Christian herald and signs of our times . fe for you takingoff that leg. Oh, no, sir, said Bill, cheerily. My lifeaint spoiled. Dont you believe it. Im a newman, sir. Its wuth the loss o both legs to getwhat Ive got in hospital. Ah ! and what may that be ? Ive got religion, sir. When 1 went in thereI was on my road to hell. As bad a man, sir, Iwas, as eer a man in the mine. What widrinking and other things Id a brought up inhell afore long. And now, sir, and Bill, sup-porting himself on his crutch, and throwing uphis hand while a smile spread over his broadfeatures, exclaimed, thank the dear L
Christian herald and signs of our times . fe for you takingoff that leg. Oh, no, sir, said Bill, cheerily. My lifeaint spoiled. Dont you believe it. Im a newman, sir. Its wuth the loss o both legs to getwhat Ive got in hospital. Ah ! and what may that be ? Ive got religion, sir. When 1 went in thereI was on my road to hell. As bad a man, sir, Iwas, as eer a man in the mine. What widrinking and other things Id a brought up inhell afore long. And now, sir, and Bill, sup-porting himself on his crutch, and throwing uphis hand while a smile spread over his broadfeatures, exclaimed, thank the dear Lord,Hes given me a new heart and saved me, andIll find heaven at the end o my course. Bill went to the club that night and told thesame story there His friend, MethodistHarry, opposed his going, fearing the power oftemptation, but Bill said he must bear his testi-mony, and he did. Yell never sing no more for us now, Bill,said one of the old friends, ruefully. Not sing? said Bill, in amazement. Why, Im singing always, and Ill sing all the. The Maimed Miners Ascription. evening for ye, only yell hev to come up terchurch or somewhere away from here. Notsing? Why, just hear, and Bill sent forth sucha volume of sound with Praise God fromwhom all blessings flow, that showed his lungs,at any rate, had not been injured. Bill had the pleasure not only of singing forthem afterward, but of getting many others tojoin him in the sacred harmony. THE FRIENDS AT ASPENDALE. A SERIAL STORY. By Rev. J. Jackson Wray. *Night in Aspendale. My story opens in canny Yorkshire ;.forin the hill country of that biggest, and as I maybe forgiven for thinking, that bonniest of Eng-lish shires lies the valley of Aspendale. Theseason is autumn and the time is evening. Thered sun, after lingering awhile on the distantwold as if to fling a valediction on the vale be-neath, is setting amid attendant clouds, whichreceive, as courtiers do, the reflected glory oftheir royal lord. Blushing with a proud con-tent, they
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