which he could best honour Him, and at the same time show his gratitude for his past mercies. The fact made known to him that no less than six thousand orphan children were in the prisons of England, with none to save them from a life of future wretchedness, was appalling. What he had done for them seemed to him mere dust in the balance. Surely, he might enlarge his field of labour. Hundreds of orphans were craving to join the limited number under his care. The death-bed of dying mothers was embittered by the thought of leaving behind them unprotected children, subject to the temptations of poverty. He would not stop where he was. He would raise funds for houses which should receive a thousand orphans. He could wait patiently for weeks, or months, or years, until God, in his own good time, should send supplies. He could pray and wait, certain, that if success did not crown his labours, it was caused by his own unworthiness, or because his attempt to do more was not acceptable to Him. Additional help, of course, he must have, not only in the way of money but in assistance; he would be compelled to hire a secretary, a clerk, and an inspector of the schools; with this aid he could surely do double the amount of his usual work. Such thoughts passed through his mind, and he wrote down his reasons for and against the project. "A further reason," he says, after mentioning several others, "for going forward in this service, I see in the experience which I have had in it. From the smallest commencement up to the present state of the establishment, with its three hundred orphans, all has gone through my own hands. In the work itself I got the experience. It has grown with the work. I have been the sole director of the work, under God, from its smallest commencement. Now this is not an every day case. No committee, member of a society, no president or vice-president of an institution, except they had been situated as myself, could have this experience. Coupled with this, is the measure of gift which the Lord has been pleased to give me for such work, and for the exercise of which I am responsible to Him. These things, it appears to me, are a call from God, to go forward in a greater degree than ever in this work."

For six months he tested his own motives with the greatest care, and prayed for light and strength. He did not, during that time, consult even his wife. At last his resolution was summed up in these words, "By God's help, I will try what I can do to keep poor orphans from prison."

It was calculated that the sum of £25,000 would be needful to meet the contractors' views. On January 4th, 1851, he had from one individual, a present of £3,000, and on the same day of the month,

two years after, he received the half of £8,000, promised him by gentlemen who subscribed to make up that sum. The work is still going on prosperously, and liberal donations continue to be received. In the 16th report, which brings his account up to May, 1855, plans were laid, and the first actual steps were taken in the sinking of the four wells for the new house.

It is now many months since we paid a visit to Mr. Müller's Orphan House, and though we have visited a large number of schools, in none have we ever seen such perfect system in the arrangements for the health and intellectual improvement of the children. The clear, intelligent, and happy faces of the girls, who, with neatly arranged hair, were clad in plain blue cotton dresses, attracted our especial attention, while our interest was deeply excited by the infants, who, clinging to their nurses, at the sight of strangers, were half delighted with the toys brought them by the visitors, and half afraid to take them.

The dormitories, lavatories, and play-rooms, were all well ventilated, and kept in a state of the most perfect order and cleanliness, while the abundant stores of food and linen, wearing-apparel, soap, &c. could hardly permit any imagination to realize the occasional difficulties that are even now met with to meet a regular supply. But that which struck us as most remarkable was the healthy appearance of the children. No greater proof could be afforded of the excellence of the sanitary arrangements, as all must have been the offspring of unhealthy parents, and few have ever entered the orphan house who were not more or less out of health, from want or neglect, or the influences of bad air and the inheritance of weakly constitutions.

The great secret of Mr. Müller's success has been his entire confidence in God: results have not been his aim, as he felt it was his duty simply to go on in his work, and to leave the rest in His hands. In times of great difficulty and anxiety, he has always thus been able to "cast his burden on the Lord," feeling that it was his place to labour faithfully, and leave Him to send His blessing in His own time. Thoughts have sometimes crossed his mind as to the probability of his work continuing to prosper after his death, but they have been banished by the reflection, that in serving the present generation to the best of his ability, he is doing all in his power for generations yet unborn.

Besides the readiness of known and unknown friends to help him in a pecuniary way, Mr. Müller begins now to feel the encouragement of a more gratifying nature. He receives small donations in money towards the building fund, from those who have experienced

his kindness; and he often meets young men and women whom he remembers as sickly infants, and who are leading happy and useful lives. This has consoled him for the censure and calumny against which he has had sometimes to contend.

The Orphan House, on Ashley Down, is open to visitors every Wednesday afternoon. Unlike similar establishments, it requires no interest to obtain admission for an orphan: without any sectarian distinction, and without any favour or partiality, the children are received in the order in which application is made for them, upon condition that they are bereaved of both parents and that they are in needy circumstances. The most trifling donations are acceptable. Books, thimbles, book-marks, rings, and even broken spectacles and old razors, are among the anonymous. donations sent in 1855; so that if any reader of this Magazine has any, the most trifling article, to spare, and feels disposed to aid the cause of destitute orphans, he can send it to No. 34, Park-street, Bristol, and Mrs. Parris, who is appointed to sell such articles for their benefit, will gratefully accept it.

We cannot better conclude this paper than by an exhortation given by Mr. Müller, in his reports. Few are privileged as he has been, to effect the same large amount of good, but all of us can, if we will, make faithful use of our one talent; and in all our lesser as well as in our greater duties, if they can be so compared, we may strive to act in harmony with the will of our Heavenly Father. Guided by worthy motives, in a large or limited sphere of action, we cannot doubt that He will support us by his all-sustaining hand, provided we put in Him our entire trust, and earnestly endeavour to increase our faith in His Almighty power, His unchangeable love, His infinite wisdom, and in His willingness to hear and answer such prayers as are not inconsistent with our highest good. Mr. Müller says, "The disciples of the Lord Jesus should labour with all their might in the work of God, as if every thing depended on their own exertions; and yet having done so, they should not in the least trust in their labour and efforts, and in the means which they use for the spread of the truth, but in God; and they should with all earnestness seek the blessing of God, in persevering, patient, and believing prayer. Here is the great secret of success, my Christian Reader. Work with all your might; but trust not in the least in your work. Pray with all your might for the blessing of God; but work at the same time, with all diligence, with all patience, with all perseverance. Pray then, and work. Work and pray. And still again pray, and then work. And so on, all the days of your life."

S. L.

THE TWO FRIENDS.

Ir was evening, and Philip Norton sat alone as he had done many a long hour. His sofa was drawn near to the fire, and a small table by his side was supplied with books and writing materials, and fresh flowers. His face had that serene expression, that seems to belong only to those who have passed through bitter trial, and found perfect peace with God. The deep lines about his forehead, and the traces of thought in his countenance, revealed the struggle and the victory.

Philip had been intended for the ministry. Sanguine and ardent, he had hoped to do something for his fellow-men,-to spend his life in actively serving his God. It is hard to lay down all these bright visions; and with the young heart still full of life and hope, and the mind fresh and vigorous for the work, to lie like a log chained to one spot. There has been a great deal said and written upon victories of various kinds, and there has been in all ages, and ever will be, a deep reverence for the martyrs to our faith. But there is sometimes a harder battle fought, a nobler victory gained, within the four walls of a sick room,—the martyr's cross without his crown of glory, at least to the world's eye. A fearful accident had left Philip a hopeless cripple. He lived with his only sister, and in some degree was supported by her labours of love; for the rest, they lived on the small remnant of property left them at their father's death. Philip's sister was teacher in the day school connected with their chapel. The short hour at noon, and the precious evenings, were the only times they could pass together, except the day of rest. So, as I said before, many a long hour Philip sat alone, and yet not alone, for God was with him. Besides, many kind friends came, bringing books and flowers and all the many trifle offerings that cheer a sick room, filling it with tokens of love.

And now there is a low tap at the door, and Philip says, "Come in. Dear Roger, is it you?" he adds, as a young man enters the

room.

What a contrast there was between the two! His very presence seemed to alter the aspect of the room, he was so full of health and youth and activity, a very tower of strength; and yet he was gentle too in his first tender inquiries about his friend, and led Philip on into cheerful talk, till all at once he became very grave, and scarcely seemed to hear what Philip was saying. Philip did not seem much surprised, for he was given to these sudden transitions. He was something like a rushing torrent, that goes rejoicing on its way, sometimes resting suddenly in deep waters in some quiet spot, and

then leaping on again over the next rock it comes to. His young life had met no lasting check to its free course. Philip only said, Well, Roger, what's the matter now?"

"I never can go on with it, Philip. It is too great a responsibility. I'm not fit for it."

"Not fit for what, Roger?" said Philip.

Oh, I thought you knew what I was thinking about. I'm not fit for a Sunday-school teacher. That is what I mean. I am sure of it. Yesterday, in his sermon, Mr. Arnold pointed out the duties of a teacher. He showed how much depends upon our own exertions,-how much we ought to do to prepare for the work. I am quite sure I am not prepared; and, as I said before, the responsibility is too great."

"It is indeed a great responsibility, Roger," said Philip, in his deep kind voice. "So is life itself; but I do not see how we can. shake off these responsibilities."

"Nay, Philip, if I no longer teach, I cannot be responsible for my class any longer. It will pass into other hands."

But may not you be accountable for those you do not teach at all. Suppose you saw a wide country spread out before you, full of pit-falls and snares, a country so beautiful and attractive in many ways that these hidden dangers were not foreseen by the unprepared. Suppose again that you saw troops of children, without guide or direction, wandering across this land, and beheld them one after another caught by the hidden snares or lost in the pit-falls, should you be innocent, if, possessing the clue which would lead all these little ones in safety through the wilderness, you did not put it into their hands? God has given you the book of Life, which shows in clear light the strait and narrow way which leads to heaven. Can it be right, because you yourself sometimes stumble and lose your way, to close the book, and leave the wanderers from the fold of Christ lost in utter darkness? A ray of light ever so faint from the glorious Sun of Righteousness is better than none.'

"Indeed," said Roger sadly "I believe you say truth; but I feel incompetent."

if

"There is another light in which we may view the subject, which I think may give you courage. If you rest upon your own strength, or your own holiness, as a teacher, you may well draw back; but you remember that you are the humble instrument, and Christ the teacher, the feeling is very different. It seems to me that the great office of a Sunday-school teacher is to bring the little ones to Christ; and the chief qualification for the office is, that the teacher should himself have that love of Christ, which he would