delight or disgust, as the opinions expressed coincided or disagreed with his own. When his time arrived to speak, it was a painful and miserable sight to witness the tall form writhing with malignity, as he stood uttering the most awful blasphemy against the God of Heaven. His denunciation of everything held dear by Christians was so vehement, that several of the female portion of his hearers hastily left the hall, lest he should be a Samson in another sense, and bring down the building in judgment upon all within it. It was a sensible relief when his allotted time was expired, the storm of hisses subsided, and the blind man felt his way back to his seat, and wiped the hot dew from his brows. For two hours the debate was continued. At its close, a prayer meeting was announced, and the character of the audience clearly shewn by an almost complete exodus,--a few women and some of the Christians on the platform alone remaining. "I should like to see that blind man at home," said one of the men who rented the hall, "if I could obtain his address." And having procured it, he left the hall, and during the ensuing week carried out his intention. He found the blind man to be an ornamental basket-maker, and was enabled to witness how God compensates for deprivation by added intensity in other powers. "I have come to see you," said the tall man. "Do you remember my voice so as to know who I am?" "Of course I do," replied the blind man, as if surprised at the question. "You are my metaphysical friend of last Sunday; and I know what you have come for too, as well as you do yourself. You have come to try and convert me, my boy, but it won't do. I am tougher than you think; even twenty free tea-meetings wouldn't do it." Nevertheless, I have known even one free tea-meeting do good work in that way," replied the tall man; "but I do not wish to discuss such questions just now. I would rather speak of something more to the purpose. I should like to know your opinion of what death does to a man when it comes to him." "Then I will very soon tell you," replied the blind man; “I think it puts an end to him altogether." "What, then, becomes of the life that was in him?" questioned the other. Or do you mean to assert that something can become nothing, though you deny that nothing can become something?" "I don't trouble my head with such intricate rubbish," was the reply. "I don't believe any of your tales about a life hereafter, and immortality; got-up tales that are only fit to frighten fools into supplying a set of priests with plenty of money to support them in idleness. And as to all your nonsense about death-bed repentance, if you will only sit down (for I can hear you have been standing all this time) I will tell you a little truth about that matter that will do you good to hear. But first shut the door, that my pet little daughter may not hear us, for I don't care to speak of it before her, she is fit for nothing all day afterwards. But as for deathbed repentance, I will tell you now. I had a son years ago. He was my eldest, and I took great delight in him; he was a real good boy-none of your religious nonsense about him; but a steady good moral lad as ever wore shoe-leather. I taught him carefully when he began to grow up, that the Bible was got up by priests for a trade, and that they had invented the idea of God for the same purpose; and it was his delight to go with me on Sunday evening to our hall and get some real truth and knowledge there. And I tell you, sir, he was as rank an infidel as ever breathed, but a good son to me and his mother, and honest and kind to all about him. But he became consumptive, and got worse and worse, until the time came that he had to die like all the rest of us. Now, you just listen carefully, for I am speaking the truth. One day the doctor came to see him as usual, and there was that about him which made the doctor shake his head, and tell us that if he wanted to say anything to his friends, it might be as well to say it as soon as possible. My boy knew what he meant; and the next time I went into his room he called me to him, and put his thin, wasted, hot arms round my neck, and he said: Father, I am going away from you. The doctor says I am dying, and I think it's true; but I have not the least fear, father-I firmly believe there is no God, and no hereafter. I shall soon be nothing at all, and have to suffer no more; and even if there were any God, I have nothing to fear then, for I can safely say I have never done anybody harm.' And so, sir, my poor boy went on, talking calmly and quietly while he had his senses; and it was only a little while before he went, that he began to wander, and to talk wildly about his Sunday school, and his teacher there; but I don't take any account of that, for it mostly happens so; and therefore tell you, that my boy died as he had lived, a thorough unbeliever in either God or devil, and yet he went off as quietly as a lamb; so don't tell me of your horrible infidel death-beds, for there is my personal experience that such tales are all got-up rubbish, invented by the priests." "And where do you really think he is at this moment?" inquired the visitor. 66 66 Nowhere," replied the blind man. ‘How can he be anywhere when we laid all that was him in the burial ground?" "Not all," was the objection, "unless you laid him living in his grave. I want to know what you think has become of the life, thought, intellect -call it what you will? That, after all, was all that you knew of him. Where is that?" 66 Gone, vanished, dissipated," was the reply. "Then you really mean to say that the something that was your son has now become nothing?" asked the tall man. "There was nothing but what we laid in his grave," was the answer. "You must feel that is simple untruth and evasion. You have spoken tenderly of his love for you, and of his good moral qualities—what has become of these things?" rejoined the visitor. "I don't know," was the reply, evidently uttered without intention to speak at all. 'You must believe that if there be a hell your son has gone there, and that you, and you only, have consigned him to eternal sorrow and despair." The reply of the blind man consisted of a furious reiteration of the blasphemies that had shocked so many on the previous Sunday evening, mingled with the most daring defiance of the Almighty, uttered in phrases far too dreadful to record; and more than once the Great Creator was invoked and defied to do His best and His worst. Shocked and saddened beyond measure at the total failure of a visit from which he had fondly hoped for better things, the visitor withdrew, followed in his retreat by the virulent and insolent blasphemy, in which the blind man seemed to take a delight that was absolutely fiendish. On the following Sabbath the discussion was continued, and the blind man's opposition became more and more blasphemous and virulent, until it formed a question for consideration whether he should be allowed to speak again in the meeting. This question was settled, to the great relief of the committee, by the blind man suddenly ceasing to attend the meetings. The weeks and the work proceeded until the winter began to brighten into spring, but the blind man came no more to the meetings. At length some inquiries were made concerning him, and the committee were informed that he had been taken ill, and was not expected to live. Hoping that illness might have softened his heart, the former visitor readily volunteered to call upon him and ascertain his condition. He was but little changed. The broad cheek was still full, the grand form not much diminished in bulk or strength, and the clear hearing was as keen as ever—a fact that was evidenced by the rough greeting bestowed on the visitor: "Well, metaphysician, come to try again, eh?" We are not to be weary in well-doing; but your hearing and memory must be very keen and strong to recognise a man by his footsteps, when you have heard it only very seldom. But we had really become anxious about you, and I volunteered to call on you; and here I am." "What for?" queried the blind man. "Have you come to administer spiritual consolation? and have you duly brought the eighteenpence that makes the weekly consolation bearable to poor sick devils, eh? I tell you I don't need your eighteen pence, and I won't have the physic thrust down my throat without that sugar-plum afterwards-so you had better take heed." This was bitter ribaldry, but not blasphemy, and the visitor was encouraged to persevere in attempting to reach the conscience of the blind man, and he consequently gently offered to read and pray. "If you do try that on," was the reply, "I'll blaspheme you out of the house pretty quickly. I have told you already that I would not have it, and I meant what I said. Sit down like a man and talk politics, or something sensible, (I know you can do it if you like,) and I will listen to you and thank you; or, better still, read me a slashing leader out of last Sunday's paper-that will be something like." "I cannot do these things now," said the visitor. "I shall be most happy to read God's Word to you, and to pray for and with you, if you will allow me; but I will have no part in helping you pleasantly to pass along the awful road on which you are certainly going, and the end of which may be very near." "Then go about your business," was the angry reply, "and make room for some better fellow, that will help a blind man in his own way, and don't come here any more till you are sent for. When I want you I shall certainly send for you." 'Do so,” rejoined the visitor, "and when you send I will come gladly;" and so they parted for that time. Passing out, he was detained by a touch on his arm, and beckoned into the parlour, then motioned into a seat by a middle-aged woman, who covered her face, and burst into a passion of bitter, heart-broken tears. "Oh! what shall I do for him?-how shall I help him?" she said, at length. “Oh, sir, you are used to deal with such as he. Can't you say or do anything for him? He has always been kind and good to me and the children, much better (as he said himself) than some that make a great profession; but, oh! sir, I believe, though he does not, and I fear he is going to hell, as my eldest boy did, and that they will soon be there together." "Did you hear what he said when I offered to pray with him?" asked the visitor. "Oh yes,” replied the woman; "but he changes so. Sometimes he is quite free from pain, as he has been to-day, but at other times he suffers such agony that he does nothing but groan and scream for mercy. Then you may read or pray, or do what you like; but as soon as the pain leaves him, he will blaspheme as bad as ever. And that just reminds me of what he used to do years ago. He would go, sir, into a prayer meeting, and be asked to pray; and he would kneel down and pray beautifully, just like some experienced Christian; and he would leave such meetings, and go to a street discussion place near here, and then he would do his utmost to make the young men who would listen to him thorough unbelievers in the Bible." A wild scream of agony from above interrupted her, and she ran up stairs, followed by the visitor. The strong form was struggling and writhing, and every feature twisted and wrenched with the intensity of bodily suffering. Heavy perspiration poured from his face, and his hands were clasped and working convulsively on the coverlet of the bed. "O God! O God!" he groaned out between his pangs. 'I have deserved it, I know I have; but be merciful! be merciful! I knew all the time that I did not believe what I said to others, and I was wrought up to blaspheme as I did. Oh, mercy! mercy! Is there no one near that will pray for me?" Trembling and horror-stricken, the visitor drew near, and knelt by the side of the bed, intending to pour out his heart in prayer, while the suffering man endeavoured to stifle his groaning and crying, that he might hear and join in the supplication. But as the visitor knelt, and his face sank upon his hands, there came upon him a cold and awful feeling, that it was useless to pray, that the man had offended beyond forgiveness; it seemed verily as if God had closed up heaven and would not hear. Many times, for many years, had that visitor knelt in prayer in different circumstances, but never till then had he felt such an awful inward assurance that prayer would be in vain. He struggled hard with the feeling, but it was unconquerable, and he arose from his knees with a sickening internal consciousness that the wretched man before him was irremediably hastening to everlasting ruin. The pangs speedily returned upon the blind man, with dreadful inten sity, and his cries and groans became so heart-rending that the visitor was fain to stop his ears. At length the cries and struggling ceased, but the end had come. "I am in awful pain," groaned the blind man; "but that is nothing to the of my mind. There all is darkness-no light! no hope! no God!" And thus he died. God is not mocked; whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap." agony 66 RUTH. The plume-like waving of the auburn corn, Fallen in its weariness. Thy father-land 66 NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS. TEXTS FOR NON-READING CLASSES.-Several correspondents will observe that we have begun to act upon their suggestion, by including amongst the Notes on Lessons the TEXTS chosen from the Union's Scheme for Non-reading Classes. We find that it is not so generally known as it ought to be, that these Texts are printed separately, in very large and legible type, and sold in sheets by Mr. M'Callum, the Union's Publisher. Hymns for Infant Classes" is in type. 66 The matter for each Number of the Magazine requires to be in the hands of the printers not later than the middle of the month before publication. The insertion of communications sent later cannot be guaranteed. Intelligence. SABBATH AFTERNOON SERVICES IN | MacKeith introduced the subject of CHURCHES FOR THE YOUNG.-A con- conference by reading a short paper ference on the above-named subject, on "The propriety of Sabbath Afteron the invitation of the Directors of the Glasgow Foundry Boys Religious Society, took place in the Hall of Wellington Street United Presbyterian Church, on Monday evening, 14th March. James Bell, Esq., president, was in the chair. Devotional exercises were conducted by the Rev. Mr. M'Dermid. Mr. Alexander noon Services in Churches for the |