England, some years ago, that a publican became concerned for his soul, and set himself with all his heart in pursuit of the one thing needful-religion. His search was not in vain: from deep and humiliating views of his sinfulness, he was led, in the course of time, to discern the fulness and sufficiency of the blood of Jesus Christ to cleanse him from all sin. He received the perfect work and righteousness of Jesus Christ by faith, and became not a nominal, but a real Christian. In a word, he became a new man, and felt himself to live in a new region. Many painful reflections, however, on his past sins were constantly passing through his mind, and it grieved him more especially, and above all, that his particular calling had been the occasion of much sin, and that even now his house, at times, was the scene of unhallowed mirth and wanton joy. What was to be done? Things (thought he) cannot possibly go on as they are. The question therefore arose, whether it was, lawful for him as a christian, to continue any longer in his line of life? Many things were to be taken into consideration he had a large family entirely dependant on him, and if he gave up his business, poverty and want seemed to stare him in the face; besides, should he give up, he could by no means be certified but his house, being let to another, would again become the scene of equal, if not greater, wickedness. In this strait, however, after much anxious thought and earnest prayer for Divine guidance, he determined to remain and to glorify God in his present calling. He resolved to harbour no improper characters, and never to draw more than one pint of ale at a time, for any customer; by these regulations, he knew his house

would be still useful for the accommodation of travellers, and he hoped to rid himself of all his tipling customers. It is true he had his doubts and fears, at times, whether he should be able to make business answer on his new plan, but he generally cut them short by faith in that universal promise, "Them that honour me, I will honour." So that, in the main, he trusted, by God's blessing, to be able both to pay his rent, and to maintain his family.

In process of time, the religious publican's peculiarities became known; and as he was universally respected as a man of great integrity, his house was much frequented by travellers; although some, whose custom he cared little for, withdrew their favours. On the whole, what was lost on the one hand was more than made up on the other.

The 'Squire of the parish in which he lived kept a pack of hounds, and his house was consequently the resort of the idle, the gay, and the dissipated. In one of their convivial meetings, the conduct of the publican became the subject of their derision and merriment, and they determined, the next time they went to the hunt, to put his religious principles to the test-they determined, if possible, to have more ale than his rule allowed. Accordingly, no long time. after, the troop of hunters, greatly heated in the chase, hauled up at his house to bait their horses, and take some refreshment. The landlord, with his usual attention and civility, took the charge of the horses, to rub them down and bait them, while the good man's daughter within, busied herself in preparing the refreshments, which were eagerly devoured. Then came the drink; pint after pint was called for and

drank, until each had been served with his allowance, for Betsey had counted heads, and scored with her chalk each successive flagon; and now that the scores had equalled the heads, what was to be done? More ale was called for, and how to refuse the 'Squire she hardly knew; but her father's orders were not to be disobeyed. Like a dutiful daughter, therefore, she told the company she could not draw them any more, for they had had enough. And who made you a judge of that? cried one of the troop. My father, replied the girl, never draws more than one pint for any one, and I have drawn that, Sir, for each. On this the company became very vociferous. Some calling for the host; others exclaiming against his methodism; whilst, in the midst of the bustle and confusion, the father stept in, and so relieved his daughter from her trying situation. He told them briefly his reasons for adopting the rule, which he hoped they would value; but, whether or not, he would by no means break it to please even the 'Squire. More ale we want, and more ale we'll have, shouted one. What has religion to do with drink? vociferated another. Hang him and his enthusiasm, cried a third. Gentlemen, said the landlord, firmly, yet courteously, I am sorry to disoblige you, but under no consideration will I draw any more, my conscience will not permit me. Perhaps my conscience then will not permit me to renew your licence, rejoined the 'Squire; while the doctor and the lawyer backing him besought him, the one to give him a pill, and the other to make out his mittimus. As for that, Sir, I cannot help it, replied the landlord, but I can help offending my God, and burdening my conscience, which I will never do to get

the favour of men. The party, thus defeated, and seeing that remonstrance was in vain, left the house with many threats and much abuse.

On the way home, however, they cooled down, and In the end agreed in admiration of the Publican's firmness and principle; indeed one went so far as to propose that they should give him the benefit of a pint and refreshment, as often as they went his way, which, meeting with no opposition, was agreed to. Thus leaving another proof of the faithfulness of God's promise, "Them that honor me, I will honor,” and that He will make even "their enemies to be at peace with them." WATCH-WELL.

THE BROKEN PANE.

SURELY many people must have very strange notions both about God and sin, or they could never talk as they do. The Bible is now a common book, numbers can read it, and Jesus Christ as the only Saviour of sinners is faithfully preached in thousands of churches and chapels; and yet many persons seem to think, that if they are sorry for their sins that is all that is necessary, God will be satisfied, and they will be saved. It is to be hoped that oftentimes they say this, because they don't know how to express themselves better; for if all that is required be that we must be sorry for our sins, then Christ poured out his precious blood in vain, and his death was to no purpose, of no value whatever.

A few Sundays ago, I was talking to my class at the Sunday-school in a plain easy way about the great

you mean

things that Christ had done for us. Poor boys! they did not seem to care much about what I was saying; for as they had never felt the misery of sin, they did not see the love and power and suitableness of the Saviour. We may hope better things of them by and by, and we ought to bear with their dulness and indifference, knowing what our own indifference was, and is still towards Jesus. In order to arouse their attention, I asked one of the boys, "Do you hope, my boy to go to heaven ?” "Yes. " "You are fit then, I suppose ?" He held down his head, and said, "He did'nt think he was." What, then, must be done? I asked. "Repent of my sins." "What do by repenting?" "I must be sorry for my sins, and lead a new life." "And then you think," said I," you will go to heaven?" "Yes." Not a word, you see, about Jesus Christ. He who is all in all was entirely' forgotten! Oh how early do we begin to value our own works, and how long it sometimes is before we can be content to be stript of every thing that we may come naked to Christ for his robe of righteousness. "Pray,” said I, "my boy," (pointing to a broken pane of glass in the window)" did you break that pane ?" "No, Sir." Well, but just suppose that you did; now listen to me: I expect you to get that pane mended?" "I can't, Sir !" "But you must." "I can't, Sir, I hav'nt got any money." "That is nothing to me; the glass is broken, and somehow or other it must be mended?" "I'm very sorry, Sir." "That may be; but your sorrow and your crying won't mend the glass. If you were to cry for a month, the pane would be still broken, and require to be repaired. Well," said I," I see you are poor, and have

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