lingering here." hence the world and its affairs will be in the hands largely of the boys and girls who, to-day, are playing in the nursery or romping in the playground. What will they do with this old world? How will they manage its affairs? They do not seem very wise, some of them at least, just now; will they be wiser then? What hope is there for this wonderful world of ours, with all its sorrows and all its dangers, when these youngsters have to manage it? I will tell you what hope there will be. When Moses, of whom you have been reading, died, he was 120 years of age; for forty years he had been the leader and commander of the children of Israel, and I have no doubt that some of the older people thought that when he was gone everything would be likely to go wrong. But such people were mistaken; they were foolish croakers. And the reason why they were mistaken was this though Moses was dead, God lived, and God was raising up another leader for the people, Joshua; and God's promise to Joshua was, "As I was with Moses, so I will be with thee. I will not fail thee nor forsake thee." And God was with Joshua, and so it came to pass that Joshua was able to accomplish more even than Moses had been able to accomplish, and, under Joshua, the children went in and possessed the promised land. Now I was thinking how terrible a thing it would be if this passing away of our friends, and especially of those who are older than ourselves, took place not gradually, as it does, but suddenly. Think what a dreadful thing it would be if the boys and girls were to awake one morning and Dear young friends! the work of the world, the cares find that the whole world, with all its business and all its of the world, the responsibilities of the world-all too soon work, were left in their hands; if there were no grown--will come into your hands and rest upon your shoulders. up people left to look after the house, or mind the baby, or open the shop, or attend to the horses and cows; no policemen to guard the street, no postmen to bring the letters, no engine-drivers to drive the trains, no doctors, and no magistrates; if, in a word, the whole world, with all that was in it, was left to the children. How terribly frightened they would be; how they would long and cry for fathers, mothers, teachers, masters, friends! And yet this is what does happen, only it happens, as I have said, not suddenly, but gradually. Five and twenty years But God will be with you, ready to give you help and wisdom and strength, as He has given to those who have gone before ycu. Therefore, remember these words of our Golden Text, "Be strong in the Lord, and in the power of His might." With God's might within you, you will be able to meet life's trials and to do life's work; leaning upon that might you will find what the great Apostle found, that His grace is sufficient for you," and, strange though it may seem, that when you are weak then are you strong. 66 II.-JULY 8. "When thou passest through the waters I will be with thee."— Is. xliii. 2. III.--JULY 15. one who can avoid it. How soon we may have to cross we cannot tell; but if we have Jesus with us, if He hold us by His hand, we shall not sink in the waters; deep though they may seem, we shall come safely through. Let us HE river Jordan is in some respects ask the Lord Jesus to be with us while we live, every day one of the most remarkable rivers and every hour, that so we may have Him with us when in the world. It is not a broad we die. river, with a great swelling breast of waters, like the Mississippi or Missouri; it has not a hundred mouths, like the Ganges; its waters are not fed from the snows of glaciers, like those of the Rhine or the Rhone; nor has it on its banks a mighty city like that which stands beside our own "Father Thames;" it is, nevertheless, a remarkable river, and a river the name of which will ever be remembered. Do you know what that name means? Dean Stanley tells us that it means 66 Descender." And if this be so, it is certainly a good name for this river, for one of its peculiarities is the rapidity with which it falls. Down it comes, tumbling in its short course nearly 1,500 feet. Another strange thing about this river is the way in which it twists and winds. Though its course in a straight line is only about 60 miles, its constant turnings make it actually about 200 miles. On either side of this river are thickets and forests, and deep down among these thickets and forests it has curled like some mighty serpent; and another peculiarity is, that for most of its course it is below the level of the sea. This was the river which the children of Israel had to cross before they could enter the promised land. I dare say they often wondered how they were to do it; I dare say they often said to one another, that it would be impossible for them to carry over the river their wives and their children and their stuff, to say nothing of the old people and the sick, and the sheep and the oxen. So they would talk, just as people still talk, about difficulties that lie before them. But when the time came, when the river was finally reached, and the order was given to cross, they found the difficulty vanish-just as people now oftentimes find their difficulties vanish. God came to their help, as He still comes to ours. As the feet of the priests that bare the ark touched the brink, the waters rolled away, and left the people a dry passage to go over; and though God does not usually work miracles, if we really trust Him He will still help us in our difficulties. This it is, then, to which the prophet Isaiah refers in our Golden Text. To pass through the waters was to pass through some great difficulty, and God's promise to His people was that at such times He would be with them. But we, I think, in these Christian days, have taken the promise, and properly taken it, as referring especially to that last of all earthly difficulties-the act of dying. For us to cross the Jordan is to cross the stream of death. And many people all their lives are kept in a state of terror at the thought of passing through these waters. Surely if they remembered and laid hold of this promise, "I will be with thee," they would lose something of their dread. John Bunyan, in his beautiful allegory, tells us how the pilgrims lay by the side of the river, waiting for the "good hour" when the post should come to summon them across. And when the messenger came for these travellers one by one, they found it an easy thing to cross the stream; not one of them who was not landed safely on the other side. And what these pilgrims found, God's loving children continually find. Aged Christians find it, little children find it. God is with them: Jesus Himself draws near. Just when they want it most, His help is given. Sometimes they seem as though they could see their Saviour's face and hear His voice. Heaven seems to open to them, and to show them its glories before they reach it. They find the promise true, and God is with them. Dear young friends we shall all have to cross this river of Death, not "By faith the walls of Jericho fell down, after they were compassed about seven days."-HEB. xi. 30. N ancient times cities were usually protected by walls. These walls were built of brick or stone. They had towers at certain intervals, and they had slits in the stonework or brickwork through which the archers shot their arrows. Remains of such walls are still to be seen in York and Chester, and in some other cities. London was thus surrounded by a wall, and the site and part of this wall is still marked by the street which bears the name of "London Wall." After the introduction of cannon, such walls of brick or stone became of little use, for the shot of a cannon directed against them would very quickly bring them tumbling down about the ears of those they were intended to protect. But in the old days, before cannons and before gunpowder, these walls were of the greatest use, and a very difficult thing it was to get inside "walled city." After the children of Israel had crossed the Jordan they came to the city of Jericho. And when they looked at it they saw it was surrounded by one of these strong walls. How could they conquer it? How could they, coming out of the desert, where they had seen no cities and no walls and had no knowledge of the arts of war, take so strong a city? Many of the people doubtless did put these questions to themselves and to each other; but there was one of them who, beyond all the others, had to put such questions: that one was Joshua, the leader and commander. How was Jericho to be taken? How were its strong walls to be cast down? These were questions he was compelled to ask, but as yet he knew not how to answer them. It was while, probably, he was pondering these questions that the Lord Himself, as we are told, appeared. A man stood over against him with a sword drawn in His hand.” "The Captain of the Host of the Lord," He called Himself. And from this wondrous and mysterious Stranger it was that Joshua received instructions how to take the city. Once a day, for six days, were the men of war to go round the city. On the seventh day they were to go round it, not once, but seven times. The priests were to blow the trumpets, and at the sound of the trumpets all the people were to shout, and at the shout the walls of the city were to fall down flat. So they did, and so we are told it came to pass. The thing was done by faith. Joshua had faith, the priests had faith, the people had faith-faith to believe God's word, and to obey the command which He had given. This is what God still asks of us. He does not usually work miracles on our behalf, but He promises, if we have but faith, to help and bless us, and to give us a strength which is better than our own. And all through the ages, God's people who have trusted Him have found His promises true. They have come up to great walls of difficulty over which it seemed impossible to pass, but, quietly waiting and working, they have found that God did not forget them, but that in His own way he helped them through. When the great Roman Catholic missionary, Xavier, 300 years ago, went to China, he saw a great wall of heathenism and idolatry rising up before him; seeing it, he exclaimed, "O rock, rock, when wilt thou open?" The rock was not to open in Xavier's day or for many a a day after. But it was to open. For many a long year now have Christian missionaries been walking round the great wall of heathenism and idolatry, working and watching, and hoping and praying. And now the wall is beginning slowly to shake and totter, and by and by, as we believe, at the sound of the Gospel trumpet, the wall will fall down flat, and Christ's soldiers will go in and possess the land. Let us learn now from this old story of the taking of Jericho how true faith is shown. The men of war-the soldiers-walked round the city seven days. They persevered. They did not say at the end of the first day, or the second, or the third, "These walls are not going to fall, we will give the effort up." They went on to the end. He who would show true faith in God must learn to persevere, and he must learn to wait. Again, these people, under Joshua, did exactly what God told them. The soldiers compassed the city; the priests blew the trumpets, the people shouted. Their faith was the faith that showed itself in obedience, and this is the mark of all true faith. He who believes in God will obey Him, and obey Him even though it costs him some self-sacrifice to do it. Perseverance and obedience, these were the characteristics of the faith before which the walls of Jericho fell down, and they are still the characteristics of all true faith, and of all faith which has power "to remove mountains." IV. JULY 22. "Our sins testify against us."-Is. lix. 12. OLLOWING the story and the taking of Jericho by the children of Israel, is another of a very different and far sadder sort. The command given to the children of Israel was that they were not to take of the spoil they found in Jericho, but to utterly destroy it, for it was accursed. This command the people with one exception obeyed. The one exception was a man named Achan: he took of the spoil a goodly Babylonish garment, and 100 shekels of silver, and fifty shekels of gold. For a time no one noticed the wrong that he had done, and he thought, no doubt, that no one was the wiser. But, by and by, the thing came out. For when the Israelite soldiers went forth on their next expedition, instead of being victorious and taking the city, as they had done before, they were beaten; and, fleeing before the enemy, lost six and thirty of their men. Then Joshua inquired of God, and in reply he learned the reason. The sin of Achan was the cause of their defeat. So did the man's sin testify against him. Now this is a universal law which boys and girls would do well to learn and to remember. Young people, who have not had much experience of life, think sometimes that sin is of little consequence. They think it can be hidden, and that in a little time all traces of it will be lost. But this is a mistake. "Our sins testify against us." All England was reading a few weeks ago how a great crime was brought home to the men who had committed it. For nearly a twelvemonth the men who were guilty of this crime went about their work, mixed with their companions, and nursed their children; and they thought, no doubt, that their sin would never be discovered. But justice all the time was on their track, and at length they were convicted of the wrong. And this has continually been seen. And sometimes it happens that in most unexpected ways the wrong will be discovered. I have read of a man who was convicted of a murder, simply through a bit of printed paper which he chanced to tear off and leave behind him; and of another through a button that fell from his coat. In all kinds of ways do men's sins testify against them. But what I want you especially to remember is this, that sins which are not found out by our fellow-men, and would not be punished by them though they were, still rise up and testify against us. We cannot get away from our past; it follows us-follows us like a shadow, it dogs our heels, and if it has been an evil past, the evil testifies against us. The boy who at school has been lazy and disobedient; the lad at work who has been untruthful or dishonourable; the youth who has been intemperate or extravagant, finds later on that his sins arise and testify against him. The man who in early life has gone against his conscience, can never get quite away from the wrong. Ever and again there is a great assize held in the hall of Conscience within, and his sins stand forth and testify against him. They are like those marks of blood which are shown in some old castles where a murder has been done: nothing, so they say, can wash them out. And these effects of sin are seen not only in the conscience and the memory, but also in the life. In weakened powers, in lessened success, in unhappy associations, they discover their terrible presence. Inwardly and outwardly our sins testify against us. They may be forgiven, we may have confessed them to God, and know that He has blotted them out of His book, that He will remember them against us no more; but still they testify against us; and, it may be, that as long as we stay here in this present life they will continue to testify against us. This shows us how fearful a thing is sin; shows us how careful we should be to avoid sin; and how thankful we should be if God in His goodness has kept us from falling into great and grievous sin. Let us ever ask Him to "keep us from falling.' Hold Thou me up, and I shall be safe." 66 V.-JULY 29. "I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing."DEUT. XXX. 19. M OSES spoke these words just before his death. In presence of the assembled people of Israel, he told them the things which God would have them do; told them the blessings which would come upon them if they obeyed God's voice and kept His commands, and told them also the judgments and the punishments which would overtake them if they failed to do so. The words were spoken by Moses to an assembled people. But they might be taken as the motto and description of all true ministers and teachers of God's Word. For what can any minister or teacher do, but set before those to whom he speaks these great alternativeslife or death, blessing or cursing? This done, it is for those who hear to choose. 'Choose life," said Moses, "that ye and your seed may live." So still say all true ministers and teachers, and this is all that they can do. 64 But there is a thought more solemn even than this; this word spoken by Moses regarding himself is a word which might be spoken by God, which is spoken by God regarding Himself. What God does is to set before us 66 life and death, blessing and cursing; and then we have to choose. It is a terrible power, this power of choice; a great privilege, and a great responsibility. This is one of the things that makes us like God. Now, I want you to remember that this power of choice is a power you all of you possess, and a power which to some extent you all of you employ. And I want you to remember, too, that by the use you make of it, you strengthen it or weaken it; and further, I want you to remember that we determine the strength or weakness of our power to choose, quite as much by the little things continually repeated, as we do by the great things that come only now and then. Boys sometimes read stories about great men who have done wonderful deeds, and have chosen what was right and good when it cost them a great deal to do so. And then they say, If we had been in their place we would have chosen as did they. Would they? How did they 66 |
