more relaxed, we may hear of many openly professing their faith in the Saviour.* Such is our work in India. In all these various ways we seek to bring before the natives of India, educated and illiterate, men and women, boys and girls, the one gospel of the grace of God, which alone can save their souls. WINNING SOULS. ONE bright Sabbath morning, some years ago, Mr. Lovejoy-the minister of a certain charge-was on his way to his loved school, where throngs of little ones with smiling faces waited to greet him. In passing an old half-demolished building, he heard a sound within that made his loving heart quail. It was the voice of childhood uttering vile oaths and blaspheming the name of the Most High. Full of the spirit of his Master, he entered, and with a gentle "Good morning, boys," addressed a group of filthy, ragged young creatures, who had apparently lost, in corrup、 tion and sin, the Divine impress. They were much startled-and the largest, a boy of perhaps fourteen years, who seemed to be the leader, whispered, "We'll cotch it now, youngsters," while he gave Mr. Lovejoy a look of defiance, and let fall a pack of cards which he was trying to thrust hastily into his pocket. But the tone of that" Good morning, boys," was so kind, so full of tenderness, it did not sound like a policeman's at all-and the face smiled at them so sweetly they did not try to get away. "These are very pretty cards, my little fellows-what do you do with them ?" said the minister, picking up a and looking at it. one “We plays ’um,” answered a little ten-year old, with bright blue eyes, peering up from a very much neg lected, dirt-begrimed visage, into his face. "There's a heap of fun in playing cards, ain't there?" They looked at him, then at each other, in astonishment. Was he in earnest? Did he really approve of playing cards; or did he intend to trick them? Comprehending their suspicions, he continued: "You see, it's been so long since I played, I've almost forgotten-but I believe they are pretty playthings." 66 Why, did you ever play cards?" they asked, drawing around him, quite fearless now of any trickery. "Yes, I played one game onceand I think it was the funniest thing I ever did play; but perhaps it was not just like the games you play." "How did you play 'em ?" "I would show you how I did it, but I am going to Sabbath-school, and cannot stop any longer this morning. I'll tell you what I will do, though. If you will come and go with me, when we all get through with our lessons, then I will tell you all about that game. There are other boys in the school who would love to hear about it too." "Now, really, mister, you don't mean for us to go to Sabba'-school lookin' this here way, do you?" ex claimed the elder boy, looking dubi. *If any desire to know more about this most interesting department of missionary work, full information can be obtained from Mrs. Angus, Regent's Park College. ously at the forlorn appearance of his companions. Certainly. Why not?" "Only just look at our dirt an' our rags. 'Deed, sir, we're not fit to go inter yer fine Sabba'-school. Them stuck-up fellers in there would jest laugh at us; and I tell you, mister, I won't be laughed at by nobody's boy." "Oh, no, they would not, my little man. They love the Lord Jesus too well to displease Him so much as that. They will be glad to have you come, I know." "But I can't go, sir; and I don't see you need care. I ain't nothin' to you, no way." "My poor boy, I love you-and Jesus loves you a great deal more. That is why I care.' After much persuasion he prevailed on them to accompany him. There are schools, I am sorry to learn, that would have thought it a very ludicrous sight, indeed, for their minister to march into their midst, closely followed by eight or ten such looking objects as those whom Mr. Lovejoy presented to his superintendent that morning. Not so that school. New scholars of that stamp were no strange sight. With the example of Him who once on earth went about doing good before them, and His love in their hearts, they gladly welcomed to their number any poor little wanderer, however lost in sin. The little strangers seemed to relish all the exercises wonderfully, and secretly made up their minds to come there every Sunday, and hear about that wonderful Christ who left His Father's beautiful home to live a homeless wanderer, and die such a cruel death, just to save such miserable little wanderers as they. The story to them was new and grand and charming, so much so that they had quite forgotten the promised story about that game of cards, until Mr. Lovejoy began the narration. He and his brother, one day, many years ago, had found under some blackberry-bushes a box packed full of cards. They were delighted with the prize, and hurried home to show it to their mother, who told them that no doubt some vile gambler had hidden them there. He then gave a graphic picture of the terrible evils which his dear wise mother said would arise from card-playing, and how she had tearfully warned them never to have anything to do with what would cause so much sorrow; and how they took the cards, which looked so bright, and with them built a miniature gambling and drinking saloon. Then, setting fire to it, they burned it to the ground. And that, boys, was my first and last game of cards. If everybody would play that think there would be no won. 66 way, I Stop, Mr. Lovejoy; you need not say another word. Your prize is See that large boy, the most unpromising of all those little outcasts, he draws his tattered sleeve across his tear-wet face, saying, "A wicked wretch I've been; I have. That good man said he cared for me-he loved me. Think of that, Richard Flanagin. Who ever talked that way to ye before. Mind, now, ye have played yer last card-ye have broken yer last Sabba'-day." To-day Richard Flanagin is a flaming herald of the Cross;" and he points to a silver-crowned veteran in God's army, saying, " He was th man who cared for my soul !" "CONCERNING JUDAS;" OR, SCENES IN THE LIFE OF A COVETOUS MAN. ACTS i. 16. WE have taken these words from the address of Peter to the disciples, in order to use them as a starting point from which to speak of the fall of Judas. We almost wonder that such a man as he should have found his way into the apostolic band. Did Christ invite him, or was he the zealous scribe who proffered his allegiance with the words, "Master, I will follow Thee whithersoever Thou goest;" and who elicited from Jesus that strange, help-repellant reply, "Foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of man hath not where to lay His head"? Why such a reply? Did the Master see even then that this would-be disciple had "itching fingers" for gain in His service? We purpose to show the downward career of Judas by briefly noticing the successive scenes in which he appears. SCENE I. (John xii. 1-6). The house of Simon the leper at Bethany. A great supper. Jesus and His disciples among the guests. Lazarus there; the traveller who had returned from the unknown country, though without a word to say as to its wonders. Martha there too, busy, bustling, careful, anxious that every one should be comfortable. Mary also, desiring to show the greatness of her love to the Master, and bringing her precious ointment (who can say what self-denial she had had to exercise, to procure that very costly spikenard), and anointing His dear feet, and wiping them with the hair of her head. I can fancy how all looked on in admiration at Mary's gift-all save one. Listen to his words of disapproval: "Why was not this ointment sold for three hundred pence, and given to the poor ?" If we knew nothing more of the speaker, we should say, "What a nice, kind, thoughtful man he seems; how anxious he is for the welfare of the poor. If he had his wish there would not be a hungry man, woman, or child, either in Bethany or Jerusalem!" But the next verse reveals the true reason of his anxiety: "This he said, not that he cared for the poor; but because he was a thief, and had the bag, and bare what was put therein." He care for the poor! Not he; they might starve if he were fed. He was a covetous man, and his covetousness made him a thief! He was the treasurer of the company; he had the bag; he helped himself; and the ointment used in this way instead of being turned into money to go into the common funds, meant so much out of his pocket. His covetousness made him a hypocrite also,-caused him to profess an anxiety, an interest for the poor, which he never felt. A hypocrite! All men have some little respect for sincerity. Who has any for hypocrisy ? Jesus Christ always had a kind word for the poorest vilest sinners who came to Him with sincerity and humility. He had the sternest, sharpest, most stinging words for hypocrites. He called them "fools," "whited sepulchres," "serpents," "generations of vipers!" SCENE II. (Matt. xxvi. 3-16). The chief priests, the scribes, the elders of the people, are assembled together in solemn conclave at the palace of Caiaphas, the high-priest. They are taking counsel together against Jesus of Nazareth. They are becoming aware of the extent of the influence He is exerting over the people; that He is winning their affections. They resolve that, if possible, they will get Him into their hands, and put Him out of the way. The great question is, "How shall it be done?" How best can they carry out their resolution without making a disturbance, a riot amongst the people, who were friendly to Christ? Their council is interrupted by the advent of the man who was so anxious about the poor. He has heard something of their desire, and has come to make a proposition. Here it is: "What will ye give me, and I will deliver Him unto you?" What a wretch! His covetousness makes him a traitor, as well as hypocrite and thief. "What will ye give?" It was not so much a question of sin as of money; he was ready to do the vilest, meanest, most devilish thing, if only they would pay well enough! Are there no followers of Judas in the world now,-men ready to sell their consciences, their friends, anything in fact that can be sold, if only a price high enough can be bid for them? "They covenanted with him for thirty pieces of silver." I have no doubt there was a little haggling as to price. Perhaps he wanted forty pieces of silver; they said twenty; a compromise was effected at thirty; and so, the priests glad to have found so ready and able a helper, Judas glad to be able to do so good a stroke of business, the bargain was concluded, and he went his way from the assembly of these holy men, and began to look out for an opportunity f betraying his Master. SCENE III. (Matt. xxvi. and John xiii.) The twelve are sitting down with their Master; thirteen in all-for the traitor Judas is there. He must have been possessed of consummate impudence to return and sit down with them after the little transaction between himself and the chief priests. The Saviour has told them (and, before this, given them an intimation of the fact, Matt. xx. 18), "Verily I say unto you that one of you shall betray me." Lord, is it I ?" was the sorrowful inquiry of each disciple. Peter, away at the end of the table, beckoned to John, who was reclining on the Saviour's bosom, that he should ask He did ask, and the reply was elicited from Jesus that the man to whom He would give a sop, after dipping it in the dish, was the man-the betrayer. "And he gave it to Judas Iscariot." "And he having received the sop, went immediately out, and it was night." Night! Yes; night without, and night black and awful within his own soul. who it was. SCENE IV. (Matt. xxvi. 47-49). The garden of Gethsemane-night still. The great crisis in the Master's history is past; the thricerepeated prayer of the suppliant has been answered; He has been heard in that He feared, and has received special strength from His Father for the dread future; the agony and bloody sweat are over; He is conversing with and counselling His wearied followers; their conversation is interrupted by the appearance of a multitude of people, a strangely compounded mob, armed with swords and staves, carrying torches, whose light gleamed brightly amidst the gloom of the surrounding trees. Foremost among the band is the thief, the hypocrite, the traitor Judas. He had given them to understand that the person whom he kissed was the man they wanted; so, coming forward to Christ, he said, "Hail, Master," and kissed Him. There is something awe-inspiring in the stern majesty with which Christ asks, "Judas, betrayest thou the Son of man with a kiss?" "And they took Jesus, and led Him away, and brought Him into the high-priest's house;" while we can imagine that Judas, chuckling over the success of his scheme, hurried away to receive the price of his infamy. and I SCENE V. (Matt. xxvii. 3-5). "When he saw that he was condemned." We do not choose to accept the excuse sometimes made for Judas, that "he in his impatience only resorted to a stratagem to induce Jesus the earlier to declare Himself as King of the Jews;" neither do we suppose that he was anxious that his Master should be put to death and the company of disciples dispersed. Not at all. It was an easy pleasant task following this wonder-worker-something of His glory and renown was reflected upon His followers. Besides this, Judas carried the bag, and helped himself, and no doubt made a very comfortable (if not a very honest) living out of it. We fancy that Judas reasoned somewhat in this way: "The chief priests and rulers are bitterly opposed to my Master; sooner or later they will get Him into their power. Now I might as well show them how to secure Him; they will doubtless pay well enough for it. When they do lay hands upon Him, He can, very easily, by the exercise of His miraculous powers, release Himself, so that He will be none the worse, shall be so much the better in pocket by the transaction!" This scheme he carried out, doubtless expecting that Jesus would free Himself; but to his horror he found that Christ was condemned to die, and was quietly submitting to the malice of His foes; that his own little scheme was not working as he anticipated; that different fruit to that which he expected was being brought forth. Then it was that, snatching up the bag, the jingling of the silver in which had once sounded so pleasantly, he hurried into the presence of the priests elders, saying, "I have sinned, in that I have betrayed the innocent blood." He met with but little to console him from them. He had served their purpose; that was all they wanted. A great many of the devil's children share this peculiarity: "What is that to us? see thou to that!" He tried to undo; tried, but found no way. Remorse, regret, misery, filling his soul, perhaps with a curse upon his lips, hurled the bag of silver down at the feet of the priests, departed, and went and hanged himself-went to his own place-went to receive at and he |