We have destroyed ourselves by sin, and we cannot be saved but by the unmerited grace of God as displayed in the atoning sacrifice of our Lord Jesus Christ. "Him hath God set

forth as a propitiation, through faith in his blood, to declare his righteousness: that he might be just, and the justifier of him that believeth in Jesus." Rom.3:20-26. There is no other way of salvation. No obedience or suffering of ours can atone for transgression. Christ has suffered for us, and will save us if we go to him. I hope very many of my readers will see that both duty and happiness urge them to take the simple course I have endeavored to describe and illustrate, and that they will now be led to take it, and follow me through the remaining chapters of this book with hearts bent on loving and serving God.

CHAPTER II.

THE FRIEND.

"To whom shall we go?"

THERE is a very excellent infant-school in one of the chief towns of Switzerland, where many young children are collected under the care of a most kind and faithful superintendent, to receive moral and intellectual instruction. When a new pupil is admitted, she looks with fear and trembling upon the strange scene before her. A large open room is filled with the children standing in rows or collected in busy groups, and in the pleasant play-ground, verdant with grass and trees, many others are seen full of activity and happiness.

It is the custom, whenever a new scholar enters the school, for the teacher to collect all the children in the great room, extending them in a line around it; and then he walks into the midst, leading the little stranger by the hand, and something like the following conversation ensues.

TEACHER. "Here is a little girl who has come to join our school. She is a stranger, and is afraid. Will you all promise to treat her kindly?"

PUPILS. All answering together. "Yes, sir, we will." TEACHER. "She has told me that she will try to be a good girl and to do her duty, but sometimes she will forget, I am afraid, and sometimes she will yield to temptation and do wrong. Now which of the older children will be her little friend, to be with her for a few days till she becomes acquainted with the school, and tell her what she ought to do, and help her to watch herself, that she may avoid doing wrong?"

Several voices at once: "I will, I will, sir."

The teacher then selects from those who thus volunteer, one of the best and oldest children, and constitutes her the friend and protector of the stranger. They are together wherever they go. A strong mutual attachment springs up between them. If the stranger is injured in any way, the protector feels aggrieved: kindness shown to one touches almost as effectually the other, and thus the trembling stranger is guided and encouraged, and led on to duty and to strength by the influence of her protector, though that protector is only another child.

We all need a protector, especially in our moral interests. The human heart seems to be formed to lean upon something stronger than itself for support. We are so surrounded with difficulties and temptations and dangers here, that we need a refuge in which we can trust. Children find such a protector and such a refuge in their parents. How much safer you feel in sickness, if your father or your mother is by your bedside. How often, in a summer evening, when a dark heavy cloud is thundering in the sky, and the window glitters with the brightness of the lightning, do the children of a family sigh for their father's return, and feel relieved and almost safe when he comes among them. But when man is mature he can find no earthly protector. He must go alone, unless he has a friend above. We should have needed such a friend even if we were not a fallen race; but now, the true friend of man must be the sinner's friend. We are all, young and old, in perishing need of one who can deliver us from the dreadful penalty of sin, and extricate us from its fatal dominion.

We should wish a protector and friend to possess two distinct qualifications, which it is very difficult to find united: that he should be our superior both in knowledge and power, so that we can confide in his protection; and yet nave been in the same circumstances with ourselves, that he may understand and appreciate our necessities.

Now my object in this chapter is, to endeavor to show my readers that they need, and that they can have, for their safe guidance through life, just such a protector and friendone that has power to save to the uttermost, and yet one that knows by his own experience all your trials and cares. I know that if any of you go and confess your sins to God, and begin a life of piety now, yet you will, without aid from above, wander away into sin, forget your resolutions, displease God more than ever, and more than ever destroy your own peace of mind. I wish, therefore, to persuade all those who desire to be delivered from sin and death, and henceforth to love and serve God, to come now and unite themselves in indissoluble bonds with the moral Protector and Friend whose character I am about to describe.

In the epistle to the Hebrews, second chapter and sixteenth verse, there occurs the following remarkable passage: "For verily he," that is, Christ, "took not on him the nature of angels; but he took on him the seed of Abraham. Wherefore in all things it behooved him to be made like unto his brethren, that he might be a merciful and faithful Highpriest in things pertaining to God." Here you see how the two qualifications named above were united in our Saviour. He might have come from heaven and died upon the cross to make atonement for our sins, without suffering as he did so long a pilgrimage below, as a "man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief." But he came and lived here thirty years, tasted of every bitter cup which we have to drink, and thus knows by experience all our trials and troubles, and is able more effectually to sympathize with us and help us. He took not on him the nature of angels, but he took on him the seed of Abraham, that is, the nature of man.

I wish my readers would pause, and reflect a moment upon these two elements in the character of a valuable protector, namely, power and sympathy, and consider how

seldom they are united. I will give one or two examples which may help to illustrate the subject.

A mother with a large family, and but slender means to provide for their wants, concluded to send her eldest son to sea. She knew that though the toils and labors of a seafaring life were extreme, they could be borne, and they brought with them many pleasures and many useful results. She agreed, therefore, with a sea-captain, a distant relative of hers, to admit her boy on board his ship. The captain became really interested in his new friend-said he would take good care of him, teach him his duty on shipboard, and help him on in the world, if he was diligent and faithful.

The boy looked with some dread upon the prospect of bidding farewell to his mother, to his brothers and sisters, and his quiet home, to explore unknown and untried scenes, and to encounter the dangers of a stormy ocean. He however bade all farewell, and was soon tossing upon the waters, feeling safe under his new protector. He soon found, however, that the captain had power, but that he had not sympathy. He would sometimes, in a stormy night, when the masts were reeling to and fro, and the bleak wind was whistling through the frozen rigging, make him go aloft, though the poor boy, unaccustomed to the giddy height, was in an agony of terror, and in real danger of falling headlong to the deck. The captain had forgotten what were his own feelings when he was himself a boy, or he would probably have taught this necessary part of seamanship in a more gentle and gradual manner. He thought the boy ought to learn, and his want of sympathy with his feelings led him to a course which was severe, and in fact cruel, though not intentionally so.

The captain never spoke to his young charge, except to command him. He took no interest in his little concerns. Once the boy spent all his leisure time industriously in rigging out a little ship complete. "This," thought he, "will please