Now what to do about the child
At first perplexed the pair;

Then one said, "Fred, your rooms are near,
We'd better take him there."

They took him thither: "Mrs. Blake,"
Said Fred, "You will not mind,
To take some trouble with the child,
For you are good and kind.

"And he is just the age of Jim,

Who died on Christmas e'en,
A year ago, who lies at rest
Asleep in Kensal Green."

The woman gazed upon the child,
And tears stole down her cheek:
She made a sign to follow her-
Her heart too full to speak.

She stripped from him the filthy rags,

Cut short his matted hair,

And then she washed him pure and clean
With gentle, kindly care.

How pale his sunken cheek she saw,
His little limbs how thin;

And marks of many a cruel blow

She saw upon his skin.

And then she laid him in the cot,
Where Jim was used to sleep;
And looking on the pale, thin face,
She could not help but weep.

For all the loving mother-heart,
Was stirred within her breast;
Yes, he was like her own dear boy,
Now in the grave at rest.

And then the love-tide in her soul
Broke forth and made its way,

Its wealth to lavish on the child-
The helpless waif and stray.

The night wore past; when morning came,
She saw his cheek flushed red;

He tossed and murmured in his sleep,
And curious things he said.

The fever had laid ho'd of him,
And fastened on his brain;

In the delirium his life

He seemed to live again.

"Oh, please don't beat me, don't," he said,
"There's only three not sold;

Please, please forgive me just this once,
It was so awful cold:

"And I was weary wandering,

They always said, 'Move on ;' And it was no use waiting more, For all the folks were gone.

"So I came home; the money's there,
Yes, every penny, see;

I sold the whole of them to-night-
The whole, except those three.

"Please let me lie down, I'm so tired;
I'll sleep so sound to-night."

Thus spoke the child, then paused, and said, "I think I see a light.

"Yes, yes, mamma, I'll say my prayers,

I promised ere you died.

You bade me trust and follow Christ;
Oh, mother dear, I've tried.

"So you are come for me at last,
To carry me away;

And oh, I am so glad, so glad-
I do not want to stay.

"Are they all there? Is Mary there?
Are Pa and Ben with you?
And little Willie? tell them all
That I am coming too!"

Then fell a silence in the room,

And ceased the labouring breath.
The woman turned to look, and saw
The child was still in death.

Set free for ever from his load,
No more by woe oppressed,
The weary child was with his God,
At home amid the blest.

Three days have passed away, and now

A funeral is seen

To leave the door and pass along-
It goes to Kensal Green.

They do not know the poor child's name,

Whom tenderly they take
And lay within the little grave

Beside their Jamie Blake.

It matters not; he rests in peace,
Full calm in his repose;

And though they do not know his name,
Yet Christ his Saviour knows.

Yes, Jesus knows it-it is writ

Within the book of life,

By Him who giveth to the weak
The conquest in the strife.

Kind hearts who pity took on him

Amid his toil and pain,

Ye have not lost the love ye gave

Ye'll meet it yet again.

For He who knows and sees our ways,

Doth ever bear in mind

All such as love His little ones,

And unto them are kind.

They yet shall hear His blessed words,
When earth her King shall see:
"Since ye have done it unto them,
Ye did it unto Me."

A Sinner, and the Saviour he needs.

IR JAMES SIMPSON, the world-renowned doctor of Edinburgh, lay a-dying. Around that death-bed there gathered from time to time many loving hearts. It was no pain to be there, save for the thought of what the world were about to lose in the death of that "beloved physician," and of what the fondest hearts there were being called to suffer. To be there was like being at a sacrament, so near did it seem to Jesus. It was

"Jesus only" that filled the mind of the dying one, and the simplicity of his trust in Christ was most striking. With eyes that spoke his love, and a countenance beaming with joy, he would say: "It has happily come to this— I am a sinner needing a Saviour, and Jesus is the Saviour I need."

He had not very long been a Christian; but some years before he had found his way to Christ, though he had never been a bad man, he had come to feel that none more needed a Saviour than he did. When one quoted 1 Timothy i. 15: "This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners; of whom I am chief," he answered: "Well may I make use of the words." Gradually, under the influence of dear ones who loved him, and who felt how much happier it would be for himself, and what a power for good to the multitudes who came to him for treatment, if he became a Christian, the mind and heart of Dr. Simpson opened to Christ. So it "happily came to this "-that he felt himself to be a sinner needing a Saviour, and found Jesus to be the Saviour he needed.

Would that every man had the like feeling of his soul's great need! No man will find Christ till he have it, for the simple reason that he will not seek Him. But every man has the need, whether he feel it or not. Some do not feel their need of salvation because they are sleeping in their sin; as a diseased man does not realise his danger, nor feel the pangs of his malady when he is asleep.

Let the slumbering conscience be aroused, let a man come to himself," and realise his miserable state as a sinner against his God, and his mind will begin to inquire what can be done to save him. It was so with the jailer at Philippi. Amid the convulsions of the earthquake that shook the prison the man's conscience awoke, and startled him to a sense of his soul's danger; and now he felt himself to be" a sinner needing a Saviour." So have many souls been startled to a consciousness of their sinfulness, and of

their consequent danger. And many more, with perhaps less convulsion of feeling, but with scarcely less concern at the discovery of their condition, or of agony of mind under the sense of it, have cast hither and thither in search of that which could bring them relief. It is with many as it was with Dr. Simpson; there is a restlessness, an inquiring, an eagerness, an intense concern to understand what the New Testament says about the way of a sinner's salvation. And there is no peace till it "happily comes to this," that the man feels himself to be indeed a sinner needing a Saviour, and that Jesus is the Saviour he needs.

Yes! A sinner, though as moral as Saul of Tarsus! A sinner, though as strict in religious observances as that Pharisee A sinner, though perhaps a Bible-reader, a man who "says his prayers," a regular attendant at a place of worship! A sinner, though society regards him as a very respectable man; though his friends deem him an estimable character! The man who comes to gain views of himself which others cannot have of him, and who sees the depravity within him which may be concealed from the eye of others by outward decorum of conduct, or by respect to religious observances. He may be no hypocrite, making pretence of that which he knows he does not possess. His general habit of life may be very much according to the standard men consider "correct" So it was with the estimable physician we speak of, but who yet came to see that he was "a sinner needing a Saviour." For conscience showed him in how many things he came short of what he ought to be, and how he did not seek in all he did to please God; how, in a word, the standard of his conduct was not God's standard; and how, therefore, he "missed the mark" of a truly godly life. Every man who is thus revealed to himself feels himself to be a sinner.

It is not only the criminal that is a sinner. The criminal is one that is a sinner in the sight of men; but such a one as we describe may be a sinner only in the sight of Godtill he comes to be a sinner in his own sight.