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 pro

tector 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 have 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 66 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.

to sea.

A mother with a large family, and but slender means to provide for their wants, concluded to send her eldest son 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

the captain. He wants me to learn, and this will show him that I have been learning." As he went on, however, from day to day, the captain took no notice of his work. A word or a look of satisfaction from his protector would have gratified him exceedingly. But no, the stern weatherbeaten officer could not sympathize with a child, or appreciate his feelings at all; and one day when the boy had been sent away from his work for a moment, the captain came upon deck, and after looking around a moment, he said to a rough-looking man standing there, "I say, Jack, I wish you would clear away a little here: coil those lines-and that boy's bauble there, you may as well throw it overboard; he never will make any thing of it."

Commands on board ship must be obeyed; and the poor cabin-boy came up from below just in time to catch the captain's words, and to see his little ship fly from the sailor's hands into the waves. It fell upon its side-its sails were drenched with the water, and it fast receded from view. The boy went to his hammock and wept bitterly. His heart was wounded deeply, but the stern captain did not know it. How could he sympathize with the feelings of a child?

And yet this captain was the real friend of the boy. He protected him in all great dangers, took great care of him when in foreign ports, that he should not be exposed to sickness nor to temptation. When they returned home he rec ommended him to another ship, where, through the captain's influence, he had a better situation and higher wages, and he assisted him in various ways for many years. Now this boy had a protector who had power but not sympathy.

This boy, however, might have had a friend who would have sympathized with him fully, but who would have had no power. I might illustrate this case also by supposing, in the next ship which he should enter, that the captain should feel no interest in him at all, but that he should have

with him there a brother, or another boy of his own age, who would be his constant companion and friend, entering into all his feelings, sympathizing with him in his enjoyments and in his troubles, but yet having no power to protect him from real evils, or to avert any dangers which might threaten. I might suppose such a case, and following the boy in imagination into the new scene, I might show that sympathy alone is not sufficient. But it is not necessary to do this. All my readers, doubtless, already fully understand the distinction between these two, and the necessity that they should be united in such a protector as we all need.

The great Friend of sinners unites these. He is "able to save to the uttermost all that come unto God through him," for "he ever liveth to make intercession for us ;" and he can fully sympathize with us in all our trials and cares, for he has been upon the earth, suffering all that we have to suffer, and drinking of every cup which is presented to* our lips. He became flesh, that is, he became a man, and dwelt among us; so that, as the Bible most forcibly and beautifully expresses it, "we have not a high-priest which cannot be touched with a feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin.”

It must be borne in mind, that our Saviour did not commence his public ministrations till he was thirty years of age. Thirty years he dwelt among us, learning, in his own slow and painful experience, what it is to be a human being in this world of trial. Have I a reader who is only ten or twelve years of age ? Remember, the Saviour was once as young as you-exposed to such little difficulties and trials as you are. He has gone through the whole, from infancy upward, and he does not forget. You may be sure, then, that he is ready to sympathize with you. If any thing is great enough to interest you, you may be sure it is great enough to interest him in your behalf. He remembers his