refused to go from the place till he
had found peace in the Savior. The next day he went down into the pit,
and the coal fell in upon him. When they took him out, he was broken
and mangled, and had only two or three minutes of life left in him.
His friends gathered about him, saw his lips moving, and, bending down
to catch his words, heard him say:

"It was a good thing I settled it last night."

Settle it now, my friends, once for all. Begin now to confess your
sins, and pray the Lord to remember you. He will make you an heir of
His kingdom, if you will accept the gift of salvation.

The True Source of Joy

God doesn't ask us to rejoice over nothing; He gives us ground for our
joy. What would you think of a man who seemed very happy to-day and
full of joy, and couldn't tell you what made him so? Suppose I should
meet a man on the street, and he was so full of joy that he should get
hold of both my hands and say:

"Bless the Lord, I am so full of joy!"

"What makes you so full of joy?"

"Well, I don't know."

"You don't know!"

"No, I don't; but I am so joyful that I just want to get out of the
flesh."

"What makes you feel so joyful?"

"Well, I don't know."

Would we not think such a person unreasonable? But there are a great
many people who want to feel that they are Christians before they are
Christians; they want the Christian's experience before they become
Christians; they want to have the joy of the Lord before they receive
Jesus Christ. But this is not the Gospel order. He brings joy when He
comes, and we cannot have joy apart from Him. He is the author of it,
and we find our joy in Him.

The Meanest Kind of Murderers

When I was in England in 1892, I met a gentleman who claimed that they
were ahead of us in the respect they had for the law. "We hang our
murderers," he said, "but there isn't one out of twenty in your
country that is hung."

I said, "You are greatly mistaken, for they walk about these two
countries unhung."

"What do you mean?"

"I will tell you what I mean," I said; "the man that comes into my
house and runs a dagger into my heart for my money is a prince
compared with a son that takes five years to kill me and the wife of
my bosom. A young man who comes home night after night drunk, and when
his mother remonstrates, curses her gray hairs, and kills her by
inches, is the blackest kind of a murderer."

Where your Treasure Is

You can soon tell where a man's trea