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WORDS TO YOUNG MEN.*

BY THE REV. S. G. GREEN, B.A.

THERE are some special reasons why, in a generation like the present, your men, as such, should band together to declare that they are not ashamed Christ. In many quarters it seems regarded as almost unmanly to be sober, serious Christian; and, of all classes of the community, young m are most tempted thus to feel. Look around on many of our congregations, church or chapel, aristocratic or plebeian, and it would appear as if t youths who ought to have been there had left religion to their mothers a their sisters. "I recollect," says one, "asking my mother once wheth there would not be five times more women than men in heaven, and h answering me sadly and seriously that she feared there would be." I su pose he had been taking observations from the family pew; and we hard wonder at his speculations. Why the fact should be thus would lead n very far to inquire. Nor would I condescend to argue with any who mig be disposed to regard personal vital godliness as in any way effeminate weak. And yet it is a right and wise thing, when there are so many shallo scorners; lads who think it manly to be impious, and brilliant to be profane that the manliness and brilliancy of the youthful manhood in our churche should band together to rebuke the miserable falsehood, and to show the there is no dignity like the dignity of following and obeying Christ.

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Yes, Christianity is manly. I do not say that all professed Christians at So. Young men I have known, very good and pious, but by no mean remarkable specimens of what we understand by manliness. They were the sort which are always taken as the type of the Christian young the Saturday Review and the popular novelists. Very mild and quiet, spruc and a little affected, without energy, muscular or mental, probably with little lisp, no "pluck" in them, as their male friends would whil probably, friends in the other sex would add "they cannot say boh to goose!" I confess I have met this youth now and then in real life-muc more often in such writings as I have referred to. But what does the pictur prove? Only, that in connection with certain natural or physical qualiti the influence of religion has been felt; and surely this influence, though i has not developed the man into a Hercules, or an energetic man of business or even a good cricketer, has to some extent been elevating. I would prov this by a companion picture. The same natural and physical qualities! have seen without Christianity to guide or to inspire the nature-and wha has been the result? Look at yonder little fellow. He, too, has the lis although he is neither spruce nor demure. He is going "to business." Though it is early morning, a short pipe in his mouth-not because he particularly likes the flavour, but because he fancies it looks knowing; while, should the "governor" appear in sight, he will slip the pipe into the side pocket of

* From an Introductory Lecture to a Christian Young Men's Society,

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extraordinary little shooting-jacket that he wears. Not that he ever bot anything in his life-he would probably be afraid of that-only, again, thinks it looks knowing to be so attired. He is talking to one of his own -it would seem about some discreditable amusement of the evening fore-while the self-satisfied leer on their little faces seems to say, "What fellows we are!" Their cheeks are pale and unwholesome, most likely the effects of bad tobacco, smoked at all hours, but especially in the on, because that is manly and rakish "Do you bject to smoking?" may probably be asked, about nine o'clock in the morning, should it be our hap to enter a railway carriage with a young "gent" of this class. riend of mine once replied indirectly, but effectively, to this question, by eplying that the questioner looked as if he wanted somebody to take care of m. Poor, self-conceited weaklings. They cannot be strong or energetic if hey tried; it is not in their nature. But they might, at least, make the est of themselves, and set off their natural smallness by a little decency, leanliness, and humility.

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Bat, of these I will not further speak. There is another class, somewhat nore abundant, perhaps, among our better educated, and really sensible eng men, to whose manhood we cannot but feel that religion would give he crowning grace. These are of the school over which Dr. Arnold used to ment as the nil admirari school-much fostered, if report speaks truly, in rain sets at our national universities. These men are intelligent, cultisted-to a certain extent refined and agreeable-but they are not religious; Liefly, as it would seem, because they regard all enthusiasm as bad taste-they would express it, a "bore." The celebrated expression of a "used-up" American would perhaps meet their views: "There's nothing new, there's nothing true, and it don't signify!" Excited, perhaps, by pic, or by architecture, or by the fine points of dogs or horses, should tastes happen to lie in that way, they walk with entire imperturbay through the land of truth. They are ashamed of emotion, be it ever genuine; when they fall in love, they are always afraid lest any sudden es of sentiment should make them seem ridiculous. They belong to Phat has been called the "haw-haw" school-sometimes from very coldness fippancy of nature-sometimes from a strange unnatural repression of se nobler elements of manhood, which would assert themselves in strong, and ways, if only they might have free play; and this repression is essenunmanly. Beware, I would emphatically say, of the spirit which ot kindle, and refuses to admire; which does not heartily hate the , and as earnestly delight in, and sympathize with, the right. Nothing, ness, so moves my indignation as the languid indifference, or the chilling which only proves either the want of a power to appreciate, or the lination to take the trouble, as though the motto were-." Black's not ack, nor white so very white." The age wants BELIEVERS-men who make up their minds, and act upon their convictions-knowing that ere is a truth to be sought and found, and held, as a matter of life and 4th; and, if such a truth there is, scorn is unmanly, and indifference is

Turning now to a quite different class of characters, there are those w do understand and exemplify, in a certain way, the principles of religi but who combine with this a kind of false manliness. In fact, they may called "fast young Christians." They know that Christianity is not mor and therefore they are frivolous. They hate affected sanctimoniousne and cultivate an affected laxity. To avoid the suspicion of bigotry th become over-tolerant. That they may have the reputation of being g fellows, they allow it to be forgotten that they are Christians. Nay, t sometimes astonish even men of the world by the lengths to which they ready to go. After joining with them in the dance, meeting them perb at the theatre, or exulting with them in riotous merriment the even through, one will say "If I can be a Christian, and do all this, I may well become one forthwith." "No," another will add, "if I can b Christian and do all this, I may as well leave the matter alone, for I not see that it will make any difference."

Now, in such cases, I do not judge the heart. There might be a ri motive somewhere at the bottom of the apparent inconsistency. It is to be denied that some estimable Christian people, by their grim looks a their stern restrictions, have made the religion of Christ, who was Hims so genial and social, to appear repulsive. But no good end-to say t least-will be served by rushing into the opposite extreme. We shall ga neither respect nor moral influence by it in the long run. I think, of t two, I would rather be charged with cant than with inconsistency. At a rate we know, and the world knows, that Christianity is a religion of se restraint. The manlier, I say, for that. For, however superficially attr tive the picture may be of a strong man exulting in his strength, or cheerful man rioting in the play of animal spirits, or a fearless man carryi out some daring project, and astonishing the world; there is something intr sically nobler in the spectacle of a man strong enough to curb his o strength, regulating the ardour of his impulses, lifting himself too high care for the amusements that fascinate the world, and, in a word, denyi self, that he may wholly follow Christ.

Such, then, I take to be one great purpose of your Association, to ass and to vindicate Christian manhood-adding to the throb of manliness t throb of brotherhood-and showing by all your collective as by your P sonal actions that you regard the law of Christ as the highest law of life.

MIRIAM.

Tales and Sketches.

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It fitted her, as she fitted into it. Why should it not, since it had had he moulding of her?

The winds from the olive-trees had viled her earliest slumbers; the towers blossomed only to be her playmates: and the mellow Eastern sunght told stories to her through the e-leaves, when she knew no langubut her mother's lullaby. Above, alm, perpetual hill-top looked forever down into her baby-eyes; and, ward, her face had learned its first erence in turning toward the Holy -the great, proud city, which was wating for its King.

She had taken these all into her heart-not less the flowers and the

ght than the silence of the mounand the stately front of the distant ple, and the chanting of the priests eventide. They had grown with growth, and strengthened with strength, and made her-just Miriam; that was all. Miriam with the round, warm, happy cheeks, and the le of a child on her lips; with the low on a forehead that held and hid its own little thoughts, and her great, reverent eyes, into which the hadow of an altar seemed to have en. Just a bit of nature herself-a pretty, rounded bit, with all its little

metries touched in with tender Cars; a girl whom you would have petted and played with, and longed to bring into your home as you bring in pictures, and light, and perfumed winds; yet whom, perhaps, you would

have asked to remember you in her evening prayer.

Her eyes, turned toward the city, were watching for something; and for something that did not come; for, at the sound of a low cry within the house, she turned with a sigh of disappointment, and went in. The shadows of the vine-leaves followed her, and painted the floor, and touched her when she took the baby from its little bed, and sat down with it in her arms, hushing its cries.

"There, Rachel! hush! hush! Rachel, thee must not cry; mother will come to thee soon. Miriam has been looking for some one, Rachelhush! and she will tell thee. Wilt thou not listen, and hear how Miriam was watching for-"

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Miriam !" called a boy's voice from without. "Miriam !"

"Ah! there is the brother, baby Rachel. We will go and see Ben-oni."

She went to the doorway again, and stood with the child in her arms. The shadows of the leaves upon the two, made, perhaps, a prettier picture than the other.

"Hast thou been toward the city, Ben-oni ?"

"That I have, Miriam; I and Eleazer the Levite's son, and we-”

"What didst thou see or hear upon the way?" interrupted Miriam. "I thought I saw clouds of dust, yonder, like, perhaps, a crowd.”

"And a crowd it is!" replied the boy, with sparkling eyes; 66 a fine one, too, though I did not go after it. Abiram, the weaver, says it is coming hither. I ran on to let you know; and Abiram says

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"It is the King!" cried Miriam ; "it must be the King; and we shall see Him-see Him, Ben-oni !"

"I should like to see Him well

enough," said the boy, affecting carelessness; "but Abiram says he is no

King-this Nazarene-but a bad man and a sorcerer, Miriam. He says our King will come with a golden throne, and a crown, and soldiers-think, Miriam! He will not bring ragged fishermen, and walk on the dusty roads, Abiram says, like this Jesus." Hush, Ben-oni !" answered Miriam, her great eyes darkening; thou art doing wrong. Our mother says He is the Christ, and she knoweth. Indeed, He must be, for they say He doth make the dead alive. I think of him-O, so much, Ben-oni. I lie and dream and dream about Him in the night. I wonder if He will look at me me, Ben-oni.”

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The boy, abashed, made no reply, and Miriam, with the child in her arms, came out from under the vines, and stood beside him.

"Where is our mother?" asked he, looking down the road.

"She is with neighbour Zipporah, who is sick. Mother sits by her, and says the Psalms to her. Ben-oni! see! see! is not that?-yes, surely, He is coming!"

He was coming, the King, the Lord Omnipotent. Far down the dusty road, wearied, footsore, travel-stained, without a place in which to lay His head that night-the poor of the earth His only friends; their sins His burden; their sorrows His grief. He was coming.

Miriam stood out in the sunlight, the child still clinging to her neck. Ah! would He notice such as she-a little, foolish girl, who knew nothing but how to take care of the baby and sweep the house? Would He see her, her bending forward there, the eager colour in her cheeks, her upturned eyes, with the worship in the n, seeing alone, in all the passing throng, that one pale face, with its brow of pain and peace?

Did you ever think how many such beautiful pictures came to Him in His weary years-pictures of waiting eyes, and tender household joys, and young, fresh fancies? Did you never wonder if, while He saw and blessed them,

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"Ben-oni

The boy looked up into her face. Ben-oni, I wish I could be one His disciples."

"Why, thou art nothing but a w man, Miriam!"

"I know it. I do not suppose I wants any women for His disciple And then there is nobody else to be mother."

"I should rather stay at home observed Ben-oni, puzzled at her loo Miriam rose and carried little Rach into the house.

When her mother came, the t looked into one another's eyes. "Hast thou seen Him ?" 66 I have seen him." "It is He!" "I believe it."

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