around us. A thousand have fallen at our side, ten thousand at our right hand; yet we live. Why? It is God who has spared our lives. May he lead us by his good Spirit to-day to devote ourselves afresh to his service!

Perhaps some into whose hands these pages may come have been delivered during the past year from a pit more deep, and dark, and deadly than that from which little David was rescued-the pit of sin. You were not only dying in your sins, but were actually dead in them. God has taken you out of this horrible pit. You now walk in the light of his countenance. Oh praise him, love him, serve him! He deserves all, and more than all, that you can render to him.

Others around you are still lying there. Who shall deliver them? Can you leave them to perish? That miner who would let his comrades die without an effort to save them, would be scorned and spurned wherever he went. Shall the Christian be less concerned to save their souls from eternal death than the pitman is to rescue their bodies? Resolve that by God's help you will do your part in this great work during the coming year. Or, perhaps you are still lying in darkness and the shadow of death. Do not despair. Help is near. God is both able and willing and waiting to save you. He alone can do so. Cry to him as you would cry if you were buried alive and heard friends seeking you. Let your prayer be, Lord, save; or I perish." And begin at once. Oh, what a happy new year this will be if you commence this day to seek and find deliverance from sin and eternal death!

THE FIRST DEBT.

PART I.

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"WHAT does it signify?" muttered Harry Morrison to himself; "I shall pay it off next quarter right enough."

It signified a great deal, and if the youth could have foreseen how much, he would not have held the matter so lightly. It signified a great deal to disobey the commands of a wise father, to crush aside the tender warnings of an anxious mother, and do with deliberate will one of the things most carefully forbidden. But a strong temptation to some self-indulgence was besetting him; he wanted to do as others did, without regard to difference in circumstances and means; and instead of considering the lawful

demands upon his income, gave himself the present selfish gratification, and left the rest to take care of itself.

It is said that troubles never come singly, and the same may be said of debts; it is so easy to give orders, so pleasant to see them executed, while one's name stands respectably with the world; and if one thing could be paid for by-andby, why not another? One has no idea of being dishonest, because one can't always pay up to the minute. So reasoned Harry Morrison; and on such slippery ground he took his stand.

"I say, Florry," whispered he to his favourite sister, one evening, "have you got any needful to spare?"

"One thing is needful, dear Harry," said Florence, kindly; "how I wish you would ask for that?"

"All in good time, you little Methodist; but the needful just now is not so easily to be had for asking, unless you can lend me a few pounds yourself."

"I cannot, brother; if you had returned what I lent you before, I might, but-"

Well, don't bring that up just now, it's not to the point. What must I do for some money, I want to know, for I haven't a shilling left, and I've a debt to pay—a debt of honour, too? I dare not ask my father, he's so particular, you know."

"Thank God that he is, Harry, and try to tread in his steps. Why, oh, why did you get into debt?"

"Now, if this isn't just like asking a drowning man why he fell into the water, instead of putting out your hand to save his life!"

"Are you drowning, Harry?"

"Pretty near it; a debt upon each shoulder pressing me down, and if I can't shake them off I must go over head and ears to get rid of them."

"Then it is suicido, and not accidental drowning, Harry; and if you never will resolve against the habits that are bringing this state of bondage and desperation upon you, I shudder to think what may indeed be the end of it."

"Nonsense, little simpleton; don't preach to me. I do nothing but what any young gentleman does who hasn't got quite as much as he could spend comfortably. I only want a few pounds to pay a debt of honour. Borrowed some, you see, of a friend, and he being hard up just now, himself, wants it back again before I'm ready for him;

rather shabby of him, between ourselves, for he said he should never ask me for it until it was quite convenient to pay him."

"How true that the borrower is servant to the lender,' dear Harry."

"It's my belief you twist up a text for everything," said Harry, half annoyed and half amused. "Now try if you can't find one to induce yourself to help me out of this bit of a scrape."

"He that covereth his sins shall not prosper; but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them shall have mercy," softly whispered Florence: "our kind father will help you if you will do this, Harry. On this condition I will do my best on your behalf."

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Well, if there's no other way, I suppose it must come to this; but he'll be very angry, because you know what he said about that-that

"That first debt. Ah, Harry, you promised it should be the last. You have broken your word, and involved yourself more than before. It needs but a little vigorous selfdenial, a real honest principle, to save yourself from becoming contemptible in your own eyes, and the eyes of others, and yet you will not make the effort."

"Contemptible! yes, one does feel contemptible when one borrows money. I loathe the sensation. That fellow has looked coldly on me ever since I couldn't pay him back when he asked me, and I'd go a mile round sooner than Imeet him now. Then, Florence, you will speak to my father; get him to help me this once, and I promise

"Let me dictate," said Florence.. "I promise that I will never borrow money, nor run in debt again, nor expect my weak little sister to do for me what I am too cowardly to do for myself."

"Very well; agreed. But, Florry, isn't it what such little sisters are for, to help and save their brothers ?" And Harry playfully kissed the grave, sorrowful face that looked up to his.

Florence's anxiety was not to be smiled away so easily. "To save their brothers," she repeated to herself, as she pondered on the probabilities of success in the mission she had undertaken. "Oh that I could save him from himself. I wouldn't care for the people or things that may tempt him without, if Harry had but the principle of resistance

within. Nothing need make him do wrong, if only he loved to do right."

Over Harry's looking-glass that night, when he went to his room, appeared the text, neatly written, "My son, hear the instruction of thy father, and forsake not the law of thy mother."

"My dear mother," thought Harry; "yes, she shed tears over that first debt; she said it would be a turning-point in my life, either to 'owe no man anything' in such a manner again, or-and what has it been? Oh, mother! how will it be with me? Why do all my good resolutions come to nothing?"

Because they are made in your own strength, and are the mere effervescence of temporary vexation at the consequence of evil, no deep abhorrence of its cause; they are like the morning cloud and the early dew," as easily dispelled, as soon forgotten.

From a few sad thoughts about the loving mother who was gone to her rest in heaven, Harry turned to consider the chances of his sister's success in his behalf, rather than the condition of the effort; he felt contemptible, as Florence had said, and tossed and tumbled under the sensation. To kick off the pressure of a troublesome debt was one thing; to resist temptation to its recurrence was quite a different thing. He wanted to get out of debt for his credit's sake, his comfort's sake, his promise sake; to avoid incurring debt must be for conscience' sake, for principle's sake, for God's sake: would Harry try to attain that?

Florence stated her case simply, and her father reasoned wisely on the doubtful benefit to Harry of the help she sought. Perhaps he would have at last refused it, but for her bright expression of faith and hope that kindness might prevail, that evil might be overcome by good, and that a mother's prayers would yet be answered. So Harry was relieved of his burden for that time, with a solemn assurance that never again would any rescue from the consequences of his folly and extravagance be found in the same quarter.

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"You have your home free," said his father, your income is more than enough for clothing, for charity, for any reasonable want in your own position in life; and it is downright dishonesty to exceed it. Do not compel me to the mutual humiliation of proclaiming it such to all who might, for my sake, be disposed to trust you."

Harry was full of thanks to his father and sister, made

abundant protestations of future propriety, held up his head again in the presence of his friend, and for a little while felt very comfortable. Florence tried to be hopeful. Harry had so many pleasant and popular qualities, he was sure to make friends wherever he went--whether of the most desirable kind was another matter.

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It requires moral courage to "count the cost" among those who do not so, and to measure gratifications by the lawful means to procure them. "Only a sixpence,' never mind a shilling or so," "only a matter of half-a-crown,' such little speeches have undone thousands; they have been the rills, springing from mountains of pride and selflove, gathering strength and number as they go, and carrying their weak victims onward to a sea of ruin.

Harry was perpetually pitying himself for not having a larger income to squander at pleasure; he hated to take account of every sixpence, and so "the pence" not being "cared" for, the proverb inverted came true, "the pounds took no 66 care of themselves." His salary, which was a rising one, was constantly pledged before it was due, and when it came there was only the consciousness that it had been earned, and the pleasure of paying it away.

"I wanted to make you a present this quarter, Florence," said he, "but somehow my money is all bespoken."

"Never mind the present, dear brother, if only you are out of debt."

"If!" Ah, Florence, the self-indulgent, the unprincipled, never enjoy that freedom long. Knowing that he should get no advance from his father, Harry got himself introduced to ways and means from which he would once have shrunk with fear. He confided his "difficulties" to less disinterested ears, and there were not wanting speculators upon youthful imprudence. With money in his pocket Harry was an exceedingly agreeable person, ready to fall in with anybody's schemes of pleasure; but when his funds were exhausted, he was moody and cross. Difficulties (when a man cannot pay his debts he calls it his "difficulties") brought about by one's own folly, are very souring to the temper. blaming somebody else affords a sort of safety valve for vexation; but when there is nobody to blame but oneself, it gnaws and cankers within fearfully. Oh, what a precious guardian to health, beauty, and peace of mind, is "a conscience void of offence toward God, and toward man!"