that the Lord's people are not left to sin on unwarned, and that, though Satan may get a sad victory, it is not a final triumph. "Thanks be to God which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." This is the end. “ Rejoice not against me, O mine enemy: when I fall, I shall arise; when I sit in darkness, the Lord shall be a light upon me.' The just man may fall seven times; but, "Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down for the Lord upholdeth him with His hand." 3 And though these falls should tend to keep him humble, as he is so often constrained to cry out sadly, "Oh, wretched man that I am, the good that I would I do not, the evil that I would not that I do,” yet, ever and anon is heard from the lips of the struggling saint the defiant shout, "I thank God. If God be for us, who

shall be against us?" And

"Satan trembles when he sees

The weakest saint upon his knees."

So when the Lord turned and looked upon Peter as the cock crew, and the whole circumstances of his sin, aggravated; by the previous warning, rushed upon his mind, and the flood-gates of his sorrow being opened, "he went out and wept bitterly," then was the tide of the battle turned; Satan's victory was over; the snare was broken, and he was escaped-bruised and weary with the struggle-but escaped.

One look lives in him, and endears
Crosses and wrongs where'er he rove;
That gracious chiding look, Thy call
To win him to himself and Thee,
Sweetening the sorrow of his fall,
Which else were rued too bitterly."

"Him have I pierced! Oh, I come! I come!

My heart is broken, Lord; it needs nor voice nor word.
One only look brought Peter back of yore:

How bitterly I weep as then he wept.

Henceforth, oh keep me, and I shall be kept."

1 Mic. vii. 8. 2 Prov. xxiv. 16.

3 Psa. xxxvii. 24.

o, sir; I will have no clergyman. I have no wish to see a clergyman. What do you mean, doctor, by asking such a question ?"

An elderly man said this. He was reclining

wearily in a softly-cushioned easy-chair. His countenance was haggard, and his voice was sharp and angry.

Near him was seated another elderly person; and a single glance would have supplied the information that these two were, in relation to each other, patient and physician.

The apartment in which they were was a luxuriously furnished drawing-room in London. The house was in a large square which had once been fashionable; but high fashion had departed still further westward, though wealth remained. Mr. Wellwood, the patient, was a rich man. Dr. Keen thought him to be a dying man; and he had ventured to suggest that his patient might perhaps like to see a clergyman. "When I spoke of a clergyman, sir, I merely meant a minister of religion: of course, if you object to a clergyman, it is not for me

"What are you talking about, doctor?" demanded the patient, hastily. They are all alike, clergyman or minister a parcel of but never mind what I think," added Mr. Wellwood, stopping short, and turning his face towards the half-drawn window-curtains, where sat, evidently watching the conference with painful interest, a child-a girl, some fourteen years old, perhaps; her dark eyes were glistening with tears, and her slight, delicate hands were clasped together and lay listlessly in her lap, as she glanced from one speaker to the other.

"It does not signify what I think," repeated the patient, in a lower, milder tone. Mary, my dear.”

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At the sound of her name the girl sprang towards the aged man, and in a moment was by his side. He whispered in her ear, and she left the room.

“We can speak more plainly now, doctor," continued Mr. Wellwood; "and I wish to know why you propose my sending for a clergyman."

"Life is uncertain, sir," said the physician, softly.

"I could have told you that, doctor, any time within the last fifty years. You must speak more plainly, however: it is essential for me to know; I have much to do yet-that poor

child, for instance;" he said this rather to himself than to his companion; “in plain terms, you think my case desperate ?"

"Pardon me, Mr. Wellwood," replied the doctor, rather discomposed; "I do not say that: I merely feel it my duty to recommend—supposing that you would naturally desire some religious consolation or advice

"You need not go on, doctor; you mean, that having, in your opinion, pretty well done with this world, I should be making preparation for another. Now, in the first place, you know very well that I do not believe in-that is to say, I am not a religious man, doctor; and I have no faith in religious teachers. And, in the second place, I do not know that I have done with this world. I may cheat you yet, doctor."

A few more words, and Dr. Keen took his leave of the patient.

As he passed through the hall, a light hand laid timidly on his arm, and a soft, low voice, arrested his progress. On turning round, he found his patient's granddaughter by his side, looking up to his face, tearful and agitated. The physician was kind-hearted and sympathising. On his former visits, he had, on more than one occasion, noticed the little girl, and so had formed a sort of pleasant acquaintance with her. He rightly guessed what her errand was now, before she spoke.

"I am afraid grandpapa is very ill," whispered Mary Lawson.

“He is ill, certainly, my dear," said the doctor; “but you must not be alarmed. We shall soon witness an improvement, I hope."

"Oh, do you think so really, indeed, sir?" said Mary, appealing to him so earnestly, and with eyes which gleamed with such silent eloquence, that the physician for a moment felt confused. How could he attempt to deceive one so

guileless?

"We use the means, my dear,” he replied; and he laid his hand on Mary's head and smoothed down her dark hair

as he spoke; "but God only knows what the result will be. Believe me, however, that the case is not hopeless; no, no.” "But grandpapa will perhaps die-soon, I mean, sir," persisted the now weeping Mary.

"Nay, let us hope not," rejoined the doctor, gently disengaging himself, and moving towards the door.

"But only, doctor, if I could do anything!" cried she, keeping near the physician, and speaking so suppliantly that he could not but stop once more to listen.

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Oh, it is so sad, so very sad, to think that he must die, and not"Not what, my dear?"

"Not love the Lord Jesus Christ, sir. Oh, if I could do anything," she repeated; and then, again looking into the physician's face, her eyes once more filled with tears, and she slowly withdrew. Perhaps she read in that countenance no encouragement to repose further on his confidence, or to look to him for comfort and direction. No doubt Dr. Keen pitied her distress, but did he understand its cause? Did he remember that it is written, "If any man love not the Lord Jesus Christ, let him be anathema maranatha ?" And would he connect that fearful sentence of eternal condemnation with Mary Lawson's sorrowful exclamation, “It is so very sad to think that he must die, and not love the Lord Jesus Christ ?"

Dr. Keen was very thoughtful and rather disturbed in his mind after he had stepped into his carriage. He was neither unobservant nor unfeeling; and though it could not be said of him that he was deeply imbued with religious principle, he had some degree of veneration and respect for religionat least, for its outward forms.

Now the physician knew very well that his rich patient was an ungodly man; and believing also, as we have said, that Mr. Wellwood was not far from the termination of human life, he had thought it his duty gently to hint at the desirableness of a ministerial visit. "I cannot tell the poor old man that he is a sinner"-this had been the current of his reflections ;-"I have nothing to do with his making his