It is related of Sanctus, one of the early martyrs, who suffered in the latter part of the second century, that when examined with the most excruciating tortures, and questioned concerning his name, his city, his nation, and whether he was a slave or a freeman, no other answer or confession could his tormentors extort from the heroic man, save, "I am a Christian."

In these days of pride and vain-glory; of regard for names and sects and parties; of restless endeavour to secure the honour that cometh not from above; is it not well to pause, and consider the difference between the motives that govern men now, and those that led this primitive Christian to maintain his simple yet glorious confession amid the direst tortures, and in the face of death itself?

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I am a Christian." We see here no pride of kindred or of nation; no pleading of family circumstances or relations; no urging his services to the State, or his personal goodness and uprightness; no selfish hope of release; and especially no thought of denying his Lord, to tarnish the glory of his testimony. He had experienced the power of the cleansing blood. He had tasted the pure waters of salvation. He had known the indwelling of the Comforter. In seasons of danger and of suffering he had proved the truth of the promise, "Lo, I am with you alway," and had felt the sustaining power of the "everlasting arms. And now, in that hour of final conflict, he was ready to confess that worthy name by which he was called, and that only. It was

enough for him to be a Christian, and to suffer and die for the sake of Christ.

Alas, how different it is to-day! In how much of the Christian service and worship of this age is self exalted, and Christ dishonoured! In these days of enlightenment and learning, when so much is thought of talent and intellectual ability, and so little of prayer and faith, how few of Zion's watchmen can say with Paul, "I determined not to know anything among you, save Jesus Christ, and Him crucified"! In how much that is said to be done for the glory of God, is God almost forgotten! How much there is of self-gratification, how little of real self-denial, in the modern Christian warfare! How hath the offence of the cross ceased!

And has the Church become a greater power for good in the earth? It is true that she is far greater in numerical strength, and in worldly

wealth and splendour, than she was in primitive times. It is true that the "gospel of the kingdom" has been so preached in all the world, that numbers have turned from idols to serve the living and true God, from every nation under heaven. But has the Church the living energy to elevate and save men to-day, that she had when a single itinerant preacher had "fully preached the gospel of Christ" "from Jerusalem and round about unto Illyricum," labouring with his own hands, that he might not be chargeable unto any? Is there more done for the glory of God to-day, or have His people more peace and joy, than when "all that believed were together, and had all things common; and sold their possessions and goods, and parted them to all men, as every man had need"? And then, "continuing daily with one accord in the temple, and breaking bread from house to house, did eat their meat with gladness and singleness of heart, praising God, and having favour with all the people"? How natural the result that is immediately recorded: "And the Lord added to them daily such as should be saved"!

Or has

Fellow Christian, how is it with your heart? Has your acquaintance with Christ been so intimate and sweet that He is to you" the chiefest among ten thousand," and the one "altogether lovely "? "the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life,” so abated the ardour of your early love that you have ceased to find in Him the sum and centre of all your peace and blessing? Do you find your meditation of Him, the study of His word, and the time spent in communion with Him, the most profitable and precious part of your experience? Or are you so hurried with worldly duties, and pressed with worldly cares, that you have no time for such sweet employ? Do you drink from the Fountain of living waters and find satisfaction? Or do you still seek in vain to quench your feverish thirst from the bitter streams of earthly pleasure and earthly fame? In short, is Christ all and in all to you? Or does the world take the greater part of your thought and care?

These are important questions. Let us weigh them well. Christ is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever. We can experience the same precious nearness now that those did who counted not their lives dear unto them, but were willing to suffer the loss of all things, that they might win Christ. If we would know the peace and share the hope of such, we must follow their example; and when the crown which they were assured was laid up for them shall be bestowed, we also may be presented "faultless before the presence of His glory with exceeding joy."

THE TRANSFORMED DWELLING.

IT was night in the mansion,-deep, desolate night
In all its sealed chambers no glimmer of light:
And mildew and silence and sadness and gloom
Brooded on the still air of each desolate room.

Those high-ceiled chambers were stately and grand,
Well worthy the Builder by whom they were planned
But fresco and carving with dust were o'erlaid,
And his web on each cornice the spider had made.

O'er all the gay panels his net had been flung,
And the webbed dust fast to their picture-frames clung
While bloated and loathsome he sat in his den,
Like a watcher for ill to the spirits of men.

The ceilings were frescoed with angels; and rich
Were the lavish adornments of mantle and niche;

But the windows, whose out-look is heavenward, were fast,
While all that looked earthward wide open were cast.

The sunlight, the music, the soft summer air
From the gardens celestial could not enter there;
Foul vapours were rising there through chamber and hall,
And the smell of mortality poisoned them all.

A step at the threshold! What stranger is there?
There's light on his features; there's dew on his hair;
There's love in his accents; there's life in his smile—
But why stands he waiting unwelcomed the while?

"Behold," says the Stranger, "I stand at the door,
And knock for admission, as often before:
My head hath no shelter, the night-dew is chill;
Oh, why should this dwelling be barred to me still?

"Arise, O thou sleeper, the night waneth fast,
And the hours of my pleading are hurrying past
Arouse thee, and open thy doors to my love,
Or thou shalt be shut from my mansion above."

The chains from the door-posts fell rattling away,
For the lord of the mansion was moved to obey;
Loud grated harsh hinges and groaned the slow door,
As open it swung, to be bolted no more.

Then entered the Stranger, and glorious light

From all that wide mansion quick banished the night.
And cleansing and order and warmth and perfume
Were spread, like the air, through each beautiful room.

O joy for the dwelling, 'tis dreary no more,—
Its chill desolation for ever is o'er;

And vocal the house, from foundation to dome,
With songs,-the sweet music, and singing of Home

Joy! joy to the dwelling! for Jesus is there!
And the scent of His garments is sweet on the air;
With fragrance Divine they perfume the abode,
For they borrow their smell from the garden of God,-
From all the sweet flowers in the garden of God.

LOOKING UNTO JESUS.

THOU, who didst stoop below,
To drain our cup of woe,
Wearing the form of frail mortality;

Thy blessed labours done,

Thy crown of victory won,

Hast passed from earth,-passed to Thy home on high!

Man may no longer trace,

In Thy celestial face,

The image of the bright, the viewless One;
Nor may Thy servants hear,

Save with faith's raptured ear,

Thy voice of tenderness, God's holy Son.

Our eyes behold Thee not,
Yet hast Thou not forgot

Those who have placed their hope, their trust in Thee

Before Thy Father's face,

Thou hast prepared a place,

That where Thou art, there they may also be.

It was no path of flowers,
Through this dark world of ours,

Beloved of the Father, Thou did'st tread;
And shall we, in dismay,

Shrink from the narrow way,

When clouds and darkness are around it spread?

O Thou, who art our life,

Be with us through the strife;

Was not Thy head by earth's fierce tempests bowed? Raise Thou our eyes above,

To see a Father's love

Beam, like the bow of promise, through the cloud.

Even through the awful gloom
Which hovers o'er the tomb,

That light of love our guiding star shall be:

Our spirits shall not dread

The shadowy way to tread,

Friend, Guardian, Saviour, which doth lead to Thee.

PICKINGS FROM MY PORTFOLIO. No. II.