THE DISINTERESTED CLIENT.

HE stood before a lawyer in extensive practice-a shabby, though decent woman, clad in faded attire, and looking worn and attenuated. Nevertheless, insignificant and humble though she was, this woman was, in that interview, the representative of a great principle, the follower of the grand precept uttered by St. Paul, "Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others." It was about their own things, not about the "things" of others that his clients usually consulted this well-to-do but upright lawyer; and it was no wonder that when his present visitor explained her object in seeking his aid, he should have felt considerable surprise. He had professional intercourse daily with men and women so intent on securing for themselves money, houses, or lands, that they became blind to all but their own interest, and saw only through the glass of their own desires: but here was one with a wider range of vision; a range which neither personal privation, nor a husband's influence, had narrowed to look only at the ease and comfort she might have, if she would give up that troublesome insight into "the things of others."

"My husband told me, sir," she said, addressing him, "that he has been consulting you about a little property, which he fancies should come to him, now that his only brother is dead."

"Yes, and I have given him my opinion on the papers he showed me."

Mrs. Jones knew this already; and that that opinion, though not decisive, was by no means calculated to damp her husband's hopes.

"But, sir," she said anxiously, "my brother-inlaw's daughter is the rightful heir, no matter what you have been told. Though the marriage between her parents was irregular and private, she is their lawful child. You see, sir, my husband has papers which, he says, will give him the property unless this is proved; and some of the neighbours are egging him on. But, I feel sure, that in the sight of God he will do a wrong, if he seeks for the orphan's portion, when he has no just right to it."

The lawyer listened to Mrs. Jones with surprise, not wholly unmixed with admiration; for it was, as we have already said, a new experience to meet a person, who was evidently in need, thus willing to forego the chance of improving her condition; especially considering that she need not be more than passive-simply not interfering with her husband's plans. But, instead of being on his side, she was a special pleader for her niece; not from lack of affection for her husband, but because she listened to the inward voice which so many stifle. Her clear sightedness was derived from a higher source than mere worldly wisdom; and although she knew that wives were commanded to "obey their husbands," she felt that by acting now contrary to the wishes of her's, he might be saved from committing a wrong, provided she could secure the sympathy and co-operation of the lawyer on her side. Viewed in a strictly legal light, the claim of her husband might stand good; and, before a court of law, the lawyer would feel himself bound to do the best for his

client if he once took up the case; was there, however, she asked, any need for him to do so?

"But then I have told your husband," he said to Mrs. Jones, "that in my opinion, his chances of success are pretty fair."

Ah, but, sir, now that I've told you what I have, I hope you'll try and discourage him. I'm afraid to cross him myself; the next time he comes, won't you try to get my husband off this notion ?—I'll be for ever obliged to you? Law is not always in the right; and I wouldn't for anything have Mary wronged by her uncle."

"Well, I must say you're the most honest woman I ever met, Mrs. Jones," said the lawyer cordially, when his visitor was departing. Her heart was lightened by his promise to meet her wishes; and she left in his mind an ennobling memory-that that day, for once in this sordid world (where, alas! it is so rare to find "the charity that seeketh not her own,") he had met with a true, though humble example of it.

Jones was not a little chagrined on learning that he could no longer reckon on the lawyer's services; and for a time he did not institute any further legal proceedings, being swayed somewhat, too, perhaps, by his wife's influence. She, not long after, was called suddenly to enter on the "inheritance incorruptible and undefiled, and that fadeth not away." Then, in a little while, he returned to his schemes; but this time he sought the advice of another lawyer. What that was, and what the issue was, we know not. The non-legal opinion of the Christian woman, who had studied her Bible and not Blackstone, is of more value to us; for we have all of us daily need to remember to "look not every man at his own things, but every man also at the things of others."

We live amid selfish precedents and colour-blindness. By land and sea, the cry of oppressed humanity rises to our ears (if we would but listen to it), imploring us to see the things of others.

The drugged natives of China, to whom, in absorbing selfishness, we have sent the deadly opium; the heavily insured ship, laden to the verge of safety, and to the peril of its crew; the over-tasked workers in shops and work-rooms, all preach in audible sermons to us, to look on the things of others.

And surely it is not on men's temporal things only, which will one day have an end, that we are to look. There are things eternal which a higher than St. Paul bids us to impart freely to others, "the things that belong to their peace." Thanks be to God, some are ready to do this.

And in whatever way, let each of us try to extend our vision beyond the limitations of self and self-interest; even though the effort, that withdraws us from too close a contemplation of "our own things," may entail a surrender of what we after all erroneously call ours (1 Chronicles xxvii. 14).

A MAN may hang the ten commandments upon the walls of his home, and still be an idolater. Hang them on the inner walls of the heart.

FAITH believes what we do not yet see; and the reward of this faith is to see what we believe.

Do all the good you can, To all the people you can, In all the ways you can, As long as you can.

It is certain that a thing perfectly harmless, and even desirable at one time, may at another be dangerous and wrong. When the Holy Spirit is whispering with His still, small voice in the silence of your heart -as you know He does-then it is at your peril if, closing your ears, you rush off at any other call. Oh! seize the passing moment, cherish the precious influence, if you would not mourn over it with unavailing sorrow in the future. Tom had refused the Saviour's call that night, although he did not intend to do it. In after days he distinctly remembered it, and spoke of it with deep regret.

Again and again he went to services after that night, and listened as to a "lovely song"- a pleasant voice;" but not once again, at that time and in his days of health and strength, did he feel the like, all but irresistible, power that had then so swayed his heart. Months passed away-months that brought to him one great and most unexpected change. He was only 22; life was full of hope and promise to him; but while he was naturally looking forward to future years, a sudden turn of the road he was travelling brought him in sight of the River of Death. The sound of its waters was rising, and very terrible it seemed to the poor lad. He saw no bridge, and no fair shore beyond. All was darkness, sadness, and fear. But happily he knew his Bible well, and had from childhood taken a deep interest in it. So eager was he to understand it, that at the close of one Bible class on Sunday afternoon, he would often hasten to another held at a later hour, and he was an attentive and diligent hearer of a faithful pastor. Most of his friends would have pronounced him a very religious young man without any hesitation. But in this hour of deep need he knew full well that he had not obeyed the call of God, and that he was yet "a great way off." Dragged down by bodily weakness, he only felt dull and miserable. But there were moments when the eternal significance of life and death flashed upon him; and the visits and prayers of his minister always aroused fresh anxiety and longing in his heart.

One evening, he was sitting alone by the fire, while his mother and sister prepared a bed-room for him, in which he was to stay. He sat gazing into the fire, and musing of past days, thinking hopelessly that now it was of no use to try to start afresh, when (with such startling reality and power that he almost thought a human voice was speaking them), the words rang again through his inmost soul, "Now is the accepted time, now is the day of salvation." Alone in the firelight, with an almost overwhelming sense of sin and helplessness, he knelt, and as a drowning man might catch the rope held out to him, so did he cling to these words of hope. Just as he was, he cast himself upon the Lord Jesus Christ, and laid hold of His great salvation; believing that, sinful and unworthy as he was, He was able and willing to save.

An hour passed away, his mother and sister returned, and he was sitting where they had left him :-but in that hour the great change had come-Thomas F. had passed from death unto life!

Does this seem to you a strange, mystical, and unreal experience?

Not so no greater reality can come to man or woman in all the experiences of life. The cause of all our misery is indifference to God, separation of heart and life from Him, by reason of our unbelief. The moment that cold unbelief melts into loving

trust; that hard indifference, into the longing of a soul that has caught a glimpse of His exceeding great love; that moment the barrier is removed, and the flood of light, life and love, which we call "salvation,” can and will flow in.

The next day, Tom sent for his minister, and gladdened his heart by telling him the blessed story.

Several weeks afterwards, I was asked to go and see a young man drawing very near to death in great peace. "It will do your heart good," said a kind Christian friend with tears in her eyes, to hear him tell of God's great mercy to him."

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I shall never forget my first visit. I was a stranger in the place, but found my way, from my friend's direction, to a house on the edge of a green field which stretched between it and a winding and beauti^il river. I was kindly welcomed, and soon taken up to his room. As I entered it, I saw through the opposite window the green fields on each side of the river, and far, far away to the left, ranges of distant hills, purple against the clear wintry sky.

By the fire sat the invalid; the brilliant eyes and hectic glow of consumption too sadly evident. But a few minutes' conversation changed compassion into joy; for the dear lad's heart was so overflowing with the tide of his first grateful love to the Lord Jesus, that he did not attempt to keep it in.

Very speedily we were on the footing of old friends, and he told me all I have told you now, adding, "I only wish I hadn't waited till I was dying, and I might have tried to do something for Him. But He has forgiven me that." Before I left, I said, "I suppose you have read the Pilgrim's Progress?"

"No," he replied, "I never did, though I have often wished to do so."

"Then," I said, "you can hardly understand what this lovely view from your window reminds me of so strongly. I will bring it to you the next time I come." I did so, and read to him that passage of unsurpassed beauty and power-the description of the land of Beulah, the crossing of the river, and the welcome on the other side.

As I expected, this secured his intense interest and desire to read the whole, and I left it with him.

On my next visit, he told me he had just come to the place where Christian's burden had fallen off at the sight of the cross! He was greatly struck with this. I read it to him again, and very full of meaning and beauty did it seem in the light of that recent and blessed experience. The Pilgrim's Progress was the key-note of all our conversation, and it led us into many instructive and helpful talks.

Once, when we spoke of "Evangelist," he told me most gratefully of his minister's efforts and prayers for his salvation, and of his daily visits, and said, "I always pray for him most specially at the hour of evening service, when I think the sermon is beginning. ever is here, I say I must have this time to pray for Mr. D.”

Who

He languished through the spring, his peace deepening and flowing as a river, and at last was mercifully set free from extreme weakness and suffering, and entered in, we doubt not, through the gates into the city, to see the King in His beauty.

And now, the sight of that winding river, the green meadows, and the far-off purple hills, often brings back to me the reading of Bunyan's thrilling words to that dying youth.