HE DISAPPOINTED BROTHER JONES.

THE church on earth is the best type are of that in heaven; but how fantly it resembles the peace and love and joy of the upper sanctuary! Its Lebers are men of like passions with athers; they are beset with temptations; they groan, being burdened; they ry. "Who shall deliver us from this body of death ?" They know their shortcoming, and a world of critics kLows it too, and often taunts them with the question: "What do ye more than others?"

But, with all her infirmities, the hurch in the wilderness owns Christ isher King, and His Word as her law. the strives against sin, groans under be load, and cries for deliveranceand this while the self-righteous worldling moves proudly on through

, and at last has no bands in his death. Here is the chief difference fa manifested between weak and altering saints and proud worldly uralists.

None who know the struggle with the world, the flesh, or the devil, will ondemn those who are encompassed with peculiar temptations; but neither hould they cast a cloak over any Lovsistency, and thus become partakers in a brother's sin.

Sometimes Satan gains such an advantage over a wandering Christian, that he dazzles him with false lights, or blindfolds him with self-interest, Latil he leads him into a quagmire that defiles his garments. He may are him to some pinnacle, and flatter hm into the belief that he is a great man in the church, and that wisdom will die with him; and not seldom des he then cast him down from his terrible height to awake in shame and

pain at his sad delusion. These gilded nightmares, dangerous as they are, are sometimes not a little amusing to lookers-on. The sleeping victim calls out from his high place, denouncing the languid and stupid; or the one inflated with pride urges humility on the poor souls who are content with lowly spheres and hard service. It is like the pursued pickpocket turning round and shouting, "Stop thief," to the crowd that follows him; or like the midnight incendiary rousing the sleepers with the stentorian cry of, "Fire! fire!"

The golden chain which bound the members into one body was not quite perfect in the church to which our good-but not wholly sanctifiedbrother Jones belonged. A link was broken, here and there, which not only marred the beauty, but also weakened the chain. But mark-the chain was all there, and most who were encircled by it were striving to repair the breaches. But they had within the circle this one most unmanageable brother Jones. He was strong by reason of years, of money, and above all, of a tremendous will. He would never take the simplest thing for granted; never think as others didif he could help it; and never yield to a majority. If reminded that this last was a ruling principle with Baptists, he would ask if a man must yield his conscience up into the hands of a majority. If so, he would at once press into the "broad road:

"For thousands walk together there."

No; brother Jones would remain upright, though forced to stand alone; and alone he usually did stand, fancying himself a beacon-light to warn others against the breakers around

the high rocks which he called "worldly popularity.”

The questions at stake between him and his brethren, at other times, had been both great and small; a case of discipline, a choice in pastors, the hiring of a chapel-keeper, and changing the hour of afternoon service; now it was a decision between the old stove, which helped to freeze the congregation, and a new furnace to keep them warm. In each case his opinion was founded on principle; and presuming that no one else could be actuated by the same high motive, he resolved to stand his ground till he carried the day. The case now became, Brother Jones versus everybody else." And this great unanimity only increased his great obstinacy.

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The furnace--that hated innovation on the good old days gone by-was at last fixed in the basement, and a fire made in it one Saturday afternoon. The good brother gave up his pew, "because he couldn't sit so near a register, and breathe such heated air; but he wasn't going to let an old furnace prevent him from hearing the gospel! So he took possession of a great corner-pew, near the pulpit, which was usually empty; opened the window in it to its largest capacity; threw his red and yellow bandana over his bald head to keep off the wind; folded his arms; and settled himself gravely--which nobody else could do -to hear the sermon.

If the furnace did not prevent brother Jones from hearing the gospel, it prevented his doing anything else. It drew his purse-strings, it kept him from prayer-meetings, it cooled his love towards his brethren, it soured his spirit, and destroyed his comfort. He couldn't think, he couldn't read, he couldn't meditate, he couldn't pray, and at last he couldn't eat! Sleep forsook his pillow, and he was about as wretched as it was possible for a man to be. While in this state of mind, the Spirit of God visited the community. One church and another was roused from sleep, and the

realities of eternity and the value the immortal soul were presented vividly to the minds of Christians, ti they were all alive and active in t work of the Lord. But, for a seast the church of which brother Jones w a member remained like the heath the wilderness; the gracious influe did not extend to her. Then he to alarm; for, notwithstanding his stu bornness, he did love Zion above) chief joy. He thought of visiting minister, but his will was not brok enough for that; so he wrote to hi telling how his soul was moved at desolation, and stating to him w his church was left of God when th other bodies of Christians were enjo ing a refreshing from His pre ence. And this was the reason, he quoted it:

"The Spirit, like a peaceful dove,
Flies from the scenes of noise and strife.

The minister knew of no "noise an strife," but believed in his soul th there were praying men and woun among his people for whose cryi God would soon appear; and his t was strengthened by the appare relenting and the anxiety of broth Jones, who had proposed that a mee ing of the church be called at one for mutual confession, humiliation, a prayer. He had been thinking of th himself, and resolved to accede to th request.

The evening appointed for the me ing came, and a deep, tender spir pervaded the place. There we prayers and confessions and tears, A there were expressions of strong trus in God, and faith in His promises, a a belief that the cloud of mercy wa even then gathering above them, an that soon the shower would descens Love and harmony marked the me ing, and many felt the blessed in fluence so strong that they woul gladly have tabernacled there, rathe than return to the chilling air earthly scenes. Then up rose broth Jones, and, in a tone of bitter d appointment, addressed the meeting

Behad hoped to find his brethren umbled! He believed the only way real Christian joy lay through the alley of humiliation; but he saw no vidence that his brethren and sisters ad been down there! He had heard ession, but it was very general; wanted the confession to be mutual Articular. His had been sincere, he had suffered long and sorely by Aswanderings. Now he wanted

to follow in his steps, and to rember that, however we might dere others, we could not deceive God."

A brother then rose and said, very mnly, that he thought there had deep and sincere confession, and Asked if the brother had any partlar sin in mind which he felt stood

the way.

There was a moment's pause, during which the vestry clock ticked awfully d. The silence became terribly painful, for it seemed like a blow ack at the holy influence all had felt in their souls. At length brother Jones got up, and after an

un

fortable sensation in his throat, which had to be attended to first, said; A brother asks if there is any particular sin in the church which I think ought to be confessed. There

4 and until it is done, we can't have ■ blessing.”

We are here, I trust, as a loving ily," said the pastor from the desk, and there is no danger in being and Tell all you fear, brother; and, whether it implicates pastor or private member, we will bear it meekly, I believe."

Brother Jones rose again, and again had a strangling sensation in his troat. This being subdued by orous efforts, he remarked again: I wanted this meeting called for dual confession, but nobody has fessed what I wanted them to."

'What is that ?" asked a brother. "Why-why-why--I should think o'd all know," replied brother Jones, still afflicted with painful

spasms in the throat; "it is that matter of the furnace!"

There was a rustling all through the vestry, and a smile was noticed on many a face.

I mean,'

"added brother Jones, "the sins that grew out of that matter -the divisions and heartburnings there have been among us ever since it was put in !"

One after another declared that they knew of no sin connected with the furnace, and could not therefore confess. Poor brother Jones had to carry all the sins, and make all the confession, of the entire anti-furnace party that night. Not a little chagrined by the trap he had fallen into, he rose and left the meeting, saying, as he passed out, "I thought the call was for mutual confession." Ah, poor wanderer! He had hoped to find the way back to peace by laying his sin on the shoulders of others. But, like honest, upright men, they would not take the unjust load. They had enough sins of their own to bear.

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Brother Jones slept less that night, and ate less the next day, than ever. He could bear his lot no longer. He stopped talking of "mutual fession," feeling that he had work enough to occupy him in his own breast. The struggle ended, and he came out a humbler and better man. The next Sabbath he took the bandana off his head, returned to his own pew, and found that he could breathe heated air without its causing death. He was never after heard to utter the word "furnace," never to talk of mutual confession, and never afterwards made any outward resistance against the majority of his brethren in small temporal matters.

CALLING THE FERRYMAN.

THEY reached the river, the father and his little daughter, late in the evening. The woods through which they had passed reached to the very brink; and

as the night was cloudy, and very dark, the woods seemed to render the gloom profoundly deep. Far away on the opposite shore was here and there a twinkling light in the small scattered houses; while farther off still were the bright lamps of the great city whither they were going. The little child was weary and sleepy, and chilled by the evening air. Nothing but urgency would have induced the father to be out with her thus. As they came to the ferry, they found the boat over on the other side, where the ferryman lived. So the father shouted and called, but no voice answered; then he would walk to and fro, and speak to his child, and try to comfort her; then he would call again and again. At length they saw a little light move, and heard the moving of the boat. Nearer and nearer the noise came, but it was too dark to see the boat. But it came across, and the travellers entered it. "Father!"

"Well, my child?"

"It's very dark, and I can't see the shore where we are going!"

"No, little one; but the ferryman knows the way, and we shall soon be over, and then soon home in the city, where will be light and a good fire."

"Oh, I wish we were there, father!" Slowly and gently the boat swung off in the stream; and though it was dark, and the river seemed to run fast, they were carried safely over, and the child soon forgot her great fear. In a short time after they landed she reached her home, where loving arms received her, where the room was warm with fire, and was flooded with light. On the bosom of love she rested, and her chills and terrors passed away.

Some months after this, the same little child had come to another river, darker, deeper, and more fearful still. It was the River of Death. When she first came near it, the air seemed cold, and darkness covered it, and all seemed like night. The same loving

father stood near her, distressed th his child must cross this river, an he not be able to go with her. F days and nights he had been, with he mother, watching over her, and leavin her bedside only long enough to tas his meals, and pray for the life of precious child.

For hours she had been slumberin very quietly, and it seemed as if a spirit was to pass away without h waking again; but, just before t morning watch, she suddenly awok with the eye bright, the reason u clouded, and every faculty alive. sweet smile was playing on the face, Father, I have come again to th river-side, and am again waiting f the ferryman to come and carry La over."

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"Does it seem dark and cold as: did when we crossed the river?"

"Oh, no! There are no dark, gloor trees here. The river is not black, ba covered with floating silver. The boa coming towards me seems to be mal of solid light; and, though the ferry man looks dark, I am not afraid o him!"

"Can my child see across the river?"

Oh, yes! but instead of the lit twinkling light here and there, s before, I can see a great, beautife city, flooded with light and glory. see no sun and no lamp, no moon o stars; but it's full of light. Ah! hear music too, coming softly or the river, sweet as the angels con make!"

"Can you see any one on the oth bank of the river ?"

"Why, why, yes! I see One, the most beautiful form I ever saw-and what a face! what a smile! And now He beckons me to come. O ferryman make haste! I know who it is! It is Jesus-my own blessed Jesus! shall be received into His arms; shall rest in His bosom !"

"Is my little daughter afraid?"

"Afraid, dear mother? Not a bit I think of my Psalm, Though walk through the valley of the shadow