see there's red tape everywhere. There won't be a bit of risk about it; it will be nothing more than just writing your name. And my neighbour Johnson, the optician, will give me his signature. Of course that divides the risk, that is, if there were any, but there is none whatever." Ellis did not tell his brother-in-law that the condition on which Johnson gave his name was that Ellis should be security for himself with a rival loan society. Nor did he tell him that he was already in debt for more than 1007., and that Johnson was quite as needy as he was. "Well," resumed Ellis, "just think about it; only I should like to have the thing settled as soon as you can. By-the-way, to-morrow will be Saturday, and you'll have a holiday in the afternoon; maybe you could come over and look at the invention I told you about; it's a splendid thing." Without any suspicion of danger, Robertson | consented, and Ellis went away tolerably sure that he would get his name. the thing" on sale or return," and three-quarters of all they sent out were returned. The price was reduced from two shillings to a shilling, still people would not buy. The invention would not work. At length the crash came, and one morning Robertson received a letter from the manager of the loan society to say that, as no doubt he would be aware, Mr. Ellis had been made bankrupt. The society would make its claim, along with the other creditors, for the amount he had borrowed from it; and the manager regretted to inform Mr. Robertson that the society would be under the necessity of calling upon him to pay the balance. He was sorry to add that Mr. Johnson, who had signed the bond along with Mr. Robertson, was also bankrupt, so that the entire loss would fall on him. | "What is it, Andrew ?" said his wife, alarmed when she saw his pale face and his troubled "What is it?" he replied; "aye, you may well ask that. This is it; I've been a great, simple fool. Ellis has let me in for a hundred poundsand more." There was one thing which Robertson did not do, which he ought to have done, and which, if|look. only he had done it, would have kept him from the snare; he did not say a word to his wife about what Ellis wanted. He knew she did not like Ellis, which was a good reason why he should tell her what he wanted. Besides, he thought he knew well enough how to deal with a thing like that without consulting her. It was a great mistake. A woman's wit will often see danger where a man suspects nothing. Besides, a man has no right to do anything which involves the interests of his wife and his children without consulting his wife. That very Saturday afternoon Robertson consented to give Ellis his name; and the loan society took it, and that of Johnson also, without any hesitation. They knew, indeed, that Johnson was not worth sixpence, but they knew that Robertson was good for the amount, and even for more. They found out for themselves that the house was his own. Robertson did not read the agreement. He took for granted all was right. No man should ever sign anything of that sort without reading it carefully, and making quite sure that he knows what he is signing. He would have found if he had read the paper that he and Johnson pledged themselves "jointly and severally" to pay the amount if Ellis failed to do so. That is, each of them bound himself to pay not merely half, but the whole. They made themselves responsible, too, for interest, and "for all legal and official charges," which, as Robertson found out afterwards, amounted together to at least twelve per cent. per annum. A year passed by, during which Ellis brought out the invention which was to do such wonders; but nobody seemed to care about it. Dealers took "A hundred pounds!" she exclaimed; "why however has he done that?" Very penitently her husband told the whole story. It did not take long to tell, but it took long enough to give Mary time to collect her thoughts, and to consider what she should not say, as well as what she should. She was a sensible woman, and she saw at once that it was of no use to utter a single word of reproach, for it was plain that Andrew was troubled more than enough. "It's a pity," she said; "but never mind, we shall get over it, and, after all, it might have been worse. We can better spare a hundred pounds than we could have afforded to lose one another or any one of the children." Nevertheless, Mary was sorely troubled, and when her husband had gone back to his work she sat down and burst into tears. That did not last long, however, for she rose somewhat impatiently and said, "Where is the good of this? It's of no use crying over spilt milk." She then went about her work; and there is nothing like plenty of work for helping you to forget trouble. When he went home again at dinner-time, Andrew found as bright a smile on his wife's face as he thought he had ever seen on it; and besides, she had provided for him—and, of course, for them all-a better dinner than usual. "We're not going into mourning, or to live on short commons either," she said to herself, “though we have lost a hundred pounds." There is no telling how much the way Mary took the thing raised her in her husband's esteem and love, and after that he told her everything. The dividend on Ellis's estate was three-halfpence in the pound, which did not much lessen what Andrew had to pay. One way or other, that "mere matter of form" cost him not far short of a hundred and twenty pounds. After a little thought it occurred to him that the building society would advance him the money on the security of his house, he resuming the monthly payments which he thought he had done with. This the society did. Just about the same time, too, he got an increase of wages, to the amount of fifteen shillings a week, on being made foreman. So he got over his trouble. But it is not every man who foolishly becomes bond for somebody else who has a house which he can mortgage, or who gets such a rise of wages as Andrew did. There have been numbers-and we have known such-who lost everything they had because, like Andrew, they unthinkingly signed their names as a mere matter of form." 66 The thing was never mentioned in the house, and the children knew nothing about it for a great many years; but one evening, as they sat by the fireside, Andrew thought it right to tell them. He thought they might profit by his experience, instead of paying for their own. When he had done he said: "Now then, lads, this is what I have to say: Don't he bond for anybody unless you are prepared to pay the whole amount for which you are bound, rather than the man should not have the advantage of your names. Another thing: You all, no doubt, intend to be married some day. Well, I hope you will be, and that you will every one of you try to get a wife as good as your mother. Then trust her in everything, and do nothing of any importance, especially if it is likely to involve her comfort and that of your children, without consulting her." "He that hateth suretyship is sure." "Be not of them. . that are sureties for debts." Prov. ix. 15 and xxii. 26. JESUS ONLY. exerHO from sin can save my soul? Jesus, Jesus only. Who can make my spirit whole? He can cleanse me from my guilt, Who can give my spirit peace? Jesus, Jesus only. Who can make my trouble cease? Jesus, Jesus only. When the Saviour speaks the word, Stormy winds no more are heard. Who can bring the weary rest? Jesus, Jesus only. Who can make the mourner blest? Jesus, Jesus only. He can comfort the oppressed, Who can light the path I go? Who the way to God can show? He alone can show the road, Who alone my hope can be? Jesus, Jesus only. Open mercy's gate to me? Jesus, Jesus only. Lord, a suppliant at Thy gate, Jesus, Jesus only; Love and long to see Thy face, Every day be Thou my Guide, Jesus, Jesus only. All my wants to Thee I bring, Whom have I in heaven but Thee? Who on earth my Lord shall be? Life and love and joy to me, Who shall be my Prince of song? All the endless ages long? Jesus, Jesus only. He who sitteth on the throne, THE LAKE OF GALILEE, It is all the country, and home -if ever He had a home-of the Lord Jesus. Let us look a little more carefully and more calmly. The sea is some twelve or thirteen miles long, by five or six broad-about the size of some of the Scottish, or of the ROM Nazareth it | Cumberland lakes. All along its eastern is hardly a dozen side the beach is a mere broken ribbon miles across the of shingle at the foot of the dark hills till the road precipices of the mountains of Moab, exdrops into a nar- cept where here and there a ravine opens, row and rugged widening the strip and forming space glen. Few passes, for a little town. But the western side even in Palestine, is different; the hills are softer and are more abruptly rounded, in winter they are green to the steep, or give less summit, and the white strand can be dispromise of leading tinctly seen all round the water's edge. to somewhere plea- Yonder, to the north, where a clump of sant beyond. But palm-trees catches the eye, the Jordan what gleam of bright blue water is this? pours its waters into the lake; and here, and, as you press on and gaze, what is this southward, where a bit of meadow-land inland sea which, till now, has hidden all opens as if to receive it, the river rolls its beauty behind these barren hills? What its increased volume downwards towards heights are those-dark and massive, which, the Sea of Death. A few miles to the left across the waves, and far as the eye can of this meadow-land, and following the reach, stretch their heavy cliffs before? northern sweep of the shore, you come what are these softer and greener hills upon the modern town which marks the rising left and right on this nearer and site and preserves the relics of Tiberias; pleasanter shore ?-and, just where the half an hour further you cross the main road turns sharply to the north, past a road leading to Damascus, by which we ruined village. What is this sweep of entered, and come upon the forlorn ruins fertile plain, which lies so lovely-all the with their single palm, of the birthplace more lovely, because so still and solitary of Mary Magdalene. At this point the within its amphitheatre of hills? Well hills recede in curves from the shore, may we watch and wonder and ask; for and you see stretching onwards-level, if earth has fairer it has few more famous verdant, beautiful-for some three or or more fascinating scenes than this. four miles, the pleasant plain of GenneYou are gazing on the bright waters of saret. At the northern corner, where the Lake of Galilee. Yon heights are the strand again touches the heights, the "dark wall of Moab "; these are the stood once Capernaum-farther north are uplands and the passes above Tiberias; the ruins of Chorazin and the lost site of and this green plain with its mouldering Bethsaida. And this completes the circuit, ruins of Magdala-village of the lost and for this path will lead you to the ford restored Mary is the land of Gennesaret. crossing the upper Jordan, and then into the plain in which stood the eastern Bethsaida, and which touched the bases of the Gadarene cliffs-the northern extremity of the barrier heights of Moab, which hem in to the furthest southern shore the waters of the inland sea. The whole lake lies low-its ripples break on a strand 600 feet deeper than that of the Mediterranean; and the climate is consequently more tropical. And it is a scene of true beauty. Even in its forlorn neglect under Turkish rule, where ruins represent living cities, and the glory of the palm and oleander is gone, there is nevertheless a charm around these hills and all along this shore. The waters are clear: the western hills, during the rainy season are in colour like an emerald: the Syrian sky above is blue: the shores are smooth and sweet: far off you see the snowy crown of Hermon; and, what is far more telling than all, there lies over vale and moun tains the glory of that light which comes from the reverent mind "How pleasant to me thy deep blue wave, O sea of Galilee, For the glorious One who came to save Has often stood by thee." does now, and all these western shores in outline are the same; but in one respect, all is now altered: for where now there are ruins and the silence of decay, there were the sights and the sounds of bright and busy life. Tiberias was just rising in its new and luxurious beauty. Capernaum, with its stately synagogue, was a centre of activity. Chorazin and the two Bethsaidas were thronged with busy people-even lonely Magdala may have been gay; while all this Gennesaret plain was one varied scene of life and luxuriance; its fields of corn blended their gold with the purple of its vine TIBERIAS. And we will all agree with McCheyne, for there is no scene in any home or in any classic land so full of charm, or power to impress, as this lake, which we cannot but call lovely-the still, quiet, wondrous Sea of Galilee. In the days of the Lord Himself, it was, however, widely different. The dark wall of Moab still stood on guard as it yards, and the green of its palms; while everywhere the beautiful oleander spread its delicate blossoming of pink. The shores were astir with fisher folk, and the roads with travellers; instead of the solitary sail which now is noticed on the waters, there were fleets of fishers which spread their white wings across the blue. The beauty which and is now desert, was then heightened and blended with life-for the scene of the northern ministry of the Lord Jesus was not only rich in the fairness of natural grace, but was animated by that human life He came to save. Such was the Lake of Galilee--you can recal something of the events and the teaching which have made it for ever dear. It was a day in spring-or in the Eastern summer-April of the year 28, when the Prophet of Nazareth, rejected by his own countrymen, came to make Capernaum, on the bright Gennesaret plain, His home. It was during these early days, and soon after He came, that, walking by these very shores, He saw, and called to His side, Peter and Andrew. You remember that Sabbath which soon followed, where, after service in the synagogue-of which these huge columns may be the remains-He found Peter's wife's mother sick of a fever, and when He had healed her, and the afternoon, passed in such quiet peace, had gone, you recollect how they brought all their poor invalids to Him; and how, after He had cured them all, He climbed yon mountain path to find a place for devotion and for rest among the solitudes of the glens. It was the midsummer of the same year, when the corn fields were beautiful with ripening grain, that on this plain He walked one Sabbath through them, and gave us, in His noble defence of His disciples, the great law and liberty of the Christian rest. It was during the same summer that, on some of the hills overlooking the lake, He gathered His new disciples about Him, and gave to them and to the people the Sermon on the Mount. It was in the same year-but now under the milder skies of autumnthat He had the little ship moored in some of these creeks, and charmed the crowds by His parables. That autumn also saw the storm on the lake, and the sudden calm; and afterwards the visit to the Gadarenes; and Jairus can never forget the time, for it was in this year that his little girl was restored to him from the grave. The following winter seems to have been spent mainly in western Galilee; but by the April of 29, we find our Lord in Capernaum again. You can recall the Feeding of the Five Thousand, and the discourse on the Bread of Life, spoken in the synagogue of Capernaum, and recollect, as the great sixth of John records, that these days mark the period of the turning of the tide; for it was then He said to the few but faithful followers, "Will ye also go away?" Summer followed: but it was more broken than the last: we find the Lord in Tyre and Sidon-in Decapolis-in Cæsarea Philippi; but when the autumn of this graver year came, He took His final farewell of the north-rejected there, and misunderstood, as elsewhere- and with one notable exception, Galilee saw Him no more. Spring of the next year-30 -came; but He was not by the lake, nor on the hill-it could not be that the great Prophet should perish out of Jerusalem. You know that on April 9 He died. But there was to be yet another morning beside the Lake of Galilee. Many a morning, grey and weary, in the old days of suffering He knew: is it not meet, now that He has risen and His work is done, that He and His disciples should once more meet on this familiar shore? I need not tell the story. There was a fire of coals for the early summer day was yet chill in the dawn-there was a stranger on the shore: and there was that voice none could mistake, and that question none could put but Himself"Lovest thou Me?" Oh, happiest memory of the Lake of Galilee for it was a memory of the love of a generous Master, and of sin forgiven and forgotten. Where it happened, no exploration can ever tell; but Peter knows, and the Lord Jesus; and surely, when the thought of the disciple goes back from His happy heaven to the old days in Palestine, there is no spot dearer than this-here somewhere by the strand-nor any hour so joyful as that morning in May. There is no one who will not feel the advantage of studying the scenery of our Lord's ministry, and thus connecting place with time, and with truth. For thus the truth is all the clearer and more helpful: and thus it was the way of the Great Teacher ever to do. For His words are for ever connected with this Lake of Galilee: and, as its glassy water receives the imagery of sky and hill, so in His clear words the life and the land mirror themselves for ever. That busy life is indeed gone; but its photograph survives. There are few cornfields now on the plain; but |