Resting on the keystone of the arch of the principal door was a figure of our Lord bending down from the cross, and under it the Latin inscription, "Copiosa Apud Eum Redemptio:" "With Him is plenteous redemption,'" Mr. Hamilton said. "I would the words were in English, that every one might read."

That was all; but in that brief moment a view of heaven's Royal Sufferer, the Lord of Life and Glory, had risen before me, agonized, bleeding, dying, and for whom?-for His rebel creatures-for sinners; and an overpowering sense of the immeasurable love which brought Him to the cross began to pervade my whole being. I looked around: it seemed as if I had been sleeping, and only now awoke to find myself in a new world. Did the people with whom I was walking know of it? Why was not every one speaking of such a tremendous transaction-a stupendous sacrifice, in view of which it appeared the very stones should cry out? I felt I could not proceed farther questions kept ringing through my heart and brain. For whom was it? Was it for every one? Why was not every one saved? How far did it avail? Withdrawing my hand from Elinor Hamilton's arm, I said, with my old decision, I wished to return to the hotel alone. I believe she began to protest; but I felt her father's eye upon me (he had much discernment and insight into character), and I was free to do as I pleased. I hastened back; I locked the door; and in the privacy of my own. chamber I asked, "For whom, Lord ?"

"With Him is plenteous redemption." Redemption from what? Could it be from the guilt and dreadful consequences of sin?-from condemnation here and hereafter? "Plenteous!" Oh yes, it must be! And the price?—His own life; the precious blood of God's Son! Then another verse came following upon and closely linked with this: “He is able to save unto the uttermost all that come unto God by Him;" and I knew there was a mighty provision made, and for whom it availed, and felt there was mercy even for me; for though I had gone astray like a sheep that

was lost, I was not beyond the reach of God's "uttermost."

The tears I shed were of mingled joy and sorrow. I had called myself a sinner, and grieved for the wrong done to myself, and what I had lost; but now I saw all this in a different light. I saw the relation in which I stood to God, and grieved for the dishonour done to Him-the return His love had met. I was ready to exclaim with the Psalmist, "Against Thee, Thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil in Thy sight." "Thou hast set our iniquities in the light of Thy countenance." And yet I saw, too, that all I had done was fully atoned for; the debt paid. Fully; for there was no mistaking the dying cry from those lips echoing back to us for over eighteen hundred years," It is finished?" and, like the poor slave of whom I have since read, I clung to the hand that freed me. Henceforth I was to stand in what was the ground of my acceptance-all that He did and is; as He—my Deliverer-stood in my room and stead a willing substitute, and answered for my sin. Thus nothing was made of a work within me then; much of a work without me. I had caught sight of an object which completely precluded all idea of self-worthiness. I looked to the "Author and Finisher;" not to my own feelings, faith, or firmness for salvation.

I was so full of my own blessed reflections that I did not attempt to hide them from the Hamiltons when they returned.¦ I could not conceal the bright light in my face, or the tears upon my cheeks. I am sure the girls thought me mad; but Mr. Hamilton took my hand between both his own, saying, kindly and solemnly, "My child, it is all true: we profess to believe it; but we have been half-asleep—or dead."

Then, as the tea-things were removed and we were left without fear of interruption, he said, "Let us pray ;" and we each knelt with him as he poured forth his soul as I had never heard him do before, and knew he too was bowed in i spirit at the feet of the Giver of Life. And I do believe, "in the day when the Lord writeth up the people," it shall

be recorded of that dear old room, in that dear old hotel, in that dear old town, "This, and that man were born there!"

From that time Mr. Hamilton's preaching became much more earnest and awakening. He spoke like a man who was under deep conviction of the importance of his message, and pleaded as if for life. I felt its solemnising and refreshing power; for the "old, old story" has ever a sweet new sound, even to the believer who has built all his hopes upon it. But for a long time this seemed the only result. Gradually, however, there was a perceptible "shaking among the dry bones;" people came from a distance to hear the good news, and the little church was thronged. Inquirers were met and encouraged, and prayer-meetings established. Mrs. Hamilton joined in the movement as one who had crept out of an ice-house to bask in some pleasant glow, rather than with the full burst of new-found joy; which confirms my present opinion of her. Truly that was a blessed season; a "time of refreshing from the presence of the Lord," long confined to our parish alone. At length there arose a little cloud out of the sea like a man's hand," and the waiting souls rejoiced, for there was "a sound of abundance of rain." It is not my purpose to trace a work with which even the unthinking public are familiar, or show how the wave of blessing spread. It has been our joy to know that in no place was it more real or lasting, or has it evidenced its sincerity more thoroughly by the constant, steady walk of its converts, than in the secluded district where my scenes have been laid. I never dwell upon the everlasting ascription of praise without recalling the untutored exclamation of one of our poor countrymen, who, trusting in a Saviour's finished work, looked forward to a home in the 66 many mansions above: "If ever I get in there, He will never hear the end of it!"

Mr. Hamilton and many of the earnest workers have long since passed away, in "the full assurance of faith." They "fought a good fight, and finished their course." Soldiers of Christ, well done!

One by one,

Their brows are inclosed in a golden crown,
Their travel-stained garments are all laid down,
And, clothed in white raiment, they rest on the mead
Where the Lamb loveth His chosen to lead,

One by one."

Elinor is married to an earnest man who now labours in her father's room and stead. But yesterday I received a letter from her, in which she ascribes her first serious impressions to her father's prayer in the scene already related. "I could not understand your joy," she says: "I could not mistake his earnestness."

E. E. H.

For Me."

ow very obedient your little daughter seems," observed a lady to a friend she was visiting; "and so really useful too! I could quite envy you."

"Yes, she is a great comfort to me; especially since I've been so much laid aside but I hope your little ones are not disobedient ?"

"No; I've always insisted on their obeying me. I think it's of the first importance in their training: but I find it often needs a strong effort of authority; sometimes quite a struggle. I suppose it's a difference in children's characters."

Her invalid friend looked thoughtful, and was about to answer, when the little girl whose ready fulfilling of some wish of her mother's had given rise to the above conversation, came bounding into the room.

Mother, give me something else to do for you."

Yes, dear; if you will go now and amuse yourself in

the garden till I send for you, you shall come and do some sewing for me."

The visitor looked fairly puzzled.

exactly the reverse of mine," she said.

"Your way seems

"I often have to

promise my Gracie some pleasure as a reward for doing a little plain needlework; but it certainly never occurred to me to tell her she should sew as a reward for amusing herself. Do you like work, Winnie?"

The little girl shook her head.

"Then I suppose you'll be sorry when you have to come in from your play to do your sewing ?"

"Oh no; that's for mother," Winnie answered; as if this explanation must be all-sufficient for her questioner; and then she ran away.

"Now I think I have the clue," the lady exclaimed. "The work being 'for mother' seems to make all the difference in Winnie's eyes."

"Yes," the mother answered, smiling. "I think the dear child's love for me is the secret of her ready obedience. It often strikes me as an illustration of the true spirit of service towards our Father in heaven, and of the only motive which can make our obedience pleasing to Him. You and I may sometimes be glad to be served by our children for the service' sake; but how differently the service comes even then, when they love to render it: and our heavenly Father, whose ministers are angels, can only value our poor services according to the love which prompts them. And then again, what a great difference it makes to ourselves if we are doing His will from a sense of duty, or a spring of personal love, and the happy sense that He needs us. Perhaps you have not enough put such a motive forward in claiming your little one's obedience ?"

66

Perhaps not but my saying to my child, 'Do this or that for me,' won't make her love me as Winnie seems to love you."

Well, of course, there must be the love first: but I do believe that to make a child's obedience to our wishes a