A sailor, once sceptical, and whom I have often visited in his affliction, is now an anxious inquirer after truth, always carrying a small Testament in his pocket, whence he says he gains much instruction and comfort: "he sees it with new eyes." Another, intelligently and reverently contrasting the present with bygone days, said," Why, when Old Londonbridge was building, a Bible cost as much as one of the arches of that bridge, so that a man must have worked thirty years for a copy of the word of God. What a mercy to live in such golden days as these!" Another, a Norwegian, heartily blessed the Bible Society, the Bible, and its author. This man had been made a great blessing to the rest of the crew the mate was under deep conviction, and the captain, though a careless man, was forced to reflection by this Bible-reader's consistency and persuasions. At first, seeing him read the Scriptures and pray in presence of his shipmates, some of them deemed him "crazy," and unfit to go to sea; but now many of them see differently, and

own that it must be God and the Bible which make him so happy, either in the calm or the storm.

The captain of a Dutch vessel showed me, with deep feeling, a Bible which had been placed in his hands by his dying wife, and the perusal of which had evidently been blessed to him. And the captain of a Swedish ship wanted twelve Testaments as presents for his friends at home, saying it was the greatest treasure he could think of to take. I was sorry I could only supply him with nine. On another Swedish vessel I found each of the crew had

purchased a Testament in London. The French will seldom look at my books. The mate of a Welsh vessel had lost, by shipwreck, everything but his Bible; but he emphatically said he had saved his best treasure.

The mate of one of the floating lights, in a letter to me, says, "Out of a crew of NINE, seven of us engage in religious worship, and we seldom have an angry word; for the Bible has taught us to bear one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.'"

IN

It is Thy hand, my God,

My sorrow comes from Thee: I bow beneath Thy chastening rod, 'Tis love that bruises me.

I would not murmur, Lord,

Before Thee I am dumb;

Lest I should breathe one murm'ring word,

To Thee for help I come. My God, Thy name is Love,

A Father's hand is Thine; With tearful eyes I look above, And cry, "Thy will be mine!"

I know Thy will is right

Though it may seem severe; Thy path is still unsullied light, Though dark it oft appear.

Jesus for me hath died,

His pierced bands, His bleeding side, Thy Son thou didst not spare; Thy love for me declare.

Here my poor heart can rest,

My God, it cleaves to Thee; Thy will is love, thine end is blest, All work for good to me.

WIDOW LAMBER,-I do not call her by her real name, though I am telling you a true story,was a poor lone woman, who lived in my parish. And do you ask where my parish was.-I will tell you something about it. It was in the outskirts of a large city. Ten thousand people were, by some process of squeezing, crammed and crushed into it. And, oh! what a crush it is (for the parish is still there, and the people still in it); in some of those lanes and alleys and bystreets, in order to get all those ten thousand people comfortably or uncomfortably in. You would not think, as you drive along through that great broad street, which runs through the middle of my parish, what there is to be seen a few paces on either side of it. Just step down the small lane by the corner of that pawnbroker's shop, and you will see scenes which your eyes will hardly believe. And most of my ten thousand people live in that way;-getting on, in poverty, in misery, in drunkenness, in dishonesty, in robbery, and in every species of wickedness,- -as they can; I often wonder how they do get on.

Five years ago, when I first came into my parish, I found my ten thousand people well supplied with every sort of place that could minister to their amusement, and their vice; but with nothing, where they could hear a word about religion. They were deluged with gin-palaces, and beer-shops, and publichouses, and small theatres; but

not one single place of worship had they amongst them. This was a sad thing; how was it? Nobody knows how; otherwise than that outskirts have a habit of growing faster than churches : though outskirts are just the very places which most of all need them; for great towns, like great seas, too often wash up all their scum and refuse to the edge of their shores. However, the thing must be remedied: it was of no use moralising. The people must be taught.-The Gospel must be preached.-The great work must be begun. And, in the name of the Lord, I set to work. After much trouble and anxiety, I succeeded in hiring a small room. The only one I could get was a very small one; and was used for schooling and tea-parties all the week by other people, and by me for church service on the Sunday.

I shall never forget the first Sunday it was opened. It was an anxious and exciting day. How many of my poor people would take advantage of their new church? How many would, for the first time in their lives, come to hear the words of eternal life? Would my little room be filled? I went early that morning, and waited; anxiously I looked, and waited, but not one soul came! That first Sunday my church was opened in vain. This was discouraging; but I hoped and prayed. It would not do to faint too soon. That week I went and visited about amongst my people; but how they did stare at me! Why did I come

to see them? They could not understand a kind stranger taking an interest in their concerns. Some did not want my visit; some had rather not see me; some thought it an intrusion, and told me as much. Some would not deign to look aside at me, or listen to a word I had to say; some used bad language, and banged the door in my face. However, my labours were not altogether in vain; next Sunday came round, and I had a congregation of two people! This was something; and I thanked God for it. The Sunday after, I had twice as many, and a few children. Now the children began to flock in, Sunday after Sunday, until the room was nearly full of them. By degrees the older people ventured in, encouraged by the example of the children. And at last, they flowed in in such numbers, that the poor children were turned out, and dozens stood at the door unable to find admittance. Thus was God blessing my labours indeed! and, oh! what happy Sundays were those when my room was full!

But about Widow Lamber? Well, have patience a little, and you shall hear all about her. Do you see that low form in front of the crowd, who are packed so closely behind, that one wonders how they can sit and stand there an hour and a half? And do you see, sitting about the middle of it, a little old lady in black; very poor-looking, but very neat and clean; and anxiously listening to what is going on?-she is widow Lamber. Though one of the dullest exteriors, she is the brightest ornament in my parish. Though poor and needy, she is

enriched with the treasures of God in her heart: she is a real, humble, and earnest Christian. Now I had known little of widow Lamber till this circumstance occurred. One day I had been speaking to my poor people about the heathen in distant lands; and how sadly they needed the Gospel sent out to them. I told them that what I chiefly asked them to do, was to pray that God would bless his missionary work ; since I could hardly expect them to assist in any other way, on account of their own poor circumstances. However, next day a knock came to my door, which was attended to,-and there was Widow Lamber. What did she want? She had brought fourpence for the Missionary Society! I thanked her; told her I thought it was a great deal for her to bring; but that as she offered it cheerfully and sincerely, I was sure God would accept it. Next week, she came again with another fourpence. I was out at the time; but when I heard about it, I thought this was too much, and I must see her about it. However, in the course of the week, a press of other things caused me to forget it. And I was not reminded of it till the next week, when again she came with another fourpence! Now I wished to see her at once; and next day I went. I followed my way down a long, narrow street, which finally led into a blind alley, in which I stopped, and knocked at a small door. This opened, and discovered to me Widow Lamber, busy washing. I sat down, and began my story. I told her how surprised I was, at her having sent in her fourpence