red like crimson, they shall be as wool.' Only believe, and Jesus says, that those who come to Him, He will not cast them out; He is the Friend of sinners, of penitent sinners."

Thus did Mr. Brown speak to the sick man, once so careless, but now so eager. He returned the next morning to the cottage, and in the kitchen met one of the old man's daughters, who said, weeping, "Sir, father is dying."

He went quickly up the stairs, and heard the aged man repeating earnestly, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy upon me; Jesus, Son of David, have mercy upon me." stretched out his hand to his minister, and anxiously inquired, "Is there mercy for me?"

He

"Where is your hope? on what does it rest?" said Mr. Brown, taking his cold hand. "Only, sir, on Jesus, who opened the eyes of "

He would have said, "of the poor blind man;" but the hand that had grasped his minister's hand let go its hold, and the old man fell back on his pillow, stretched out his arms, and died.

Mr. B. sank down on his knees, and the old woman and her daughters did the same. He prayed; not, however, for old Beake-his spirit had returned to God; but he thanked God that the old man had found out the only way of salvation, and had been enabled to make so good a confession of his faith; and he expressed a humble hope that Christ had shown mercy upon him. He prayed also for those who remained.

Friend! whoever you are that reads this, if your conscience tells you that you are still blind in soul, ask the Son of David to have mercy upon you. Cast away everything that would hinder you in going to Jesus, and He will heal you and cure you, and then follow Him in the way, as Bartimeus did. Do not delay! To-morrow it may be too late. Remember, if you do not seek mercy here, you will not find it at the judgment-seat of God.

FEW years ago, one of the youngest of the Sunday-school children in the pretty village of Ayott St. Lawrence, was Martha Arnold, a shy and timid child, whose eyes were seldom raised from the ground, and whose pale cheek flushed when spoken to by the kindest voice. was a backward child, and had great difficulty in learning her Sunday lesson; and when she had learnt it, her beating heart prevented her saying it perfectly.

She

Dear child! we did not know then that her little body was diseased, that she had what is called a heart complaint; nor did we know that God was speaking to the child, and preparing her for Himself, and giving her grace

to receive with living faith the truths she heard at school.

I remember well the first time that I saw any sign of deep feeling in the dear little girl. I was reading to a class of children a halfpenny book, called "Little Martha," which contains a sweet account of a holy child. Though five years have passed away, I fancy I see her now, putting back her long, fair hair, and raising her eyes from the ground, to give me one look of deep meaning, as I read of 'Little Martha's" happy death. I turned to the rest of the children, and said, We have a little Martha, and she is not strong; God give her grace to live and die like this child, her namesake."

Very soon afterwards I missed her from school, and found that she was ill, suffering from violent beatings in the heart. I inquired, and heard from the doctor that the disease was fixed, and that a few months would remove her from us; and I doubted not that it was my duty to tell the child her danger. But, knowing how fearful, how timid she was, I dreaded the consequence of saying, “Mar

tha, you must soon die!" when all agitation was so bad for her. However, hoping that God would strengthen her and me, I expressed a wish to see her, as soon as a fine spring day would allow her to come so far; and I was engaged in writing, one morning in February, when the dear child was introduced, panting, trembling, from the palpitation of the heart. I seated her on a stool at my feet, and spoke to her of those she loved, and especially of her baby sister, of whom she was very fond; and then I talked of her beating heart and pain; and at length I said, "Martha, my little girl, do you know that you are very ill ?" "Yes," she answered quickly.

"And do you sometimes think you shall soon die ?"

"Yes, very often," she replied. "

"And are you afraid to die, my child?" She raised her downcast eyes, and looked at me smilingly, and said, "Oh, no, ma'am."

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'Why not, dear child? why are you not afraid to die?"

She said firmly, "Because Jesus has washed me clean in His precious blood."