I think that the King's waggons will take us up to see our lost friends. Jacob's chief anticipation was not of seeing the Nile, or of seeing the long colonnade of architectural beauty, or of seeing the throne-room. There was a focus to all his journeyings-to all his anticipations-and that was Joseph. Well, my friends, I do not think heaven would be worth much if our brother Jesus was not there. If there were two heavens, the one with all the pomp and paraphernalia of an eternal monarchy, but no Christ—and the other were a plain heaven, humbly thatched, with a few daisies in the yard, and Christ were there, I would say: "Let the King's waggons take me up to the old farmhouse." If Jesus were not in heaven there would be no music there; there would be but very few people there; they would be off looking for the lost Christ, crying through the universe: "Where is Jesus ? where is Jesus?" and, after they had found Him, with loving violence they would take Him and bear Him through the gates; and it would be the greatest day known in heaven within the memory of the oldest inhabitant. Jesus never went off from heaven but once, and He was so badly treated on that excursion they will never let Him go again.

Oh! the joy of meeting our brother Joseph-Jesus. After we have talked about him for ten, or fifty, or seventy years, to talk with Him! and to clasp hands with the Hero of the ages, not crouching as underlings in His presence, but as Jacob and Joseph hug each other. We will want some new term by which to address him. On earth we call Him Saviour, or Redeemer, or Friend; but when we throw our arms around Him in everlasting embrace, we will want some new term of endearment. I can think of what we shall do through the long ages of eternity, but what we shall do the first minute I cannot guess. In the first flash of His countenance, in the first rush of our emotions, what we shall do I cannot imagine. Oh! the overwhelming glory of the first sixty seconds in heaven. Methinks we will just stand and look, and look, and look.

The King's waggons took Jacob up to see his lost boy; and so I really think that the King's waggons will take us up to see our lost kindred. How long is it since Joseph went out of your household? How many years is it, now, last Christmas, or the fourteenth of next month? It was a dark night when he died, and a stormy day it was at the burial; and the clouds wept with you, and the winds sighed for the dead. The bell at Greenwood's Gate rang only for a few moments, but your heart has

been tolling, tolling, ever since. You have been under a delusion, like Jacob of old. You have thought that Joseph was dead. You put his name first in the birth-record of the family Bible, and then you put it in the death-record of the family Bible, and you have been deceived. Joseph is yet alive! He is more alive than you are. Of all the sixteen thousand millions of children that statisticians say have gone into the future world, there is not one of them dead, and the King's waggons will take you up to see them. You often think how glad you will be to see them. Have you never thought my brother, my sister, how glad they will be to see you? Jacob was not more glad to see Joseph than Joseph was to see Jacob ? Every time the door in heaven opens, they look to see if it is you coming in. Joseph, once standing in the palace, burst out crying when he thought of Jacob, afar off. And the heaven of your little ones will not be fairly begun until you get there. All the kindnesses shown them by immortals will not make them forget you. There they are, the radiant throngs that went out from your homes. I throw a kiss to the sweet darlings. They are all well now in the palace. The crippled child has a sound foot now. A little lame child says: "Ma, will I be lame in heaven?" No, my darling, you won't be lame in heaven." A little sick child says: "Ma, will I be sick in heaven?' "No, my dear, you won't be sick in heaven.” A little blind child says: Ma, will I be blind in heaven ?" "No, my dear, you won't be blind in heaven." They are all well there.

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So

In my boyhood, for some time, we lived three miles from church, and on stormy days the children stayed at home, but father and mother always went to church. That was a habit they had. On those stormy Sabbaths when we stayed at home, the absence of our parents seemed very much protracted, for the roads were very bad, and they could not get on very fast. we would go to the window at twelve o'clock to see if they were coming; and then we would go at half-past twelve to see if they were coming; and at a quarter to one; and then at one o'clock. After awhile, Mary or Daniel, or De Witt would shout: "The waggon's coming:" and then we would see it winding out of the woods, and over the brook, and through the lane, and up in the front of the old farm-house; and then we would rush out, leaving the doors wide open, with many things to tell them, asking them many questions. Well, my dear brethren, I think we are many of us in the King's waggons, and we are on the

way home. The road is very bad, and we get on slowly; but after awhile we will come winding out of the woods, and through the brook of death, and up in front of the old heavenly homestead; and our departed kindred who have been waiting and watching for us will rush out through the doors, and over the lawn, crying: "The waggons are coming! the King's waggons are coming!" Hark! the bell of the city hall strikes twelve. Twelve o'clock on earth; and likewise it is high noon in heaven. During the past week some of God's waggons have come due, and a loved one is gone. John R. Lansing, an elder of this church, loved by me, loved by you all-one of those pure spirits that we sometimes see early ripening for heaven. I never heard a young man pray as Lansing did. He talked with God like an old Christian. Last Thursday morning the King's waggon halted at his pillow. There was no one present to see him go. Yes, there was; Jesus was there. I went round afterwards where he dwelt, and they had nothing but words of praise to say of him-so kind he was, so gentle he was, so pure he was, so upright he was. We picked him out of our large congregation as especially qualified for the service of the eldership. I have always been glad since we did. He was a young man to be called an elder, but he was worthy of his office, and he honored it. If I knew of any better words of eulogiumhonest eulogium-than these I have already uttered, I would say them. Joy to him. No more asthma or heart disease for him. He is well now. He will never cough again. Joy, joy; but ours is the grief in the elder's board, in the Sabbath-school, in the prayer-meeting-ours is the grief. "Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his." May God comfort those that mourn, especially that aged mother, too feeble to hear of such tidings. I do not know but that the King's waggon will take them both side by side through the gates into the city.

Does not the subject of the morning take the gloom out of the thoughts that would otherwise be struck through with midnight. We used to think that when we died we would have to go afoot, sagging down in the mire, and the hounds of terror might get after us and that if we got through into heaven at all, we would come in torn and wounded and bleeding. I remember when my teeth chattered and my knees knocked together when I heard anybody talk about death; but I have come to think that the grave will be the softest bed I have ever slept in, and that the

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bottom of my feet will not be wet with the passage of the Jordan. Them that sleep in Jesus will God bring with Him." I was reading a day or two ago Robert Southey, who said he could die far away from his friends-like a dog, crawling into a corner and dying unobserved, those were his words. Be it ours to die on a couch, surrounded by loved ones, so that they, with us, may hear the glad, sweet, jubilant announcement: "The King's waggons are coming." Hark! I hear them now! Are they coming for me or you?

HYPOCRISY.

"And Samuel said, What meaneth then this bleating of the sheep in mine ears, and the lowing of the oxen which I hear?"-1 Samuel xv. 14.

THER

HE Amalekites thought they had conquered God, and that He would not carry into execution His threats against them. They had murdered the Israelites in battle and out of battle, and left no outrage untried. For four hundred years this had been going on; and they said: "God either dare not punish us, or He has forgotten to do so." Let us see. Samuel, God's prophet, tells Saul to go down and slay all the Amalekites, not leaving one of them alive; also to destroy all the beasts in their possession-ox, sheep, camel, and ass. Hark! I hear the tread of two hundred and ten thousand men, with monstrous Saul at their head, ablaze with armour, his shield dangling at his side, holding in his hand a spear, at the waving of which the great host marched or halted. The sound of their feet shaking the earth seemed like the tread of the great God, as, marching in vengeance, He trampled the nations into the dust. I see smoke curling against the sky. Now there is a thick cloud of it, and now I see the whole city rising in a chariot of smoke behind steeds of fire. It is Saul that set the city ablaze. The Amalekites and Israelites meet; the trumpets of battle blow peal upon peal; and there is a death hush. Then there is a signal waved, swords cut and hack; javelins ring on shields; arms fall from trunks; and heads roll in the dust. Gash after gash; the frenzied yell; the gurgling of throttled throats; the cry of pain; the laugh of revenge; the curse hissed between clenched teeth-an army's death-groan. Stacks of dead on all sides, with eyes unshut, and mouths yet grinning vengeance. Huzza for the Israelites ! Two hundred and ten thousand men wave their plumes and clap their shields, for the Lord God hath given them the victory.

Yet that victorious army of Israel are conquered by sheep and oxen. God, through the prophet Samuel, told Saul to slay all the Amalekites, and to slay all the beasts in their possession;