of Lystra on that occasion was in substance and form the | grandmother. From these circumstances we are en same with Paul's more elaborate argument afterwards delivered on the Areopagus at Athens. It will be more convenient to notice the sentiments as expressed at a greater crisis and on a more prominent sphere. Before they left Lystra, another event occurred which exhibits heathenism on its other and opposite side. Jewish emissaries from Antioch and Iconium, following the track of the missionaries like blood-hounds, so successfully incited the mob that "they stoned Paul, and drew him out of the city, supposing he had been dead." It is enough for the servant that he be as his Lord: “Hosanna!” to-day; and "Crucify him!" to-morrow. As the Jews treated Jesus, the Gentiles at Lystra treated Paul: they worshipped him in the morning as a god, and at night stoned him as unfit to take his place among men. "Once was I stoned," wrote the apostle of the Gentiles, referring to this event. Yes, Paul; and once another thing happened, equally memorable. Once he stoned another, and once he was stoned himself. Strange revolution of the wheel! Now it is his turn to enact the martyr, praying for his murderers, and looking forward to rest. What a crowd of memories must have rushed up when he felt his spirit swooning away under the stone shower! This would seem the echo of his own dread act. Stephen's heroic death must have left its mark deep on the heart of the converted Paul. Perhaps, when he felt what he believed to be the sleep of death creeping over his senses, he expected that at his next awakening he would find himself in Stephen's company. In all probability a young man, of whom we shall afterwards hear, stood among the mourners who assembled round Paul's lifeless body at Lystra. The young man Saul looked on approving at Jerusalem when the Christian hero Stephen died: a young man, Timothy, I believe, looked on weeping when Paul was stoned at Lystra; and afterwards, with unspeakable joy, saw the apostle awaking from his swoon. When Paul, after an interval of two years, visited Lystra again, he found Timothy residing there, a disciple of Christ, already well known and highly esteemed by all the brotherhood (Acts xvi. 1). At a later date he writes to him as his “own son in the faith” (1 Tim. i. 2). From these two facts, it results that Timothy was converted by the word of Paul on the occasion of his first visit to Lystra. Here then, as in many other cases, the work prospered while the workman was discouraged and persecuted. The missionary, when he left that place, thought that he had visited it in vain ; yet the seed that fell from his hand there found soft soil in one young ingenuous heart, and brought forth fruit an hundred fold. We know (2. Tim. iii. 10, 11) that Timothy was intimately acquainted with the peculiar sufferings through which Paul passed on this occasion at Lystra; and we know also that from his childhood he had been trained in the Scriptures by the pious care of his mother and abled, in a good measure, to complete the history of the young man's spiritual experience. With the Scriptures, in their evangelical meaning, impressed on his mind and memory, he heard Paul preach. While the word which presented the Christ as the fulfilling of the law was still sounding in his ears, he beheld the great preacher stoned, as he thought, to death for his testimony. word preached and the sufferings endured, conspired to complete the victory, and the youthful Timothy was won. It was not till a subsequent visit that the apostle was cheered by the knowledge of this event; but the event sprang direct from the seed that has continued prolific down to our own day-the blood of the martyrs. The From Lystra the missionaries retired still eastward through the interior of Asia Minor. At Derbe, the extreme limit of their progress in that direction, they preached the gospel with great success, for they made many disciples there. The term literally means a sufficient number—that is, a group of believers was gathered there in numbers sufficient to constitute a Church, whose members might hold together and hold their own in the place after the departure of the apostles. These planters were afraid to plant one or two trees on the sea-shore, exposed to the blast; they greatly preferred, wherever it was possible, to plant a wood on the spot ere they left it, and then they expected that the wood would shelter the trees;-the community of disciples would support and cheer each other through evil days. At Derbe they were close to a pass in the mountains, called "the Gates of Cilicia," which led, by a short and direct route eastward, to Tarsus, the home of Paul. "If he had been mindful of that country from whence he came out, he might have had opportunity to have returned" (Heb. xi. 15). But his native place had no charm that could draw him aside from his mission. He had severely condemned Mark for going home before the work was done; and he will not himself fall into the same snare. He obtained grace to turn his back upon home when the work of the Lord beckoned him abroad. He turned his face westward again, and retraced his steps to that Lystra which was to him the place of blood. Luther, when his friends advised him to consult his own safety, declared he would enter Worms although every tile of its roofs were a devil! Paul will go straight back to Lystra, where he had been stoned for preaching Christ, that he may preach Christ there again. By such men God has done great things at varions periods of the past; and when he has similar work in hand, he will, I suppose, raise up similar instruments. VIII. THROUGH MUCH TRIBULATION. THIS noble pair of brothers turned on their own steps and travelled westward, revisiting in reverse order all has passed through the tribulation. Those who have watched the death-bed of Christians have seen such a storm suddenly settling into a calm. It is a great relief to weeping witnesses when the tossing ceases, and the peace begins. It is not only that in point of fact tribulation happens to lie between Christians and their rest it has been placed there of deliberate design by a wise and loving Father, in order that, by passing through it, they may be prepared for a rest beyond. the places where they had preached and founded societies | portals of the haven, and there is a great calm. He of disciples. Their specific task this time was different. They set themselves on this occasion to confirm the souls of the converts, and exhort them as to their subsequent course. The Christians in those places were already born, but they needed to be nourished into strength. These are the two main points in a missionary's work. On their former visit, they occupied themselves mainly with the first; and on the latter, mainly with the second. The first necessity is, to see that they are in Christ; and the next, to see that they grow strong in the Lord. They valued the right and orderly constitution of the Churches, and this matter accordingly was not neglected; but they gave their first attention to the work of confirming souls. What boots a well-organized Church, if it consists of dead members? The living may live without organization, but organization is nothing without life. Let us remember the apostolic order of these two things: it is first, get souls confirmed; and then, get the community constituted under a sound and scriptural government. In some of the most delicate manufactures of this country, the web, in a rude and unsightly state, enters a vessel filled with a certain liquid, passes slowly through, and emerges continuously at the opposite side. As it enters, the cloth seems all of one colour, and that one dim and unattractive; as it emerges, it glitters in a variety of brilliant hues arranged in cunning figures, like a robe of needle-work for the adornment of a queen. The liquid through which the fabric passes is composed of certain fiery, biting acids; and the reason why it is strained through such a bath is, that in the passage all the deforming and defiling things that have adhered to its surface in preceding processes may be discharged, and the figures, already secretly imprinted, may shine out in their beauty. Corresponding with their specific object, the burden of the missionaries' preaching this time is not, "Repent, and believe the gospel," but, "Continue in the faith." And for the rest, the warning word rings clearly out, "We must through much tribulation enter into the kingdom of God." Nothing strange will happen to to th these Asiatic believers: the preachers include themselves in this description of the Christian life. It is a law of the kingdom that they announce here. The forewarned are forearmed. Remembering this word, they will not faint when persecution for Christ's sake comes. Much tribulation! Yes; but they will pass through it. What a word is this! Thanks be to God for this blessed transitive preposition! No part of speech so sweet as this in all the lessons of the grammarian! There is trouble, but the disciples of Christ get through it. Trouble changes its nature when you are assured that it cannot last long. Can you measure the difference between abiding in tribulation and going through it? No; it passeth all understanding. You never read of the unsaved passing through their suffering, or of the saved in Christ passing through their joy. In the one case, it is a passing through joy (the pleasures of sin) into tribulation; in the other, a passing through tribulation into the joy of the Lord. The life of a disciple on earth is like a voyage on the sea. The sea is rough; the heart is sick; the land is not in sight. Helpless and miserable, the voyager lays himself down at night. He looks and feels as if he cared for nothing, and hoped for nothing. But underneath all this sadness a living hope is burning which these stormy waters cannot quench. He has confidence in the ship and the crew; he expects soon to reach the shore. And when he reaches it his sorrow is over, and even the memory of it almost blotted out. Suddenly, from the open sea, the ship has passed through the Thus the disciples of Christ are in this life drawn through great tribulation, although the Lord who loves them has all power in heaven and in earth: nay, precisely because the Lord who loves them has all power in heaven and in earth, they are bathed in this sea of sorrows. It is not that this sea lies in their way, and that by a kind of geographical necessity they must go through it; rather, the Lord that bought them has provided that sea, and placed it across their path, that in its bitter waters the manifold incrustations that defile their beauty may be discharged ere they appear before the great white throne. Already, and by the ministry of the Spirit, the various features of their Redeemer's likeness have been secretly imprinted on their hearts; but these features have been so overlaid by manifold corruptions in actual life, that the new nature can scarcely be recognized. Hence the necessity of providing a searching medium, and making even those who are "his workmanship" pass through it for their own good. Much tribulation: He is wise and loving who determines in each case its amount and its duration. He does not spare the patient so as to spoil the work by leaving it half-done. A child is ailing; and some slight but rather painful operation is required. The mother will herself perform it. But after she has begun, the child cries pitifully: the mother's courage fails. She desists, lays down the instrument, takes the child in her arms, and wipes away the falling tears. The child's crying ceases under this process, but the child's ailment is not cured. The case must be put into the surgeon's hands. He has both skill to know what is needed and courage to carry it through. He will not spare for the patient's crying. This treatment is better in the longrun for the child. I have been informed, as I looked curiously on the web in perpetual motion passing through, that if it were allowed to remain one minute too long in the bath, the fabric itself would be destroyed. The manufacturer, skilful and careful, has so tempered the ingredients on the one hand, and timed the passage on the other, that while the impurities are thoroughly discharged, the fabric comes out uninjured. In wisdom and love, both infinite, the Lord has mingled the ingredients, and determined the duration of the baptism; so that, on the one hand, none of his should be lost, and, on the other, every grace of the Spirit should be brought out in its beauty upon all his own. Thus, there is a "need be for the great tribulation; but we shall miss more than half the meaning of the word here if we think of this necessity as applicable only to the suffering. Another thing is necessary-a better and a brighter. True, it is said of all Christ's people, that they must pass through much tribulation; but it is also said of them, that they must enter the kingdom. As certainly as he came out to seek, those whom he finds shall go in. He shall see of the travail of his soul, and shall be satisfied. The Captain of cur salvation will bring many sons into glory. The "must" is spoken of the abundant entrance as well as of the narrow road. Fear not, little fleck; it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom. The Children's Treasury. THE CROWN OF GLORY. A Tale of Missions in Olden Times. BY THE AUTHOR OF "LITTLE SNOWDROP." CHAPTER III. PEACE, BE STILL!" "The help of man and angel joined, Could never reach my case; Nor can I hope relief to find But in thy boundless grace. No voice but thine can give me rest, No love like thine can make me blessed, LOWLY the hours dragged on. Was it to be life or death? "Mother of God, let him only live," said the father, "and golden offerings shall be given thee!" "Holy Virgin," prayed the Lady Louise, "spare the boy, and my next daughter shall be thine-vowed to thee!" "Virgin Mary, hear our cries," echoed the priest, and by thy love to thine own Son, spare the lad!" The aid of the saints was earnestly invoked: Saint Andrew was specially implored. And all the while the foreign physician spake not: the remedies were tried, and he sat silently waiting the result. Once or twice he bent his head; and a close observer might have seen his lips move. A large crucifix was placed at the foot of the bed, so that if consciousness returned the boy's eye might first rest on it. A grave, sad look passed over the physician's face as he saw it. Was he, then, an irreligious man, not even making an outward profession❘ of respecting divine things-no uncommon event in those days? He could scarcely be that, thought Lady Louise; for in reply to the laird's eager question, put in a trembling voice, as to whether his son's life was in danger, he had said-"The symptoms are very serious, my lord, but not hopelessly so; with the blessing of God, he may recover. He has youth on his side; we can but try the means, and leave him in the Lord's hands." The words sounded strange; but that might be accounted for by his speaking in broken language, and his strange foreign accents. Day was beginning to break-the gray morning light was already visible through the narrow windows of the castle-when the boy opened his eyes and looked up. His father, who had watched the whole night, had just left the room to rest awhile-going first to awake Sir Thomas, and send him to share the vigil with the physician, who since his arrival never ceased his close watch by the sick-bed. The others had shared it with him; but now he was alone. The boy looked round alarmed. "Where am I?" he said. "Mother! father!" His eyes caught sight, as it were simultaneously, of the large crucifix and the stranger. "What is it all?" he said, in a tone of terror. "Am I ill-dying? Oh, who is with me?" In a moment Paul Crawer was stooping over him, soothing him in gentle tones. "Yes, you've been ill," he said. "Your father has just left the room; he will be here immediately. Lie very still, poor boy, and fear nothing. The loving Lord Jesus has his arms around you, and will not leave you; fear not. I am a physician; you will know all about me soon. Be still for one minute, and I'll get your father." He moved to the door; but the boy called him back. "Don't leave me! don't leave me!" he implored; "I'm afraid!" Then, exhausted with the effort of speaking, he said in a whisper, "Oh, don't go and leave me alone with that dreadful crucifix!"-for the gray light had fallen on the face of the Christ, and imparted to it a ghastly hue. Quietly the physician removed it from the boy's sight; then imposing strict silence, he once more bent over the bed, promising not to leave him alone for a moment, as he knew Sir Thomas would be coming soon. Lightly he laid his hand on the broad forehead, and whispered the words, "Lord Jesus, restore him, if it be thy will, and make him one of the redeemed ones ;"- then repeated the words, "Come unto me, and I will give thee rest." Twice over he repeated them. The boy's eyes were closed, but the words so gently spoken were heard. Just then Sir Thomas entered. The physician rose. "Thank God," he said, "he is conscious; let his father know." The boy had fallen asleep; and when he woke, father, mother, and preceptor were watching him. But the stranger was away. Had it all been a dream? Days of anxiety and watching followed. But at last the young laird rallied, slowly struggling back to life. The physician spoke hopefully, though he did not conceal that the boy's health was in a precarious state; perfect quiet and great care would be needed for a long time to come. The fact must be impressed on the boy himself. "Tell him yourself," said the Lady Louise; "he will bear it better from you." And so saying, she slipped cut of the room, leaving doctor and patient alone "Shall I be able to ride soon, Doctor Crawer?" said the boy. "Black Bob must be wearying to feel me on his back again; and I do so hate lying here!" Very gently was it broken to him that perfect rest would be necessary for long, and riding not to be thought of The Bohemian doctor was little prepared for the outburst of passion that followed. "Lie here indeed! That I shan't. I must get up now-this moment. Get Sir Thomas; desire him to come instantly. Not ride! Why, what do you mean? How am I to live? As well be a wretched, useless cripple as that! I'd sooner die than live like that." The doctor laid his hand kindly but firmly on the boy, saying very seriously: "Young master, if you really wish to kill yourself, you are taking the best way to do so by giving way to such passionate feelings. I grieve for you, poor boy. It is a sad trial for you; but it is the will of God. You spoke of a wretched, useless cripple, Master David; but cripples are not always wretched nor useless. I have a little sister just about your own age-the sweetest, happiest girl possible; and she has been a cripple since she was seven years old. Sweet little Liese! How I wish you could see her!" The young man's eyes filled with tears as he spoke of the loved sister in the far-off land. David saw them, and they stayed the angry words that were once more rising to his lips, and he said—" Doctor, I did not know you had a cripple sister when I spoke. Tell me of her. Do you love her? Does she suffer? How can she be content and happy?" "She was not always so. Like you, she thought life, without being able to run about, was not worth having; like you, she said angry, bitter words about it. But a change came. A voice said in her heart, 6 Peace, be still!' and the great big waves of trial calmed at that voice, even as the waves of the Sea of Galilee calmed when the same voice said, 'Peace, be still!' to them.” : "Whose voice was it? Who spoke to her?" said the boy eagerly. "Our loving Saviour, the Lord Jesus. Oh! that you would ask him to say the words to you!" "Do you mean the Virgin's Son?" "The same." "Oh, he would not care! Besides, we can only pray to him through the saints and the Virgin.” "Liese did not find it so. he heard and answered her. the storm on the lake?" "Yes, do." She cried to him, and Shall I read you about Then the doctor drew forth a manuscript volume, and read slowly the words "When the even was come Jesus said unto his disciples, Let us pass over to the other side. And when they had sent away the multitude they took him even as he was into the ship. And there were also with him other little ships. And there arose a great storm of wind, and the waves beat into the ship, so that it was now full. And he was in the hinder part of the ship, asleep on a pillow; and they awake him, and say unto him, Master, carest thou not that we perish? And he arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still! And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm. And he said unto them, Why are ye so fearful? how is it that ye have no faith?"" David had listened in breathless attention. "How could he?" said he, as the doctor stopped reading. "I like him. Did he say, 'Peace, be still!' to Liese like that?" "Yes; at his voice the angry feelings fled away, and in loving him she found rest and peace. Will you try to love him also?" "How can I?" "Ask him to teach you." "I'd like to hear more about him." "Some day I will tell you how he died for you; but now I must go-other sick ones are waiting for me. Be patient, and keep quiet, and I doubt not you will be so far better soon." As he put back the book into his breast an illuminated drawing on the cover struck the boy's eye. "May I see it?" he asked. For a moment the doctor hesitated-was he counting the cost?-then showed it to him. "Liese did it," he said. "Is it not beautiful?" "Very," said the boy. "How clever she must be! I wish I could draw like that." The picture represented a beautiful cup and a small open manuscript-book. "What does it mean?" asked the boy. "Some day I may tell you, but not now. Can you draw?" A little," said the boy; "mostly horses and dogs." "I have some of Liese's drawings; shall I bring them to show you some day?" "Yes, do, I'd like it; and tell me more about her, will you not? I, too, have a sister, Mistress Maude, and I love her dearly." In the court Dr. Crawer met the lady. "How did he bear it?" she said. He shook his head. "Badly enough at first; but we must not wonder; 'tis hard to bear. He is quieter now; if only he is brought to see it is the will of God, it will be easier for him." "The saints grant he may !" said Lady Louise. "We must pray the Virgin to help him." She turned off, and the doctor mounted his horse and rode homewards. The sun was setting in beauty over the ocean, purpling the white-crested waves, and glittering on the many-coloured tints of the trees as they stood in their autumn foliage; but Paul Crawer's thoughts had wandered far over the seas to the home at Prague and the little sister there, cripple but not useless: even in this far-off land was not her patient faith and love speaking to souls? Would her Master and his speak words of peace to the heart of the young laird of Dunmore in the gray castle? Why should he doubt it? Did he not also need the gentle rebuke, "O ye of little faith, wherefore do ye doubt"? As he mused thus, a black friar passed him, and answered his salutation by a scowl; for he owed the foreign doctor a heavy grudge for having hindered him from unlawfully extorting some money from a poor widow on false pretences. Yes, even already the medical missionary was making enemies by his open generous character amongst men to whom generosity was unknown and truth hated. But the friar's scowl troubled not the doctor-if, indeed, he noticed it; for just then a poor man accosted him, begging him to look in and see his wife, who lay, he feared, dying. Already the good physician was becoming well-known in the houses of the poor, many of whom were beginning to hang on his words of holy counsel, which formed so great a contrast to that of the priests and friars, who came near them only to oppress and impoverish them. In that little cottage, simply and rudely constructed, the physician's Master had need of him. A heart true and loving was there, in which the good seed of the Word of God had been dropped years before, and lain latent, but was now beginning to spring up The darkness was seen, the light desired; would it be found, and prevail? We shall see. In the meantime, we will take a peep into the room where the young laird of Dunmore lies watching the sunset. When the doctor left, the boy lay quite still, trying to take in the thought of living without the active sports the youth of that time so delighted in, and in his weak state the very idea made him break into a passion of tears; but gradually he stilled. The beauty of the sun setting on the waters soothed him, and reminded him of the words the doctor had read, the "Peace, be still." Calmly he recalled them, and wondered if he too, like little Liese of Prague, would ever hear a voice saying in his heart, "Peace, be still." How could he obtain the boon, and get his sins pardoned, so that if he died he might not remain long in purgatory, but get to heaven at last? Would penances secure it? Poor boy, high-spirited as he was, he felt then as if he could have borne anything to feel sure of pardon and peace. He would make an offering to the Virgin, he would repeat so many prayers; and more than all, he would implore the aid of his patron - saint, Saint Andrew. So he lay and thought, striving, as so many have done, to work out salvation by good deeds, knowing nothing of the "blood of Jesus, which cleanseth from all sin." Yet, through all his fears, he seemed to hear the words uttered by Paul Crawer on the night he lay so ill, "Come unto me, and I will give you rest." Oh, that was what he wanted-rest. He wondered who said that, and thought it must be the same who said, "Peace, be still." All the evening he was quiet, playing a little with his baby-sister, speaking almost cheerfully to la petite mère and his father, only alluding to the doctor's visit by saying he had promised to bring some drawings to show him, done by his cripple sister. But when night came, he fell asleep, and dreamed of the Sea of Galilee and the stormy waves, mingled with flitting visions of little Liese and her drawings. CHAPTER IV. THE DYING MOTHER. Sow ye beside all waters, "Will Jesus chide thy weakness, Or call thy labour vain ? GIVING his horse into the charge of the man who had accosted him, the doctor entered the hut, the door of which was so low that the tall Bohemian had to stoop as he passed in. On a low tressel-bed the poor woman lay, evidently dying. She looked up eagerly. "Thank God, you have come," she said, in broad Scottish accent. "I was sair afeard 'twas Friar John. Listen, for my time is short. I have heard you're kind to we puir folk; and Jenny Craw, the widow, telled me how you wudna let the friars tak her last bawbee frae her. I want nae priest to confess til'; but gif you'd |