Indifference Removed. Divine Spirit, infidels will lay down their hostile weapons, and will confess Jesus to be Lord to the glory of God the Father. We remark again, that home missionary efforts will pay as it respects the awful indifference of our times. There are thousands of persons in this highly-favoured England of ours who are neither infidels nor atheists; but they are not Christians. Many of them attend our places of worship, read our literature, and subscribe to our institutions; but they are unregenerate, and receive not the things of the Spirit. A large proportion of these live in our houses, belong to our families, and earn their bread by our side; but they are impenitent and unbelieving, and hence are condemned already. How terrible to think that many of them are our own children, our own husbands and wives, our own fathers and mothers, our own masters and servants, our own neighbours and friends. Yes, those who are thus near to us, are indifferent about their souls. They will neither fall out with us, nor fall in with us; but they will say yes and no to all that we advance in relation to their souls' salvation. Indifferentism is stamped upon their character. True, God, and Christ, and the Holy Spirit are not indifferent-time and death, and the judgment are not indifferent-but our countrymen, and townsmen, and neighbours, and friends, and relatives are indifferent. Not indifferent about edu. cating themselves, providing for their families, and attending to their business; but indifferent about trusting to Christ, loving God, and preparing for death and judgment. Awful infatuation! stupid insensibilty! tremendous ingratitude! But how are we to reach those indifferent ones? Only by an increase of spiritual life in the churches; only by engendering a home missionary spirit; only by the members of our churches becoming influenced by the feeling of Jeremiah, David, Paul, and Jesus. O how they wept, and sighed, and prayed, and sacrificed, and laboured for the good of souls! We must do the same. With deep feeling of heart, and with tears of burning sympathy, and zeal, we must speak to those indifferent ones about us of the Saviour 327 they are despising, the precious blood upon which they are trampling, the Holy Spirit that they are quenching, the heaven which they are rejecting, and the dreadful hell to which they are travelling. We must do this faithfully, constantly, prayerfully, and affectionately. By our anxiety, and zeal, and perseverance, we must convince those who are indifferent that we are greatly concerned for their salvation.' We must pray down holy and converting influences upon them. We must ever remember that God must give the increase. Hence, we must humbly and believingly ask Him to do His own work; and we must seek to have our prayer meetings and public services filled with the vital atmosphere of the Spirit. O if the members of our churches, and the leaders of our denomination will but arise and build, the Lord our God will prosper us. Indifferentism will quail before the power of truth, and the Omnipotence of the Divine Spirit. Our relatives, and friends, and neighbours will yield to the magnetic efficacy of the cross, and the empire of Immanuel will everywhere be extended. The leaves of the tree of life will be scattered by the breath of the Eternal Spirit, and those leaves will fall among the drooping, dying, perishing sons and daughters of the fall, until all around us will partake of their life-giving power. Once more, home missionary efforts will pay as it respects the institutions of our denomination. These are all exceedingly good, and are worthy of the most liberal support. But the fact is, they are not half supported. Some of them are now supported worse by half than they were thirty years ago. Verily we have left our first love. Only think of the wealthy district of Cheshire giving up Stockport and Congleton; and the great enterprising Midland district selling a chapel at Leicester. Such circumstances as these are too awful for contemplation; besides appearing a disgrace to our body. O for the revival of the home missionary spirit! This, and this alone can change the aspect of our affairs, and wipe away our re(proach. And this can do it. Yes, the make them known. Let us open wide our temple doors and windows, and let out the glory.' O my Christian friends, the object before us is gigantic in magnitude, unparalleled in importance, and eternal in its issues. We aim at saving souls from death, and hiding a multitude of sins. And shall we not pray for these, seek to influence these, try to rescue these. O they are our relatives and friends who are sport home missionary spirit can do any thing. It was this spirit that built the tabernacle in the time of Moses. See how it worked, and contributed, and sacrificed; so much so, that Moses had to beseech that the people would stay their hands. It was the same spirit, which, sword in hand, rebuilt the walls of Jerusalem in the days of Nehemiah. O how self-denying, heroic, persevering, and triumphant it was on that occasion. It had a glorious working with sacred realities, dancing upon to do, and how it was straitened until that work was accomplished. We behold the same spirit in the times of Hezekiah, Jehoshaphat, Josiah, David, and Solomon. But it was among the first Christians that this spirit was most fully manifested. Then, the hearts of the people were full of love, and sympathy, and zeal, and liberality. They not only gave themselves to the Lord, but they sold and placed their property upon the altar of sacrifice. Only think of the magnanimous spirit of the Macedonian Christians, who out of their great poverty contributed to the necessity of the saints. And the same glorious spirit will resuscitate our churches, support our institutions, and diffuse our principles to the ends of the earth; it will remove our chapel debts, adequately support our rising ministers, and bring a revenue of glory to our great King. O yes, it will increase our scholars, multiply our teachers, and replenish our tract societies; it will fill our prayer meetings, crowd our chapels, and be the means of couverting many souls from the error of their ways. Home missionary efforts will pay Then let us try to make them pay. If any body of Christians can make them pay, we can. Ours are the best principles in the world, then let us the edge of time, and trifling with the concerns of their souls. And can we behold them without heaving a sigh, shedding a tear, or breathing a desire? Brethren, are we past feeling? and have we ceased to sympathize with perishing humanity? Have the spiritual pulsations of our hearts ceased to beat, and do we feel no interest in the triumphs of Calvary? O Holy Father! revive us agaiu. O blessed Jesus constrain us by Thy love. O spirit of truth! give us hearts to feel, tears to shed, and 'tongues of fire' to speak. Then will we go forth weeping, bearing precious seed, and doubtless we shall come again rejoicing, bringing our sheaves with us; then will we plant and water, and our God shall give the increase; then will we plead the fulfilment of Divine promises, and Jehovah shall pour waters upon the thirsty, and floods upon the dry ground; then will we neither keep silence nor hold our peace until God's righteousness goeth forth as brightness, and His salvation as a lamp that burneth; theu will we pray for the peace, the unity, and prosperity of Zion, until the Most High doth arise and have mercy upon her, the set time to favour her, having fully come. SAMSON, THE VIRGINIAN SLAVE. CHAPTER III.—THE FLIGHT Ir was a bitter thing to find that night of weary travel lost-lost when so much depended on every step; but there was no help for it, and in the grey morning twilight Samson crept cautiously back to Uncle Ben's cabin. We may have known what it is to miss a train when serious interests are pending, but who of us has ever felt that life or liberty was perilled by An Unfordable River. such a disappointment? Or who of us has had any experience which enables us to enter into the feelings of this man, as he lay concealed through that long and anxious day? Night came at last, and again Uncle Ben went forth with him and pointed out that blessed star whose light, like the pillar of fire which went before the fleeing slaves of old, was to guide him to the land of promise. Gazing up. ward amid the unknown spheres, Samson said: 'Dey looks so much 'like-dese stars do-dat I gets 'mazingly put about looking at 'em; and den dey twinkles so; and last night dey seem to say, each one: "Dis is de way." 'Pears like I shall never know de right from de wrong.' 'Do you see dem four stars?' said Ben. Dat is de little dipper, and dar's a handle to dat ar. Now look;' and he pointed with his fingers, 'Dar's one, two, three-and de last is de star. Do you see?' 329 lessness which had oppressed him through the day departed at the sight. There was companionship, and help, and strength, in the beams of that star; and he looked up to it with a strange joy, feeling that while it shone there he was not helpless or forsaken. He pressed on, scarcely feeling weariness or hunger, though he had not taken food since he left Uncle Ben's cabin, He avoided the public road, and kept as far as possible from the habitations of men, walking through fields and forests, through marshes and swamps, and fording or swimming the streams which came in his way. Toward morning of this second night, he found his path crossed by a large river-the Potomac, no doubt. The spring rains had not only widened the stream much beyond its usual limits, but had given a fearful velocity to the current. Samson was a strong and fearless swimmer, and, without hesitation, plunging into the current, he struck boldly out. He passed without difficulty through the shallow waters which lay beyond the natural bank, but when he reached the mighty current in the bed of the river he found himself carried downward like a feather. In vain he struggled with the rushing waters-he was obliged to turn back to the shore. What could he do? This stream must be crossed. So taking a stout stick in his hand, he plunged in again, resolved to walk across if he could not swim. On he went, the water deepen breast-it was up to his chin-another step and it went over his head, and yet he had not reached the bed of the river. He could not do it. The water baffled him, and he again turned back. Samson satisfied himself that he had learned to know his guide this time, and again parting from his old friend,ing at every step. It was up to his started on his perilous and weary journey. He walked with resolute and rapid steps, and when the morning dawned he reckoned that he had gained thirty miles. During the last hours of the night he had walked through the open fields; but at the first appear ance of light he plunged into the forest, and in its darkest depths sought a place of concealment for the day. He found a dense thicket, and making a bed of cedar boughs lay down and slept. Night came again, and the poor fugitive turned his anxious eyes to the heavens, and amid the shining host recognized his friendly guide. The feeling of utter loneliness and friend Convinced that he could do no more at present, he resolved to make the best of his situation. He had noticed that rabbits were abundant; so by the help of his axe, which he still carried, he made a kind of snare, or trap, and concealed himself to watch it. Не waited not long before one of those little animals was caught. He was getting very hungry, and this seemed like a godsend. Forgetting everything in his joy at the prospect of a breakfast, he commenced to dress it. A low and distant sound reached him. The animal fell from his hand, and he laid his ear to the ground. He was not mistaken the dogs were on his track! He had feared this, for though his walk through the water at the start might give them difficulty and prevent immediate pursuit, yet he knew they would scour the country for miles, till they fell upon his track. Not a moment was to be lost. Hunger and weariness were forgotten, and seizing his axe he plunged into the swamp which lay along the river. His object was to get in where the horsemen could not follow. He sank knee deep in mud at every step. One shoe after the other was lost, but he pressed on. It was a struggle for life-aye, for more than life, for liberty. The fearful bay of the bloodhound grew louder and nearer, but the hunted fugitive took courage-he knew by the sound there was but one. When he found that the dog was too near to admit of further flight, he walked several times around a tree, narrowing the circle each time, and then climbing up, he seated himself among the low branches, and awaited his approach. He came, and, following the circles he had made, approached the tree, just as he had expected him. Samson's plan of defence was all laid, and as the dog came up he gave him a blow with his axe. He hoped to have killed him, but did not succeed. The dog retreated a few feet, and lay writhing in agony, and howling piteously. He knew that men were probably not far distant, and this unusual noise would hasten their steps. He sprang from the tree, and as he did so the infuriated brute leaped on him and fastened his teeth in his thigh, and only relinquished his hold when his muscles relaxed in death. Samson stood for a moment regarding the dead dog with grim satisfaction. He was a Cuba bloodhound of the largest size, for which Mr. Matson had paid four hundred dollars, and in which bis soul delighted more than in all the other dogs of his pack. He seerned endowed with a fiendish sagacity in the inhuman business to which he was trained. It was Mr. Matson's custom to keen him a day or If two without food before he put him on a track, and his faculities, thus stimulated by hunger, never failed him. the scent was lost, as it was in Samson's case, by wading in the water, he would sweep round, circle after circle, each one widening in extent, till it was found. And woe to the miserable wretch who fell into his fangs! 'Dat ar feller's settled, anyhow,' he said to himself, as he tore away a part of his shirt and bound up the ugly wound in his thigh. 'Dey'll swear some ef dey finds him. 'Spect dey'd rather find dis chile; can't oblige 'em dis time.' He laughed in spite of his pain, as he picked up bis axe and walked away from the place. He knew that his perils were by no means passedindeed, they were thickening around him. He was pursued, and almost overtaken. That terrible river was before him. What could he do? Evidently nothing, while it was daylight, except to conceal himself. Night came again, and the weary, hungry, and wounded fugitive, looked up to his faithful guide in the heavens. Its beams beckoned him on, on, over that river, but the flood seemed to mock his helplessness and despair. He walked up the river a few miles, and found a bridge. It was a welcome sight. He crept cautiously towards it, hoping, as it was late in the night, that he might pass it unobserved. When he had approached sufficiently near, he discovered that it was guarded by four men. Concealed by a thicket of willows which had rooted themselves among the rocks of the abutment, he could hear their conversation, and soon learned that they had been placed there by his master to watch for him. Perils of the Way their plans discussed and orders given. | They were sure he was south of the river, and the bridge, by which alone he could pass, must be watched till he was found. What were his feelings during that day? Hunger was becoming a torture his position increased the pain of his wound. Hopeless difficulties seemed to surround him. Did he regret the step he had taken, and wish that he had patiently endured his lot? Not at He had chosen liberty or death, and was prepared to suffer for the one, or calmly to accept the other. all! Night came, and he crept from his hiding place. He must cross the bridge or die. He concealed himself in a favourable position and waited his op; portunity. Two of the guard walked to the further end of the bridge, and he sprung like a tiger on the other two. A single blow was all that either required to place him hors de combat, and he ran to the other end of the bridge. One of the men met Samson and he knocked him down; the other ran and he pursued him, and coming quickly up he settled him also with a blow. 'Den,' said Samson, in relating his story, I told my legs dey must show what dey's good for, cause it all depended on dem. Neber mind the pain-dey must run. And dey did run; dat's so.' He was asked if he killed any of those men. 'Don' no 'bout dat ar,' he replied. I gived 'em blow 'enough to last while I got 'way. I neber went back to see if dey waked up bright.' Looking at his big fist with a smile he added: I strikes pretty hard. Ole massa hadn't trained me for nothing.' 'But,' continued the inquirer, 'how could you run, Samson, with that wounded limb? And then you had lost your shoes, which made it worse.' 'Dat ar wa'n't no time to stop for pain,' he replied. 'I'd jest got to run, and I did run all night, follering de star.' 'But did you not try to get near the farmhouses, where you might find a chicken or something that you could eat?' 331 No; I didn't dare. Dey'd put men eberywher to watch. I heard 'em lay der plans. So I kept to de woods. De woods de safest place.' CHAPTER IV.-THE PERILS OF THE way. MORNING dawned on the fugitive and found his strength fast failing. With nerves strung to a tension which rendered him almost insensible to bodily suffering, he had walked many miles, his bleeding feet leaving sanguine traces at every step; but when the light of day had blotted out the stars he felt the exhaustion of hunger, deep thicket and watched a trap he had fatigue and pain. He sat down in a catch some small animal, but nothing made, hoping that he might again came. He felt that he could not travel another night without food, and while he was resolving what to do he saw a and went to him, with the thought that negro man passing near. He got up the best thing he could do was to ask this man for help. There was no need of words to explain his situation. The man, who was a slave on a neighbouring farm, saw the case at once, and promised secrecy and assistance. He went away, promising to return as soon as he could and bring him food. When he was gone, Samson grew suspicious of him. He had heard his master say he would advertise him everywhere, offering five hundred dollars reward for his arrest. How could he know but this man, though one of his own race, might not be wicked or imprudent He resolved enough to betray him? he would not wait for him to return, but went farther into the forest, and climbed up into an evergreen tree, whose thick branches concealed him from sight. There he sat all day, resolutely enduring indescribable torture, from the restless position in which he was forced to keep his wounded limb. When the twilight began to gather, he got down from the tree, and found himself so faint and dizzy that he could scarcely walk. He crept cautiously back to the place where the man had promised to meet him, and to his great joy found he had been there and left a |