Divinest lessons there. Christ crucified is the power of God and the wisdom of God. The bright rays of Divine goodness and love which are scattered throughout His word, are in "Christ our sacrifice" concentrated into one perfect orb of infinite mercy. It was in tender regard for His disciples then, and for us who come after them, that Jesus said, "This do in remembrance of me." He knew our weakness, He understood the power of His cross; and as a perpetual barrier to our pride, as a constant inducement for us to meditate upon the great means of our salvation, He left the command to eat the bread and drink the wine "in remembrance" of Him. We do well to remember Christ. It becomes us to meditate on His prayer and agony and bloody sweat; to think of the pierced hands and wounded side; of the bruised body and shed blood and agonised soul. Let us remember that He suffered for us, "the just for the unjust; "that He bore "our sins and carried our sorrows;" that "He was wounded for our transgressions and bruised for our iniquities;" that "the chastisement of our peace was upon Him;' " and that "with His stripes we are healed." "Not the crowd whose cries assailed Him, Not the hands that rudely nailed Him, Slew Him on the cursed tree. "Ours the sin from heaven that called Him, There is, however, another side to this ordinance, and we are justified in indulging another strain of meditation. This bread and wine are a prophecy as well as a memorial; they point to the future, as well as bring to remembrance the past. The prophetic meaning is indicated by our Lord in the words which Luke has repeated: "I will not any more eat thereof until it be fulfilled in the kingdom of God;""I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God shall are e" (Luke xxii. 16-18). In harmony with these words of Jesus, and to some extent as a commentary upon them, we have the declaration of Paul to the Corinthians: "As often as ye eat this bread and drink this cup, ye do show forth the Lord's death till He come" (1 Cor. xi. 26). Till He come! The bread and the wine then, memorials of His death and pledges of His coming. The memorial Supper is a link between the agony and the triumph-between the cross and the crown-between the dying for sin and the coming to judg ment. "If I go," said Jesus in His last discourse; "If I go, I will come again and receive you unto myself; that where I am there ye may be also" (John xiv. 3). If as we contemplate the cross and its agony we are oppressed with the darkening clouds that gather around its sorrowful mystery, faith tells us that these clouds have their silver lining, they are bright with the reflected glory of the second advent. Let us look back upon the past with reverent adoring gratitude, and on the future with joyful confident expectation and hope. "And thus that dark betrayal-night, But, again, this Supper is not only a memorial and a prophecy, it is also a type. While the disciples were yet sitting round the table in the upper room, Jesus said to them,—" I appoint unto you a kingdom as my Father hath appointed unto me; that ye may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom" (Luke xxii. 29. 30). The Saviour's allusion in these words was very obvious. He had already on more than one occasion spoken of the future glory of the redeemed, under the similitude of a feast. And now at the Supper, which He designed should be commemorative of His broken body and His shed blood, He pointed their thoughts to that more glorious feast, when He and they and all who are cleansed in the fountain opened for sin and uncleanness, will unite in the sinless, cloudless joy of His Father's house. His We are led by this ordinance, therefore, this brief hour of imperfect fellowship with Christ, to think of that higher communion of which this is a type, when the whole brotherhood of His redeemed shall be gathered around the family board in the kingdom of His Father. This memorial Supper is a preparation for the heavenly feast; that heavenly feast will be the perfect fulfilment of all the aspirations and all the hopes which are begotten by this memorial Supper. Here our fellowship is marred by a consciousness of sin; here unbelief obtrudes itself between our hearts and Him, whom having not seen we love; here the distinctions and limitations of earth hinder the unity of the Spirit: but there every human distinction will be forgotten; there every cloud will be driven away by the light and joy of the eternal morning. Now we share with our Lord in His humiliation; now we meditate on sorrows and His pains; but there we shall behold His triumph and share in His glory. Now, ours is the communion of faith; then, every veil will be taken away, and we shall behold the King in His beauty. "Now we see through a glass darkly; but then face to face" (1 Cor. xiii. 12). The words of the apostle, dimly and fitfully realized in our highest moments upon earth, will then become perfectly fulfiled; "we all, with open face beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord," shall become "changed into the same image from glory to glory, as by the Spirit of the Lord" (2 Cor. iii. 18). "It doth not yet appear what we shall be; but we know that, when He shall appear, we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is (1 John iii. 2). Let me remind you, as a final word, that the whole significance of this Supper to us, as memorial, prophecy, or type, depends upon our personal trust in the Lord. The bread and the wine are nothing to us-nay, they are worse than nothing, they are witnesses against us, if they be not symbols of the body wounded for our transgressions, and the blood which cleanseth us from all sin. Our great need now is a strong clear faith in the living Christ,-a faith which shall grow into a confident assurance that this Supper is a memorial of His death for us; a pledge of His coming to effect our final redemption; a type of that perfect fellowship for which He has caused us to hope. "Lord, increase our faith." Make Thyself known to us in the breaking of bread! With such symbols of His love before us, we cannot doubt His willingness to help and bless every heart. Let us throw ourselves upon His compassion. Let us trust in His mercy. His personal attitude toward each of us is that indicated in His own words, addressed to a Church that had become chilled by worldliness: "Behold, I stand at the door and knock: if any man hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to him and sup with him, and he with "Even so," we cry, come, Lord Jesus." me.' 66 BREAD UPON THE WATERS. A LAD was toiling up a hill near the city, under the weight of a heavy basket, in the afternoon of a sultry day in August. He had been sent home with some goods to a customer who lived a short distance in the country. The boy was slightly built, and his burden almost beyond his strength. Many times he sat down to rest himself on the way up the hill. But it seemed as if he would never reach the summit. Each time he lifted the basket it felt heavier than before. The boy was about half way up the hill with his basket, when a gentleman overtook and passed him. He had not gone on many paces, when he stopped, and, turning round to the lad, looked at him for a moment or two, and then said, kindly— "That's a heavy load you have, my boy. Come, let me help you." And the gentleman took the basket, and carried it to the top of the hill. "There. Do you think you can get along now?" said he, with a smile, as he set down the basket, shall I carry it a little farther ?" 66 or "Oh, no, thank you, sir," returned the boy, with a glow of gratitude on his fine young face. "I can carry it now very well; and I am very much obliged to you." "You are right welcome, my little man," said the gentleman, and passed on. Twenty years from that time, a careworn man, well advanced in life, sat motionless in an old armchair, with his eyes fixed intently upon the glowing grate. He was alone, and appeared to be in a state of deep ab straction. In a little while, however, the door of the room opened, and the light form of a young and lovely girl glided in. “Papa,” said a low, sweet voice, and a hand was laid upon the old man's arm. "Is it you, dear?" he returned, with a low sigh. 66 Yes, papa," and the young girl leaned against him, and parted with her delicate fingers the locks gray that lay in disorder about his forehead. "I would like to be alone for this evening, Florence,” said the old man. "I have a good deal to think about, and expect a person on business." And he kissed her tenderly; yet sighed as he pressed his lips to hers. The girl passed from the room as noiselessly as she had entered. The old man had been calm before her coming in; but the moment she retired he became agitated, and arose and walked the floor uneasily. He continued to pace to and fro for early half an hour, when he stopped uddenly and listened. The street oor bell had rung. In a little while man entered the room. "Pardon this intrusion, sir," he aid, "but facts that I have learned his evening have prompted me to all upon you without a moment's lelay. My name is Greer, of Greer, Miller & Co." Mr. Mason bowed, and said "I know your house very well: nd now remember to have met you more than once in business transactions." "Yes. You have bought one or two parcels of goods from us," replied the visitor. Then after a moment's pause he said, in a changed voice"Mr. Mason, I learned to-night, from a source which leaves me no room to doubt the truth of the statement, that your affairs have become seriously embarrassed—that you are in fact on the very eve of bankruptcy. Tell me, frankly, whether this is indeed so. I ask from no idle curiosity, nor from a concealed and sinister motive, but to the end that I may prevent the threatened disaster, if it is in my power to do so." the visitor arose, and was gone before his bewildered auditor had sufficiently recovered his senses to know what to think or say. In the morning, true to his promise, Mr. Greer called upon Mr. Mason, and tendered a cheque for two thousand pounds, with his note of hand at thirty days for two thousand more, which was almost the same as money. While the cheque and note lay before him upon the desk, and ere he had offered to touch them, Mr. Mason looked earnestly at the man who had so suddenly taken the character of a disinterested, self-sacrificing friend, and said "My dear sir, I cannot understand this. Are you not labouring under some mistake?" "Oh, no. You once did me a service, that I am now only seeking to repay. It is my first opportunity, and Í embrace it eagerly." "Did you a service? When?" "Twenty years ago," replied the man, “I was a poor boy and you a man of wealth. One hot day I was sent a long distance with a heavy basket. While toiling up a hill, with the hot sun upon me, and almost overcome with heat and fatigue, you came along, and not only spoke to me kindly, but took my basket and carried it to the top of the hill. Ah, sir, you do not know how deeply that act of kindness sank into my heart, and how I longed for opportunity to show you by some act how grateful I felt! But none came. Often, afterward, did I meet you in the street, and look into your face with pleasure. But you did not remember me. Ever since, I have regarded you with different feelings from those I entertained for others; and there has been no time that I would not have put myself out to serve you. Last night I heard of your embarrassments, and immediately called upon you. The rest you know." Mr. Mason was astonished at so strange a declaration. "Do you remember the fact to which I allude?" asked Mr. Greer. "It had faded from my memory entirely but your words have brought back a dim recollection of the fact. But it was a little matter, sir, a very little matter, and not entitled to the importance that you have given it." "To me it was not a little matter, sir," returned he. "I was a weak boy, just sinking under a burden that was too heavy, when you put forth your hand and carried it for me. I could not forget it. And now let me return the favour at the first opportunity, by carrying your bur den for you, which has become too heavy, until the hill is ascended, and you are able to bear it onward again in your own strength." Mr. Mason was deeply moved Words failed him in his effort to express his true feelings. The bread cast upon the waters had returned to him after many days, and he gathered it with wonder and thankfulness. The merchant was saved from ruin. A kind act is never lost, even though done to a child! PRAYERS FOR DONALD GRANT. IN the highlands of Scotland, punctuality at public worship is reckoned among the cardinal virtues. The people for generations have been trained to reverence God's day and His house, so that it is considered not only wrong, but also disreputable, to lounge at home or to stroll over heath and burn, while others are honouring God in the sanctuary. was There lived in this region some years since an honest farmer, ycleped Donald Grant. He was very wise for this world; and, while profess ing better things, he gave all his strength and energy to his six days toil, so that when the Sabbath came he was unfit for the service of the sanctuary. Once in the season of barley harvest, when farm help scarce, Donald so over-wrought himself on Saturday, that his seat in the "auld kirk" was empty the next day. He remained at home to recruit his powers for a fresh campaign on Monday. Some wag in the parish, knowing Donald's besetting sin, and fearing the effect of his example on others, resolved to nip the delinquency in the bud, and took the case into his own hands. In the afternoon, when the pastor entered the pulpit, he found a note in which was written: "The prayers of this church are requested for Donald Grant." The minister was taken by surprise, not having heard of his illness, but remembered, as also did the people when the note was read, that his family pew was tenantless in the morning. After service, one asked another what ailed Donald Grant, but none could tell his neighbour; and all decided that some sudden illness had brought the request directly from the family. rose on The Sabbath passed, and Donald, refreshed by many hours of sleep, and by the sweet breeze and the holy calm of his native hills, Monday like a strong man to run a race. But scarcely had the sun begun to gem the dewy heather, when above the whetting of the |