you see. Teacher says it's a mistake to think God will help those who don't try to help themselves." "I did try a little," said Annie. "I came out with the flowers to sell." "But you didn't try to sell them. See, I have sold no watercresses while I have been talking to you. So I must say good-bye now, Annie; but don't forget to ask your mother about the school." And the next minute Annie heard the clear cheery voice, crying, "Watercresses, watercresses," and she called in a more timid voice," Flowers, paper flowers." Two or three passers-by turned as she raised her voice; and an old lady spoke to her, and became a customer. So, with her small stockin trade greatly reduced, Annie thought she would return home, and try to sell the rest as she went; and, with a momentary prayer for courage to cry her flowers, she went on towards the court. She sold the last before she reached the entrance, and ran joyfully to her mother with her gains. "Now, mother, isn't it true about God helping us ?" she exclaimed, as she placed the money in her mother's hand; and then she related her conversation with the watercress girl. Mrs. Anderson did not answer, but sat all the evening musing over the circumstances, and what had Perhaps I have made been said. 66 a mistake all this time," she said, at length; "perhaps I ought to have sought God's help, as well as worked hard myself. But I didn't; I thought if I worked hard, I should be sure to succeed without His help. Can it be that working and praying must go together? I wish I had known it before. I do wish I had known it before." Mrs. Anderson had ample time for reflection. She contrived to make up a few flowers while Annie was out selling others; but it was not much she could do, and her eyes slowly but surely became more dim every day. But a change was taking place in her heart and mind. As her outward sight failed, her inward spiritual light increased, and she began to see plainly that her whole life had been a mistake that, hardening herself in her trouble and sorrow, she had missed the blessing God intended to bestow upon her. The trouble had laid her low: but, instead of looking up to God—instead of stretching forth her hand to grasp the one held out to help her— she had turned away to struggle by herself unaided. Annie was learning the opposite side of this truth just now. The little girl had begun by trusting in God, and then sitting down to cry; but she did not do so now; she asked for help and courage to do her work, as well as for success to crown it; and the help and courage came every day, although it was very hard for her to go out into the streets and face a crowd of people, trying to sell her flowers. It had to be done, however, or she and her mother must have starved; and Annie did it bravely, because she was helped to do it. But it was not pleasant work, and Mrs. Anderson dreaded the effect of this street life upon Annie. She could do very little now; work seemed to have been taken away from her and given to the child; and bitter was the anguish she endured through this. Several weeks passed, and the little girl was gradually becoming more reconciled to her new occupation, when one day, while out with a basketful of flowers, a sudden shower of rain came on, and, before she could reach any shelter, they were wet through and totally spoiled. Annie had got wet as well as her flowers; but she quite forgot that discomfort in her dismay at the destruction of her stock-intrade. "Oh! what shall I do?" she sobbed forth, setting down her basket under the shadow of an arch, which she had at last reached; "what will become of poor mother?” Her tears fell on the limp, crushed paper petals of her flowers, as she tried to raise them; and she was so occupied with these that she did not notice a gentleman who had taken shelter there as well as herself, and went on with her lament. The gentleman became interested in her, and asked her where she lived. Annie told him all her sad story. "What is that you are saying, my girl-your mother is going blind?" he said. The girl answered quickly, "Yes, sir; her eyes have got worse and worse, till she can't see at all now." The gentleman took out a card and handed it to the child. "I am a doctor," he said; "bring your mother to me, to-morrow morning, at that address, and I will see what can be done for her. You make and sell these flowers for a living, I suppose?" he added; and dropping a shilling into her hand, he hurried away. Annie hastened home with the news to her mother at once. Mrs. Anderson willingly consented to go and see the kind-hearted doctor the next morning; but when, on her arrival, he told her she must go into the hospital for a few weeks, when he thought her eyes could be cured, she was in great difficulty about Annie. For herself she was willing to endure the pain she would have to suffer; but what would become of Annie while she was away? It was a great difficulty, and one not easily got over. At length, however, some ladies agreed to pay for Annie to live with one of the neighbours while her mother was away, and then, with a lightened heart, Mrs. Anderson went into the hospital. An operation was successfully per formed, and she came out quite re stored. There was no need for Annie to go into the streets again; for her mother soon obtained employment as an artificial flowermaker; and never again did she forget that God has linked prayer with work, while Annie remembered that work should be the companion of prayer. SORROWS AND JOYS. BY THE REV. W. ABBOTT. “The heart knoweth his own bitterness; and a stranger doth not intermeddle with his joys."-Prov. xiv. 10. THERE is an obvious truth in this proverb. It is one that is seen on the surface of human history. It applies to man as man. Whatever may be his natural temperament, his position in life, the sphere in which he moves, the circumstances in which he is placed, and the prospects opening to him, he is more or less affected by sorrows or joys. All life is chequered. As we look upon some persons they may seem to be exempt from the common lot, but entering the interior we soon find the mistake corrected. This state of things which affects man in general, also affects Christian men. Though redeemed from among men," and though "not of the world," yet passing through it, they ject to its sufferings, cares, sorrows, and death. are sub The Christian man is no stranger to joy, though his joys may seem strange to the world. The primary design of the Creator in giving man existence was that he might be the possessor of joy. He was formed with capacities, tastes, and affections for joy. In paradise there were sources of plenteous, varied, and incessant joy. All the fertility, beauty, and fragrance of earth occasioned him joy; but his chief joy was in the Divine manifestation and communion. He was pure in heart, and so was happy in God's presence, and as surrounded by His gifts. But the devil having tempted him, sin having ruptured his moral nature, he lost his taste and desire for paradisiacal and heavenly joys. Still there is in man's heart a thirst for joy; but it is a sinful one, and seeks it elsewhere than in God. Jesus Christ came as the restorer of joy to man. He redeems men to joy. Believing in Him we participate in the joy of salvation. Each Christian has his personal sorrows. "The heart knows his own bitterness." The heart is a chief faculty of the soul. It is the seat of the purest and tenderest sensibilities—of the most pathetic and intense emotions. It is capable of the keenest disquietude, and of the serenest peace. The heart as affected with a sense of sin knows its own bitterness. Each conscious, weeping penitent confesses that he is the chief of sinners. Sin has its many roots of bitterness, so that while in one case it may be one sin, in another person it may be a very different sin, yet each one feels his besetting sin to be one of peculiar bitterness. Sin used to be sweet, but now it is become bitter. The commission of sin used to be sweet, but now a sense of its guilt makes it bitter. Till sin becomes bitter to us, salvation from it will never be sweet to us. The heart feels its own bitterness as affected by the temptations of the devil. Do not suppose that because you have come to Christ, Satan will cease to tempt you; and do not think that because he tempts you that you cannot have come to Christ. To hinder you from coming to the Saviour is his chief design, but finding you have come to Him, he will try to embitter your peace and joy and try to becloud your prospects. Does he see you coming to the mercy-seat? He says, "I will try him there; I cannot, perhaps, entice him to sin, but I will tempt him to doubt and despondency, and so embitter his feelings in the exercise." The heart feels its own bitterness as affected by the persecutions of the world. The world may sometimes seem to smile upon religion, but it ever really hates it. "The carnal mind is enmity against God." There is something in religion that it likes, but it goes much too far for its entire approval. Its beautiful and impressive holiness, its intense love and fervent zeal, its separateness from the world, and heavenlymindedness, the world has no sympathy with. So far as it secures external morality, it may be well; but spiritual affections and exercises it at once denounces. As to heaven gained by morality, it likes the idea; but as to faith in the grace of God, and the atonement of Christ, issuing in salvation, it utterly opposes such a sentiment. In this state of things there will be persecution; it may consist in looks, or words, or deeds, but these will each and all be bitter. The heart knows its own bitterness as affected by the cares of life. The relations, business, and changes of life are ever attended with cares and anxieties, requiring the constant exercise of faith and patience. Each heart has its griefs, and each day its cares; with each opening morning and closing evening they are present with us. Daily cares have each their bitterness and burden, and need relief from the heavenly Father who cares for us and comforts us. The heart knows its own bitterness as affected by bereavements. Here are the bitterest griefs of life-broad, deep, and long continued. At times they seem to pass away, but return again with renewed and increased bitterness. In the Father's love and presence, in the Saviour's sympathy, and the Spirit's comfort, and in these alone, is the precious antidote found. The heart knows its own bitterness as affected by fears in relation to the future. Fear has much power and much bitterness. Despond ing fear is an unhappy companion. Cautious fear is a useful servant. The one we must check, the other cherish. Faith in Jesus is the sure cure for the bitter fear. That is the true heart's-ease. "Let not your heart be troubled; ye believe in God, believe also in Me." Fear not, but trust. Each Christian has his personal joys. "And a stranger intermeddles not with his joys." The Christian's joys are secret. The world knows not the Christian nor his joys. They are not visible and noisy, and therefore their ex istence is a mystery, or is disbelieved. They are spiritual, and can be only spiritually realized and appreciated. He finds them as he returns to God, and as restored to his favour; he has the joy of a peaceful science, of enlightened ideas, of pure affections, and glorious prospects. In God is the life of his soul, and the joy of his life. Both his life and his joy are "hid with Christ in God." con The Christian's joys are sure. "A stranger does not intermeddle with his joy;" for it is both secret and safe. Jesus says, " And your joy no man takes from you." A stranger has no sympathy with our sorrows, and no appreciation of our joys. Attempts will be made to deprive you of your joys, but Jesus, who is their giver, is also their guardian. In His hand you are safe, and your joys too. Let your heart be much with Jesus in spiritual trust and love, so shall your joys not only be safe, but shall abound. The Christian's joys are ceaseless. They are compared to a river and its streams. The Christian's joys are not like a brook that dries up, and disappoints those who seek it, but like the streams of a flowing river, ever refreshing the thirsty pilgrim. It is "living water,"-" the water of the river of life." Souls, quickened by the Spirit, thirst for it and enjoy it. The spiritual life seeks and finds the true joy. Sinners coming to Jesus as their Saviour, in Him find salvation, and so find joy. This joy is not a mere impulse, but a continued realization. Through Jesus we are reconciled to God; He pardons and blesses us, becomes to us our exceeding and our everlasting joy. "Be the living God my Friend, Then my joys shall never end." "Thou wilt show me the path of life; in Thy presence there is fulness of joy, and at Thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore." Blunham, Beds. "THE LORD SENT IT, IF THE DEVIL BROUGHT IT." THERE resided in my neighbourhood a poor widow, whose means of support were exceedingly limited. Between nursing for rheumatism, and spinning and knitting, most of her lonely time was passed. I am ashamed to say, that on one or two occasions I joined some wild young chaps in playing off tricks upon her, such as making unusual noises about the house at night, smoking her almost to death by putting a board over the top of her low mud-built chimney, and such-like doings, that we thought rare sport, but for which we deserved a little wholesome chastisement, if there had been any one authorised to administer it. flickering of a few small sticks burning on the hearth. As we stood near the window, listening to what was going on inside, we found that Granny was praying, and a little to our surprise, asked for food. "As she expects to get food from heaven," said I, irreverently, "I suppose she will have to be accommodated." And turning from the window, clambering up noiselessly to the top of her chimney-a feat of no great difficulty-I tumbled my two loaves down. When I reached the window again, in order to see what effect this mode of supply would have upon Granny Bender, I found the good old creature on her knees, piously thanking God for having answered her prayers. "That's cool," said I to Tom, now isn't it ? "I rather think it is," replied Tom. "And is the old woman really such a fool as to think that the Lord answered her prayer, and sent her well-baked loaves of bread down the chimney ? " "No doubt of it." |