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swears and uses obscene language, and I cannot do anything with him." Mr. Warner did not care about putting the boy out, so he sent the teacher back to his class. But he came again, and said that unless the boy was taken from his class he must leave it. Well, he left, and a second teacher was appointed. The second teacher came with the same story, and met with the same reply from Mr. Warner. And he resigned. A third teacher was appointed, and he came with the same story as the others. Mr. Warner then thought he would be compelled to turn the boy out at last. One day a few teachers were standing about, and Mr. Warner said: "I will bring this boy up and read his name out in the school, and publicly excommunicate him." Well, a young lady came up and said to him: "I am not doing what I might for Christ; let me have the boy; I will try and save him." But Mr. Warner said: "If these young men cannot do it you will not." But she begged to have him, and Mr. Warner consented. She was a wealthy young lady, and surrounded with all the luxuries of life. The boy went to her class, and for several Sundays he behaved himself and broke no rule. But one Sunday he broke loose, and in reply to something she said, spat in her face. She took out her pockethandkerchief and wiped her face, but said nothing. Well, she thought upon a plan, and she said to him, "John" '-we will call him John-"John, come home with me." "No," says he, "I won't; I won't be seen on the streets with you." She was fearful of losing him altogether if he went out of the school that day, and she said to him, "Will you let me walk home with you ?" "No, I won't," said he. "I won't be seen on the street with you." Then she thought upon another plan. She thought on the "Old Curiosity Shop," and she said, "I won't be at home to-morrow or Tuesday, but if you will come round to the front door on Wednesday morning there will be a little bundle for you." "I don't want it; you may keep your old bundle." She went home, but made the bundle up. She thought that curiosity might make him come.
Wednesday morning arrived, and he got over his mad fit, and he thought he would just like to see what was in this bundle. The little fellow knocked at the door, which was opened, and he told his story. She said: "Yes, here is the bundle." The boy opened it, and found a vest and a coat and other clothing, and a little note written by the young lady, which read something like this:
"DEAR JOHNNIE: Ever since you have been in my class I have prayed for you every morning and evening, that you might be a good boy, and I want you to stop in my class. Do not leave me."
The next morning, before she was up, the servant came to her and said there was a little boy below who wished to see her. She dressed hastily, and went down stairs, and found Johnnie on the sofa, weeping. She put her arms around his neck, and he said to her, "My dear teacher, I have not had any peace since I got this note from you. I want you to forgive me. Won't you let me pray for you to come to Jesus?" And she went down on her knees and prayed. And now, Mr. Warner said, that boy was the best boy in the Sunday school.
And so it was love that broke that boy's heart.
May the Lord give us that love in abundance ! May we be so full of love that every one may see that it only prompts us to bring them to heaven!
"Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart."-Mark xii. 30.
FIRST among the Christian graces,
Love the crowning virtue stands
In the Saviour's two commands;
Love the Lord thy God above,
As thyself thy neighbour love.
Are we loving, are we striving,
We must love our neighbour too.
On the cross, O blessed Saviour,
May we prove our love to thee;
As thyself thy neighbour love.
The Good Samaritan.
OU will find my text in part of the twenty-ninth verse of the tenth chapter of Luke, "And who is my neigbbor?" We are told that as Christ stood with his disciples a man, a lawyer, stood up and tempted Him, and said, “Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life ?" He asked what he could do to inherit eternal life, what he could do to by salvation. And the Lord answered his question. "What is written in the law? How readest thou ?" To which the lawyer answered: "Thou shalt love the Lord God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind, and thy neighbor as thyself." "Thou hast answered right," but "who is thy neighbor ?" and He drew a vivid picture, which has been told for the last eighteen hundred years, and I do not know anything that brings out more truthfully the wonderful power of the Gospel than this story, which we have heard read to-night the story of the man who went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and who fell among thieves. Jerusalem was called the city of peace. Jericho and the road leading to it were infested with thieves. Probably it had been taken possession of by the worst of Adam's sons. I do not know how far the man got from Jerusalem to Jericho, but the thieves had come out and fallen upon him, and had taken all his money, and stripped him of his clothes, and left him wounded-left him, I suppose, for dead. By and by a priest came down the road from Jerusalem. We are told that he came by chance. Perhaps he was going down to dedicate some synagogue, or preach a sermon on some im portant subject, and had the manuscript in his pocket. As he was going along on the other side he heard a groan, and he turned around and saw the poor fellow lying bleeding on the ground, and pitied him. He went up close, took a look at him, and said: "Why, that man's a Jew, he belongs to the seed of Abraham. If I remember aright I saw him in the synagogue last Sunday. I pity him. But I have too much business, and I cannot attend to him." He felt a pity for him, and looked on him, and probably wondered why God allowed such men as those thieves to come into the world, and passed by. There are a good many men just like him. They stop to discuss and wonder why sin came into the world, and look upon a wounded man, but do not stop to pick up a poor sinner, forgetting the fact
that sin is in the world already, and it has to be rooted out. But another man came along, a Levite, and he heard the groans: he turned and looked on him with pity, too. He felt compassion for him. He was one of those men that if we had here we should probably make him an elder or a deacon. He looked at him and said: "Poor fellow he's all covered with blood, he has been badly hurt, he is nearly dead, and they have taken all his money and stripped him naked. Ah, well, I pity him!" He would like to help him, but he, too, has pressing business, and passes by on the other side. But he has scarcely got out of sight when another comes along, riding on a beast. He heard the groans of the wounded man, went over and took a good look at him. The traveller was a Samaritan. When he looked down he saw the man was a Jew. Ah, how the Jews looked down upon the Samaritans. There was a great, high partition wall between the Jews and the Samaritans. The Jews would not allow them into the temple. They would not have any dealings with them. They would not associate with them. I can see him coming along that road, with his good, benevolent face; and as he passes he hears a groan from this poor fellow. He draws in his beast and pauses to listen. "And he came to where he was." This is the sweetest thing to my mind in the whole story. A good many people would like to help a poor man if he was on the platform, if it cost them no trouble. They want him to come to them. They are afraid to touch the wounded man; he is all blood, and they will get their hands soiled. And that was just the way with the priest and the Levite. This poor man, perhaps, had paid half of all his means to help the service of the Temple, and might have been a constant worshipper, but they only felt pity for him. This good Samaritan "came to where he was," and after he saw him he had compassion on him. That word "compassion "-how sweet it sounds! The first thing he did on hearing him cry for water-the hot sun had been pouring down upon his head-was to go and get it from a brook. Then he goes and gets a bag, that he had with him—what we might call a carpet-bag or a saddle-bag in the West—and pours in oil on his wounds. Then he thinks: "The poor fellow is weak," and he goes and gets a little wine. He has been lying so long in the burning sun that he is nearly dead now-he was left half dead-and the wine revives him. He looks him over, and he sees his wounds that want to be bound up. But he has nothing to do this with. I can see him now tearing the lining out of his coat, and with it binding up his wounds. Then he takes him up and lays him on his bosom till he revives, and, when the poor fellow gets strength enough, the good Samaritan puts him on his own beast. If the Jew had not been half dead he would never
have allowed him to put his hand on him. He would have treated him with scorn. But he is half dead, and he cannot prevent the good Samaritan treating him kindly and putting him on his beast.
Did you ever stop to think what a strong picture it would have been if the Samaritan had not been able himself to get the man on the beast-if he had had to call any assistance? Perhaps a man would have come along, and he would have asked him to help him with the wounded man. "What are you?" he might have said. "I am a Samaritan." "You are a Samaritan, are you? I cannot help you, I am a Jew." There is a good deal of that spirit now, just as strong as it was then. When we are trying to get a poor man on the right way, when we are tugging at him to get his face towards Zion, we ask some one to help us, and he says, "I am a Roman Catholic." "Well," you say, “I am a Protestant." So they give no assistance to one another. The same party spirit of old is present to-day. The Protestants will have nothing to do with the Catholics, the Jews will have nothing to do with the Gentiles. And there was a time-but, thank God, we are getting over it-when a Methodist would not touch a Baptist (a voice-"Amen "), or a Presbyterian a Congregationalist; and if we saw a Methodist taking a man out of the ditch, a Baptist would say, "Well, what are you going to do with him?" "Take him to a Methodist church." "Well, I'll have nothing to do with him." A great deal of this has gone by, and the the time is coming when, if we are trying to get a man out of the ditch, and they see us tugging at him, and we are so weak that we cannot get him on the beast, they will help him. And that is what Christ wants.
Well, the Samaritan gets him on his beast, and says to him: "You are very weak; my beast is sure-footed, he will take you to the inn, and I will hold you." He held him firmly, and God is able to hold every one he takes out of the pit. I see them going along that road, he holding him on, and he gets him to the inn. He gets him there, and he says to the innkeeper: "Here is a wounded man; the thieves have been after him; give him the best attention you can; nothing is too good for him." And I can imagine the good Samaritan as stopping there all night, sitting up with him, and attending to his wants. And the next morning he gets up, and says to the landlord: "I must be off," leaving a little money to pay for what the man has had; "and if that is not enough, I will pay what is necessary when I return from my business in Jericho." This good Samaritan gave the landlord twopence to pay for what he had got, and promised to come again and repay whatever had been spent to take care of the man, and he had given him besides all his sym