Quickly the tidings spread, and from the town and surrounding villages, the inhabitants flocked in multitudes to gaze on the sad spectacle. The brave rough men, who had looked the direst danger in the face to save the lives of their fellow-creatures, stood dubitating. There was the distant ship beating on the sands-those terrible Goodwin Sands, the dread of the home-bound mariner-seen plainly enough every time the heaving waves bore it into sight, and between the almost impassable gulph of waters lashed into foaming rage by the mighty winds. Not long, however, did those courageous boatmen stand looking on. They resolved to launch forth in the very teeth of the storm. And so they did, those gallant hearts, and their wives and children pressed near to wish them good bye, fearful lest they should see their faces

no more.

After considerable exertion one boat got off, and then another, and another, dashing in frightful majesty through the spurning surge. We soon lost sight of them except as they appeared on the top of each rising wave. How anxiously we watched! Around each individual who had a glass the spectators congregated in eager groups. Our excitement was divided between the boats and the stranded vessel. Every billow that brought it into sight was quickly scanned to see if it still survived. The excitement was becoming immense. If the ship could live a few minutes more the boats would be there. Some said, The next sea would break her up; others said, It would not go to pieces yet.

The only hope lay in the boats. How long the time appeared before they reached the sands! At length they were there, seen distinctly for a moment on the crest of a wave, and then the trough hid them. When we caught sight of them again they had passed the ship, which immediately after was completely beaten to pieces. And now every glass was turned to

the boats. Rapidly they had tacked about, and were re-crossing the Downs. Did they come back empty, or had they saved the crew? Anxiously we waited till they appeared more plainly and we could discern their human freights. Then from one knot to another went the tidings that each boat was full.

An awful silence had brooded over the vast multitude that lined the coast. The only sounds which caught the ear were the sullen and wild dashing roar of the ocean on the shingle, and an occasional inquiry from some disquieted looker-on. Now, a murmur sprang up like a breeze after a dead calm; and, when the boats manfully dashed through the surge and rested far up the beach, it seemed as if each tongue had been suddenly unloosed. Shout after shout resounded along the shore.

As I walked down to the boats I felt proud of my countrymen, and gloried in the name of Englishman! I quite understood how some of those old and worn people, who were obliged to support themselves by their crutches, seemed to forget their infirmities as they endeavoured to join the younger and stronger in their loud exclamations. I quite understood the tear which was in many an eye, tears of proud joy; for it was their husbands, their boys, who had rescued from a watery grave those shipwrecked mariners.

A day or two after I was at the same spot again. The sea was calm as a vast mirror, and the rays from the distant lighthouse gleamed across its bosom. I heard the soft liquid sound of the tide as it died away on the pebbly shore. I thought of that strange tumult of wild ecstacy, and I could no longer wonder there was "joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth." And I thought how much this life was like the storm-tossed sea. Every eircumstance rolls on bringing danger and death. We know not what an hour may produce, neither are we acquainted with the consequences of the most trivial actions. And in

the strife with those things which daily changing, yet do daily stand about us, and in stern voice command us to do their bidding, and not the biddings of the great God and eternal right, how many, alas! are thrown on some great sin, which, like the sands, alternately allure and then cast off, till their destruction is complete. Which, of all the human race, cannot point to some shoal where he found himself the prey, a great devouring evil, and unable to deliver himself?

Perhaps the person who may be reading this tract (which I fling forth from my heart like bread on the waters, hoping it may reach yours) perhaps you are now foundering on some such sand-bank. The firm land is far a-head, and your iniquity is moaning around, crying for your blood, your life, your soul. Dragging you down, wearing you away till you sink into eternal depths-depths of woe from which you will never rise more. I know the wild pleasure, the insane reckless feelings of gratification there is in the perpetration of wrong. I know, also, your utter inability, of yourself, to do anything for your own salvation. I know the terrible death there is before you, and the awful waking at the last moment into the painful consciousness of your lost condition. I know all this; and I tell you of it because I know there is help at handOne near who is "mighty to save." Have not you heard his voice above the fierce wailings of the storm, "I am come to seek and to save that which was lost" "? In moments when this mad life of continual excitation seemed "stale, flat, and unprofitable,' was there no voice which said, "Come unto Me all ye that are heaven laden, and I will give you rest"? Oh, my friend, it is because there is hope for you that I tell you the costs of your continuance in sin and disregard of the commands of the Most High. It is because Christ has braved the perils and dangers to which we are exposed; it is because He went forth calmly from

the bosom of his Father to be taken by wicked hands and scornfully ill-treated and slain; it is because He * his life a gave ransom for the many, I ask you to turn from your wickedness; to turn to so kind and loving a friend and Saviour as the Lord Jesus Christ, and listen to his Divine teachings. "He that heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them, I will liken him unto a wise man who built his house upon a rock; and the rains descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house, and it fell not, for it was founded on a rock."

He became a man of sorrows, that He might bear away your woe and the burden of your guilt. He wore a crown of thorns that you might wear a crown of glory. He made the stern acquaintance of grief that He might open to you a "far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory." He became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross, that He might save you from the second death, and the outer darkness of banishment from the presence of the Lord. He entered into the cold chambers of the grave that He might prepare a way for you into the many mansions which are in his Father's house.

Do you not in your heart of hearts feel ashamed of the many wrong things you have done? Yes, you are aware of your impiety. Out with it then like a man. Do not strive to palliate your convictions with excuses and daub over your consciousness with untempered mortar. Confess your transgressions. Softly, in deep humility and reverence, bow before the Unseen. "The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin."

You are weak; you want moral courage to eschew evil; you are tied and bound by the chain of your sins. Christ will give you new life-He will give you his own flesh and blood, that eating the one and drinking the other, you may come to have Christ within you, and through Him you will be equal to all

things. You will know both how to be abased and how to abound; everywhere and in all things you will be instructed both to be full and to suffer hunger; both to abound and suffer need. This high moral power will be yours-not the bitter sarcastic indifference of an unfeeling stoicism; not that, but the thoughtful reverence of a warm and loving Christianity, which teaches us in whatsoever state we are, therewith to be content. Not because blind fate and wooden-headed destinies have so decreed; not even because a great God ordains it, but because a good and wise God wills it. Though his footsteps are in the deep, and his ways past finding out, the Christian, by a sublime faith, knows that the very hairs of his head are all numbered.

It is very true, my brother, that beyond the clouds which time throws around us, there are the deep un fathomable eternities and the solemn and silent lights of God. The seen is passing away, the abiding unseen is our destined resting-place.

With humble and prayerful thought of that vast Unknown to which you belong-for we all came out from God-turn to the pages of your Bible. Perhaps you think it is common. Well, oftentimes there is that sort of feeling. Nevertheless, it is wrong. Are not all the grandest things common-the golden light, the red good night of the sun in the western sky, the flowers, and the pensive, trembling stars. Open your New Testament; amidst its inspirations I will leave you. No one can teach you the way of Life like He who was the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

But I must retain your attention one moment longer. When do you intend doing this? Remember! to-morrow the will or the opportunity may be Nay, it is a solemn fact, that before you have finished the perusal of these thoughts, death may lay his cold sceptre on you, and lead you away to the great white throne. Cannot you look at this fact

gone.