and explained to me that he is subject to frequent attacks of most excruciating toothache; that these attacks come on suddenly, without any warning; and that the only ease he can obtain from their furious assaults is the immediate application of diluted salt; that, in fact, if he did not wash his mouth and gums with very strong salt and water he should almost go mad with the pain. These are the young doctor's own words, friend Green; and he added that, because his vocation calls him out at any hour of the day and night, he has found it necessary to have the remedy always at hand. Saying this, the young doctor pulled out his bottle, and begged me to taste what was in it. This I did, to satisfy him, not because I could not take his word.

“Then he told me that your horror-stricken looks, friend Green, on coming upon him unawares, had completely unnerved him; and he had no doubt that (having seen how he was occupied) you had gone away with the impression of his having been spirit-drinking, and that such a suspicion breathed against him would be fatal to his reputation. 'Oh,' said I, 'I will set all that right. I shall see Green to-morrow, and I will explain it all.' And now I have done it; and that's

my story, friends."

"I wish you had mentioned it before, and so prevented my making a fool of myself," said Mr. Green. "However, I am obliged by your having told me now; and I am sorry, too, for having done Dr. M

thoughts. But still

a wrong, even in my

"I would not have any 'buts' and 'stills,' if I were you, brother Green," said Mr. Brown. "We were both of us too ready, perhaps, to take up a reproach against our neighbour, that's the truth, and though, now it is explained, it seems a silly thing enough, it is not so silly that mischief might not have been done. Let us be thankful that it has not."

"And now," added Mr. White, "having vindicated the young doctor's fair fame, let me take up the cudgels for his wife, with whom Mrs. White happens to be particularly well

acquainted. Shall I tell you what is her opinion of the lady?"

Mr. Brown nodded; so did Mr. Green.

"Well, then, she thinks Mrs. M

to be one of the most lovely, amiable, and truly Christian ladies she has ever had the privilege of knowing."

"But what about the servant's story ?" asked Brown.

"Simply this: the girl was discharged for dishonesty; and out of revenge for being found out and summarily dismissed, she has trumped up a charge against her kind-hearted mistress of being bad-tempered and niggardly. And, unhappily, as it seems, there are those who do not think it beneath them to hear and repeat the stories."

"Ahem! it may be as you say; and as you have the means of knowing about it, of course it is as you say; but, brother White-brother White" (so said his friend Green, with sudden alacrity), "are you not yourself doing what you have condemned in me-cursing the deaf, and putting a stumblingblock in the way of the blind ?"

"In what way, friend Green ?"

"Why, in talking against a poor servant who is absent, and so may be considered as both deaf and blind. How about the law of charity now, friend White?" asked Mr. Green, rather triumphantly.

"The wise man, or rather the inspired book, tells us, brother, that there is a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;' and the law of charity bids me vindicate the character of a Christian friend against slander. It is true the girl is not present; but as, to your knowledge, and mine also, she has not scrupled to speak revengefully of her late mistress, I think I am right in exposing her motives, by saying what I know to be strictly true."

66

Well, friend White, you have given us both a lecture, at all events," said Mr. Brown; "and for my own part, I thank you for it. We are all too apt, I am afraid, to give too much freedom to our tongues-at least, I know that I am. The tongue is a little member, to be sure; but it is an unruly evil.

Too often out of the same mouth proceedeth blessing and cursing; and I am sure we can all echo the apostle's words, 'My brethren, these things ought not so to be.""

"Right and right," said Mr. Green; and so the subject was for that time dropped.

The True Believer's Creed.

HERISH clear, deep, solid, unfading views of the Saviour's work; a work so perfect, that the sinner can neither add nor take away from it,—— a work which insures peace to the guilty, pardon to the offending, light to the blind, life to the dead. Beware of dishonouring Christ by doubting of his power or willingness to save, because you feel yourself unworthy, sinful, and weak. Faith honours him by believing. "What must I do?" cried the jailer; "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ," was Paul's reply. Salvation is wholly of faith, from first to last. This is the grand discriminating principle between true Scriptural evangelical religion, and all mere imitations or assumptions of that title. Our paradox is, that weakness is strength. The soul, that by faith, through grace, is saved without works, obtains an inward principle of love which must work, cannot but work, and actually does work. First, God loved us; secondly, thence we obtain faith to trust him; thirdly, we are thus saved: fourthly, we there fore love him who first loved us; fifthly, this love produces good thoughts, words and works, as the fruits, not the root of our salvation. Thus is he the Author and Finisher of our faith, and the Author of Salvation to all them that obey him. He has promised to all, as well as to David, to perfect that which concerneth his people; whom he loveth, he loveth to the end; trust him, therefore, evermore. Such is the Christian's doctrinal, practical and experimental creed.

Legh Richmond.

WHEN God takes away our comforts he still leaves us himself, the source and centre of all comfort: "Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end."

Destruction is wholly from ourselves, salvation is wholly from God: "Thou hast destroyed thyself; but in me is thine help."

God always hates sin, and loves the sin-hating sinner; such have at least one part of his image.

We cannot really love God without hating sin; nor really hate sin without loving God.

If God is on your side, nothing can really hurt you; if God is against you, nothing can be really a blessing to you.

He that trusts the promises most firmly, will observe the precepts most cheerfully.

Contentment makes a believer rich, while plenty leaves the sinner poor. There never was a smooth, easy path to heaven yet, and while man is a sinner there never will be; and therefore leave off expecting it. Entire resignation to God's will is one of the holiest and happiest frames we can be in on this side heaven.

Death brings us to a dreadful alternative; it must then be heaven or hell! If death were to arrest me now, which would it be? Some make mountains of duties, and trifles of sins; such souls are under a deception.

Afflictions always make us better, or leave us worse; they never leave us in the same state they found us.

There is only one thing that makes God weary, and that is sin; hence he complains, "Thou hast wearied me with thine iniquities."

WAS born in 1795; so that I am nearly as old as the London Missionary Society. Were I young again, gladly would I follow in the track

of my son-in-law, Dr. Livingstone, to preach the gospel in the regions through which he has been making his way. But this cannot be my privilege. I am not unlike one of your steamers on the Thames here; the hulk" (placing his hand on his breast) "may look sound enough, but the works are gone. In the language of my native land, 'I'm wearing awa',' my friends, I am wearing awa'!'"

These simple and touching words were among the first utterances of the venerable Robert Moffat, upon landing in this country about two months ago, after having laboured in South Africa as a missionary for upwards of half a century. During that long period he had only once set his foot on English soil, and, but for failing health, the friends who were boys with collecting cards when he was in the prime of life, and who have ever since followed his course with the most loving interest, would never have seen him again. The man who could kill serpents, and throw stones at crocodiles, and go to sleep with the roar of lions as his lullaby, always grew "nervous" in the thought of appearing before an English audience. His home was among the children of the wilderness; and if it had been God's will, gladly would he have found a grave, amongst those whom he had been instrumental in turning from darkness to light, and in bringing from a barbarism more than ordinarily fierce and degraded into the peaceful civilization resulting from the acceptance of the gospel of Christ.

It was in the autumn of 1816 that Mr. Moffat left London for Africa; John Williams, "the Martyr of Erromanga," his early friend and fellow-labourer, having been designated to the work of God on the same occasion. Of those who began at the same period with himself the career of missionary toil,