for a soothing trickling murmur, and we find ourselves all of a sudden in a quiet pasture, dotted over with cattle and goats chalets nestle under the rocks, cheery voices welcome us, and the words seem to burst from our lips: "This is indeed a green pasture." And so we refresh ourselves in the delightful restfulness, we feast our eyes on the green herbage, the mountain flowers in their rich variety, and the sturdy cattle, that look a kindly wonder at our intrusion. But it must be only a short rest, to recruit our energies for a further, and often a steeper climb, when we are again lost in the grand and the majestic, until we reach the summit.

Travellers by the St. Gothard Pass, from Switzerland into Italy, will recall one of these green pastures, coming into view under circumstances of singular beauty. Ascending the Schöllenen gorge, under towering rocks of granite, whose perpendicular cliffs seem to banish the idea of vegetation, deafened by the roar of the rapid Reuss, leaping and falling wildly, far below, we reach the celebrated Devil's Bridge. A single arch spans the river, which here, as if tired of bondage, makes one fierce bound of a hundred feet; frowning masses of dark granite close in the road, pressing up one behind the other in stern array, as though to bar the passage; the wild wind sweeps fiercely down the gorge, and seems in bitter sport to hurl the spray about at will. One huge mass of rock closes the view, and it takes some time to discover that this has been pierced, and that a short tunnel leads us through it. Short as is the tunnel, scarcely thirty yards, it leads us into another world. A rich meadow land lies before us, intersected by babbling streams, covered with herds, carefully cultivated, dotted with houses and churches-smiling, fruitful, restful. A more wonderful contrast can scarcely be imagined than between the two sides of that rock: a greater feeling of relief and rest to the senses can scarcely be experienced than that offered by the valley and village of Andennatt.

"He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters." Our life, pilgrimage, race, conflict, though it be, has many quiet resting-places provided by the Hand of Love. How often, unexpectedly and inexplicably, the strain of physical and mental effort is relaxed, the sterner aspect of spiritual conflict seems removed for a time, and the soul is given a season of refreshing and invigorating rest, a special sense of still communion with the Father and the Son.

There are special" pastures" ordered by the Shepherd for His flock; our earthly sabbaths, for instance, where the strife and turmoil of earth is hushed, where the excitement of daily labour or professional emulation is suspended, where all disturbing elements are stilled, and the spirit is free to enter into the truest rest: not negative rest, be it remarked; it is not only that the busy hand and eye and brain have not their usual tension to keep up, but positive refreshment is supplied, food for the heart-the beauty of holiness-the joy of the Lord--the bread of Life. Unfettered, unhindered, undisturbed, each soul may in this weekly pasture draw water from the wells of salvation. And shall we give up this privilege? Shall we open the barrier which our Father has closed, and defile His green pasture with the trampings and strifes of daily life? God forbid that we should ever throw away His first gift to man, after having bestowed in him the breath of life.

There are other green pastures which will doubtless suggest themselves to the minds of my readers; times of special spiritual privileges, of precious spiritual intercourse, of peculiarly united prayer, bright bits interspersed even in the daily labour, and in the excitement and turmoil of the claims of busy life. The sides of our mountains are lit up with many a bright green alp, but many more are the bright bits of rest which our Father sends us to cheer us

on our way.

But He who knoweth our frame, and who "careth for 16," often provides some special "green pasture" for those

whom He sees are over-weary in life's struggle. How often it is the case that when mind and body have been exceptionally active, when some especial and long-continued strain has well-nigh worn out the powers, when the spiritual life is flagging after the steepness of the ascent, when the "worker" has been too much in the ascendant, and the "Master" too little thought of, then He gently lays His hand on us, and stops us by sickness or trial. His voice whispers, "Come apart, and rest awhile" the cares and anxieties to which we perhaps unconsciously clung are snapped, the work in which we thought we were essential goes on without us. The Master bids the servant rest; the Shepherd maketh His sheep to "lie down in green pastures."

Oh! those still sick-room teachings! When perhaps too weak or weary to form distinct thoughts or utter distinct prayers, God just breathes Himself into His child's life. He does all, and simply teaches the weary one to lean hard. The resting place is varied: sometimes our own sick-room, sometimes that of another, sometimes the enforced seclusion of bereavement; but the Shepherd always chooses the right pasture when He invites us to be alone with God."

66

Reader! don't hurry past the green pastures: This is a busy age; there is much to do, great obstacles to overcome, mighty torrents to stem, hard steeps to climb. Even if you are working for God, it is possible for your work to degenerate into routine and mechanism; you are in danger of losing the "fresh springs." And if your work is only secular, however interesting and engrossing it may be, there is all the greater need of "coming apart," and feeding on Him.

Don't dally in the pastures. It is quite possible to forget everything in our own spiritual enjoyment; and, while being taught more deeply, or learning more closely the things that belong to our peace, to become absorbed in ourselves, and forget the great work of the Lord in which He calls us to take part. The green pastures are for us to

rest in, not to dwell in. We are not yet at the mountain top, there is more strife before us; how much we know not; but having been permitted to rest awhile, we are to take up our staff afresh and set forward to gain further heights and richer victories through Him who loved us.

Don't let the green pastures be unproductive. Let the privilege tell on the life. As the alps are the most fertile spots on the mountains, so should the green pastures fertilise our lives. Let the Sunday tell on the week, the Christian intercourse be reflected in our communications with the world, and the season of special providential teaching send us forth more humble, more dependent, more clinging, and therefore stronger in Christ, who says: "Herein is My Father glorified, that ye bear much fruit."

A

The Bagged Edge.

GENTLEMAN was going down Oxford Street, London, one night, when he passed a girl of about seventeen who looked very sad. He was a Christian, and he turned towards the girl and said kindly,

"Now do tell me where are you going?"

"To sleep under the trees, in the park, sir, if I can get in," she replied, and then burst into tears. She told the gentleman she had come up from the country eighteen months ago; had taken a situation as a domestic servant, but had had to work so hard and scrub till she injured her knee, and was discharged.

The gentleman helped her for that night, and then took an envelope out of his pocket, and tearing it in two, gave her one half, saying, "Stand with this in your hand near the fountain in Regent Circus to-morrow morning at ten o'clock, when a lady with the other half will speak to you." The girl looked at the ragged edge of that envelope, and put it in her pocket. She came at the time appointed the

next day; found the lady, and presented her part of the envelope. She shortly after obtained a good situation, and gave satisfaction.

66

Now, there is a ragged edge in your heart; all the raggedness of your own needs and failures, your restlessness and bitterness, the raggedness of your own misery and selfishness; and there is One who can meet your need exactly. There is the counterpart for all your needs in Jesus Christ. He is rich if you are poor; He is perfect, though you are sinful; He is strong, though you are weak. We present our wants to Him, and in exchange He gives us the riches of His pardoning love. We bring the tattered edge of our own failures to Him who has never failed, and who is able to save to the uttermost all that come to Him. Am I dead and lifeless ?—He says of Himself, "I am the Resurrection and the Life." Am I defenceless and beset with temptations?-God says, "I am thy shield." Am I hungry and thirsty? Christ says, I am the Bread of Life;" "I am the Living Water." Am I far from home, a wanderer on the face of the earth?-Jesus says, "I am the Good Shepherd;" "The good shepherd layeth down his life for the sheep." Am I fallen into the pit of sin, and my feet in the miry clay ?-Jesus searches for the lost one "until He find it." He stretches out His hand, and lays hold of me with His own strong arm, and lifts me out of the pit, and lays me on His own shoulders rejoicing. Am I in darkness, groping my way in folly?-Christ says, "I am the Light of the World." I am poor and weak, but "all power in heaven and in earth" is given to the Friend of publicans and sinners. Oh! the meeting-place between Christ and the sinner is as a fountain of living waters springing up into everlasting life. I have dealt with Christ as though He had been afar off, but now I see that He is nigh. Men live random lives, perilling eternity for trifles, selling their birthright for a mess of pottage. But it was to those who rejected Him that Christ said, "Nevertheless be assured of this, that the Kingdom of God is come nigh