delight and freedom. Would, therefore, that we had more of Christianity in our behaviour at the closing scenes of life! -The fountain of tears of course must and will flow; but our grief should be moderated by our Christian principles, and, never disconnecting the inseparable clauses," He has left the world; he is gone to the Father," we should banish the word "disconsolate," as nowhere appropriate beneath the Divine rule.--Not even to outward emblems of bereavement have we any objection, providing always they have a Christian meaning: but we would rather call them memorials than " mourning," and they should express-not that a sore calamity has befallen us, and we have sunk into despondency, but simply, "a loved one has been called home-his chair is vacant-his spirit has returned to the Creator-our meditations follow him-the prevailing character of our minds is quiet and thoughtful-we think often of death and immortality." And, believing that

"those who sleep in Jesus" are not objects of pity, but are still under the protecting wings of divine love, we would speak of them as we would speak of those who dwell prosperously and happily in foreign lands, only always remembering that there is in all God's universe no land so blooming and joyous as that into which they have entered. How much less lonely would our journey down the vale of years seem! What is more, what a wide and sacred field of profitable experience and instruction would become familiar to us !—and when, from pain or infirmity, we ourselves are weary of this anxious, toilsome life, instead of fearing to yield it up, because we have not seen what lieth in store for us, we should joyfully exclaim -“Our course is ended, let us lay down our ashes with those of our fathers, that we may follow their spirits to life and glory everlasting !" *

"In no case of permanent illness can I conceive the idea [of our departure, and entrance upon

To those who entertain these Christian views, what does it matter at what period we walk and when we quit this earth? "Those that three thousand years ago died unwillingly, and stopped death two days or a week, what is their gain? where is that week?" The fact of existence-this, this is the all-important thing. "He has lived"-how much is implied in these few words! He was alive, he trod the earth,

another life] to be otherwise than familiar, under one aspect or another; so familiar, as that it is astonishing to us that we can obtain so little conversation upon it as a reality-a certainty in full view. To us, this seems more extraordinary than it would be if the friends of Parry, and Franklin, or Back, were, as the season for a Polar expedition drew nigh, to talk to them about every thing else, but be constrained and shy on that. I say more extraordinary,' because it is not every body that is bound, sooner or later, to the North Pole, but only a few crews; whereas all have an interest in the passage of that other, that narrow sea,' and in the 'better country' which is its further shore."-Life in the Sick Room, p. 121. E 3

-he filled up one vacancy in society: in the mind of the Christian, how many delightful anticipations are inseparably bound up with these simple statements! such a one has lived, is to him as much as to say, he will live again, he will live for ever. If he lived here, he will live also hereafter; if he were an inhabitant of the present world, he will be an inhabitant likewise of the eternal regions; if he filled up one vacancy in the society of earth, there is one vacancy for him in the society of heaven. Thus how immeasurably more important is the fact of life, than the age in which we were born, the generation to which we belong, the period in which we sink into our rest!

Methinks I hear from some poor, sorrowing pilgrims, "What you have said is perfectly true, and very encouraging, but it is a most difficult thing for us to feel as we ought; we are so weak and so low-spirited." And we would be the last not to

make allowance for such. Who is there, knowing anything of life, who has not felt the difficulty, and will not sympathize with them from the heart? who that is acquainted with bodily infirmities, has not frequently, with trembling, exclaimed, "Lord, help thou mine unbelief?" Did not Christ himself experience a similar feeling, when, in the garden of Gethsemane, he struggled and prayed, and great drops as it were of blood fell from him, and when, in the agony of his apprehensions, he implored of his Father, that if it were possible, this cup of bitterness might pass from him? But, though there was the same feeling, it was never allowed to obtain the mastery; there was the "if it be possible," showing that the power within was not overcome; and there was the noble conclusion, "nevertheless, not my will, but Thine be done," evincing that he had won the victory; and then descended an angel from heaven with congratulations and comfort. Such conflicts are natural; they are the