in the old churchyard. He lingered in the church after the rest were gone. He desired to be alone. The place was sacred and inexpressibly dear to him. It had been his spiritual home from his youth. Before this altar he prayed over the dead forms of bygone generations, and had welcomed the children of succeeding ones; and now to be told that his work was no longer owned and blessed! No one remained, no one? "Only a boy." He watched the trembling man. His soul was filled with loving sympathy. He went to him, and laid his hand on his black gown. "Well, Robert?" said the minister. "Do you think if I were willing to work hard for an education, I could ever become a preacher?" "A preacher?" "Perhaps a missionary." There was a long pause. Tears filled the eyes of the minister. At length he said, "This heals each ache in my heart, Robert. I see the divining Hand now. May God bless you, my boy. Yes, I think you will become a preacher." Some few years ago there returned to London from Africa an aged missionary. His name was spoken with reverence. When he went into an assembly the people rose; when he spoke in public there was a deep silence. Princes stood uncovered before him, nobles invited him to their homes, and on one occasion he was presented with a sum of five thousand guineas in recognition of his great services. He had added a province to the church of Christ on earth; he had brought under the gospel influence the most savage of African chiefs; had given the translated Bible to strange tribes; had enriched with valuable knowledge the Royal Geographical Society, and had honored the humble place of his birth, the old Scottish church, the United Kingdom and the universal missionary cause. The Who was the boy? Who was the minister? latter is forgotten. He sleeps beneath the trees in the humble place of his labors, but men remember his work because of what he was to that one boy, and what that boy was to the world. "Only a boy that had joined the church," but that boy was the great missionary Robert Moffatt. Had he neglected church and mingled with bad company and formed bad habits, what a great work would have been left undone, what an obscure life he would have lived, and the name so universally known would never have been uttered with reverence as it is now! BEE HUNTING. Of hunting bees, one writer has said that the manner of catching them is very ingenious. He puts a piece of honeycomb into a box. Then he catches a bee and covers him within the box. As soon as the fright of the prisoner is overcome, he moves about, tastes the honey and is satisfied. The prison becomes a home. Being loosed, he finds his way back to the hive and in a little time returns, bringing others with him. He has told the secret story of his find to his former associates, and they in turn follow him back until the bee-hunter's box is filled with a swarm of bees. This is God's appointed way of building up His church and saving the race. He first reveals Himself to one soul, entrancing him with His love and thrilling his soul with the joys of salvation. This one, having tasted the sweetness of forgiveness and the joy of hope, goes to another, narrating his experience and discovery, and he in turn finds another, until one by one he brings them into the great church hive. Andrew brings Peter, (John 1:41) Philip brings Nathaniel, (John 1: 45) Joel Stratton brings Gough, Robert Eaglen brings Spurgeon, and you, some other boy. O, , my boy, attend church regularly. If you are not a member, become one. Then tell the story of Jesus and His love. Seek to bring others to church, for if the House of God is the Gate to Heaven, what must Heaven be? If the songs of Zion, the gospel preached and prayers offered are cheering and helpful, what must it be to be in the presence of Him who is the key-note of all songs; the sum and substance of all truth, the way, and the life? Can you not say: "I love Thy church, O God; For her my tears shall fall; For her my prayers ascend; |