the supply. Over once busy scenes, silence and solitude now reign; the caverns ring no longer to the miner's hammer, nor is the song of the pearlfisher heard upon the deep. But the riches of grace are inexhaustible. All that have gone before us have not made them less, and we shall make them no less to those who follow us. When they have supplied the wants of unborn millions, the last of Adam's race, that lonely man, over whose head the sun is dying, beneath whose feet the earth is reeling, shall stand by as full a fountain as this day invites you to drink and live, to wash and be clean. I have found it an interesting thing to stand on the edge of a noble rolling river, and to think, that although it has been flowing on for six thousand years, watering the fields, and slaking the thirst of a hundred generations, it shows no sign of waste or want; and when I have watched the rise of the sun, as he shot above the crest of the mountain, or in a sky draped with golden curtains, sprang up from his ocean bed, I have wondered to think that he has melted the snows of so many winters, and renewed the verdure of so many springs, and painted the flowers of so many summers, and ripened the golden harvests of so many autumns, and yet shines as brilliant as ever, his eye not dim, nor his natural strength abated, nor his floods of light less full for centuries of boundless profusion. Yet what are these but images of the fulness that is in Christ? Let that feed your hopes, and cheer your hearts, and brighten your faith, and send you away this day happy and rejoicing. For, when judgment flames have licked up that flowing stream, and the light of that glorious sun shall be quenched in darkness or veiled in the smoke of a burning world, the fullness that is in Christ shall flow on throughout eternity in the bliss of the redeemed. Blessed Saviour, Image of God, divine Redeemer! in thy presence is fulness of joy; at thy right hand there are pleasures for everWhat thou hast gone to heaven to prepare, may we be called up at death to enjoy!-Dr. Guthrie. more. RESIGNATION. "What cannot Resignation do? That powerful charm Thy will be done,' Can lay the loudest storm."-Young. "THY will be done," words hallowed by the bleeding agony of a sinless Saviour-wrung from a heart gushing over with sorrow for man--uttered in bitter anguish, while His spirit wrestled in prayer with His God. Imagination throws off the shackle that would bind it, and beholds beneath the thick olive groves a kneeling figure, the straggling moonbeams fall on an upturned face, pale with a grief too deep, too soul-rending for utterance; sound is hushed-Cedron's murmur floats not on the night breeze-no rustle of the leaves disturbs the communion of the God-inan with his God; agony untold heaves each heart-throb and tightens its strings; anguish unknown surges and dashes the soul's deep waters-a judgment hall, a scourge, a purple robe, a mock coronation, a cross, a victim, the taunts of the mob, and the soldier's cruelty rise before Him. The cup is full! a bloody sweat rises in beaded drops to His brow, and as they fall to the ground the prayer goes up "O my Father, if this cup may not pass away from me, except I drink it, Thy will be done." Three times the prayer is uttered and "Thy will be done," clasps it like a jewel of dazzling lustre. We wonder and adore; thought stands mute on the threshold of its home; it cannot go beyond and explore the calm that succeeds, nor fathom the depths of Resignation that flashes lightninglike from eyes that have wept for man-nor measure the love that lies like a mighty deep in those clear orbs. 66 In life's young morning, when sorrow has crossed our threshold and spread a pall over our home, shutting out the light of householdlove, Thy will be done" has fallen in low trembling tones from a stricken form, our lips have echoed the words, but our childish i ideas could not grasp their mighty meaning-that a power deep, and a meaning boundless lay in them, we knew full well, for the bowed head of the sorrowing one has been raised, and light not born of earth has shone on the patient face. They linger in our heart and on our lips many a day-the pall settles closer the last flicker of a love that ought only to fade on the edge of the grave has gone out. That prayer is familiar to us then closes each morning prayer and evening offering. Still we try in vain to take its rich deep meaning home to our heart. Time, the healer, slowly rolls back the leaden mass, and we see the rays of a holy light shining softly in its place; imperceptibly that hallowed petition has twined itself like a tendril round our hopes and aspirations; we know not when we first took it home, perchance it rooted itself there when first it fell upon our ears, and though the long lapse of years went deeper and deeper, and yet we knew it not. Life has its sunny days, when no cloud flits across the pure blue above; and it has gloomy days when not a star peers through the o'erhanging heavens: close in the brightness, closer in the darkness clings the tendril. ARIE. RECEIVE MY SPIRIT. THIS happy accord, the willingness of the departing soul, should proceed not from stupidity, but trust in him who keeps these keys; and from such preparedness for removal as the gospel requires. O happy souls! that, finding the key is turning, and opening the door for them, are willing to go forth upon such terms, as, " knowing whom they have believed," &c., and that neither "principalities nor powers, nor life, nor death, can ever separate them from the love of God in Christ Jesus their Lord." Life, they find, hath not separated, whereof was the greater danger; and death is so far from making this separation, that it shall complete their union with the blessed God in Christ, and lay them enfolded in the everlasting embraces of divine love! Happy soul! here will be a speedy end of all thy griefs and sorrows; they will be presently swallowed up in fulness of joy. There is already an end put to thy tormenting cares and fears, when once thou art reconciled to death? This is the most glorious sort of victory-namely, by reconciliation. For so, thou hast conquered, not the enemy only, but the enmity itself, by which he was so. Death is become thy friend, and so no longer to be feared; nor is there anything else, from whence thou art to fear hurt; for death was thy last enemy, even this bodily death. The whole region beyond it is, to one in thy case, clear and serene, when to others is reserved the blackness of darkness for ever. O the transports of joy that do now most rationally result from this state of the case, when there is nothing left between the dislodging soul and the glorious unseen world, but only the dark passage of death, and that so little formidable, considering who hath the keys of the one and the other. We must, it is true, be absent from these bodies, or we cannot, as we would, be present with the Lord. And is that all? Can anything now be more certain than that? O happy state of our case! How should our hearts spring and leap for joy, that our affairs are brought into this posture; that in order to our perfect blessedness, nothing is further wanting but to die; and that the certainty of death completes our assurance of it! How gloriously may good men triumph over the impotent malice of their most mischievous enemies, because the greatest mischief they can ever do them, is to put it out of their own power to hurt them any more; for they now go quite out of their reach. They can (being permitted) kill the body, and after that have no more that they can do (Luke xii. 4.) What a remarkably significant " after that" is this! what a defiance doth it import of the utmost effort of human power and spite, that here it terminates. And thus we are to look upon all our other trials and afflictions, that in any providential way may befall us; we may be sick, in pain, in poverty, in disgrace, but we shall not be always in mortal flesh, which is the occasion of all the rest. Can we be upon better terms, having but two things to be concerned about, as necessary to our complete felicity-union with Christ, and disunion from these bodies? God is graciously ready to assist us in reference to the former, though he requires our care and exertion; in reference to the latter, he will take care himself, in his own fit season, without any care or concern of ours in the matter; and only expects us to wait with patience till that fit season come. And come it wil, perhaps sooner than we may think.-John Howe SELECTIONS FROM JEREMY TAYLOR. ANGER HINDERS Prayer.—I have seen a lark rising from his bed of grass, and soaring upward, and singing as he rises, and hope to get to heaven, and climb above the clouds; but the poor bird was beaten back with the loud sighings of an eastern wind, and his motion made irregular and inconstant, descending more at every breath of the tempest, than it could recover by the liberation and frequent weighing of his wings; till the little creature was forced to sit down and pant, and stay till the storm was over and then it made a prosperous flight, and did rise and sing, as if it had learned music and motion from an angel, as he passed sometimes through the air about his ministries here below. So is the prayer of a good man, when his affairs have required business, and his business was matter of discipline, and his discipline was to pass on a sinning person, or had a design of charity, bis duty met with the infirmities of a man, and anger was its instrument, and the instrument became stronger than the prime agent, and raised a tempest and overruled the man; and then his prayer was broken, and his thoughts troubled, and his words went up towards the cloud, and his thoughts pulled them back again, and made them without intention; and the good man sighs for his infirmity, but must be content to lose the prayer, and he must recover it when his anger is removed, and his spirit is becalmed, made even as the brow of Jesus, and smooth like the heart of God; and then it ascends to heaven on the wings of a holy dove, and dwells with God, till it returns, like the useful bee, laden with a blessing and the dew of heaven. CONSCIOUS Pardon often Gradually ATTAINED.-Pardon of sins is a mercy, which Christ purchased with his dearest blood, which he ministers to us on conditions of infinite kindness, but yet a great holiness and obedience, and an active living faith. It is a grace that the most holy persons beg of God with mighty passion, and labour for with great diligence, and expect with trembling fears, and concerning it many times suffer sadnesses with uncertain souls, and receive it by degrees, and it enters on them by little portions, and it is broken as their sighs and sleeps. But so I have seen the returning sca enter on the strand; and the waters, rolling towards the shore, throw up little portions of the tide, and retire as if nature meant to play, and not to change the abode of waters; but still the flood crept by little steppings, and invaded more by his progressions than he lost by his retreat, and having told the number of its steps, it possesses its new portion, till the angel calls it back, that it may leave its unfaithful dwelling of the sand. So is the pardon of our sins: it comes by slow motions, and first quits a present death, and turns, it may be, into a sharp sickness: and if that sickness prove not health to the soul, it washes off, and it may be will dash against the rock again, and proceed to take off the several instances of anger and the periods of wrath, but all this while it is uncertain concerning our final interest, whether it be ebb or flow; and every hearty prayer, and every bountiful alms still enlarges the pardon, or adds a degree of probability and hope; and then a drunken meeting, or a coveteous desire, or an act of lust, or a loser swearing, idle talk, or neglect of religion, makes the pardon retire; and while it is disputed between Christ and Christ's enemy who shall be Lord, the pardon fluctuates like the wave, striving to climb the rock, and is washed off like its own retinue, and gets possession by time and uncertainty, by difficulty and the degrees of hard progression. HE that gave his friend counsel to study law, when he desired to borrow twenty pounds, was not so friendly in his counsel as useless in his charity. Spiritual acts can cure a spiritual malady; but if my body needs relief, because you cannot feed me with diagrams, or clothe me with Euclid's Element, you must minister a real supply by a corporeal charity to my corporeal necessity. IF God be to be feared when we die, he is also to be feared in all our life, for he can for ever make us die; he that will do it once, and that when he please, can always. THE river that runs slow and creeps by the bank, and begs leave of every turf to let it pass, is drawn into little hollownesses, and spends itself in shallow portions, and dies with diversion; but when it runs with vigorousness and a full stream, and breaks down every obstacle, making it even as its own brow, it stays not to be tempted by little avocations, and to creep into holes, but runs into the sea through full and useful channels. So is a man's prayer, if it moves on the feet of an abated appetite. It wanders into the society of every trifling accident, and stays at the corners of the fancy, and talks with every object it meets and cannot arrive at heaven. But when it is carried on the wings of passion and strong desire, a swift motion and a longing appetite, it passes on through all the intermediate regions of clouds, and stays not till it dwells on the foot of the throne, where mercy sits, and thence sends holy showers of refreshment. CLAUDE CLIFTON'S STORY OF HIS LIFE. CHAPTER VI. STRANDED. "The bleak winds blow, and the tide is low, And black the frowning sky; No helping hand as on shelving sand, THE sun was just dipping in the long gray clouds that lay above the western heavens, when we came within sight of the metropolis. We had travelled fast, and had made no stoppages except for the purpose of changing horses. Our longest stay was at an old tumble-down inn where, they said, one of our kings, I forget which, had once halted and slept. Here some of the passengers expected to get dinner, which, they hoped, would be set out and ready awaiting the arrival of the coach. But we did not remain very long even here; those who got down from their seats were back in a few minutes, and we were all rattling along the road again in less than half-an-hour, I was very glad to be off again so soon, for I grew more and more impatient as we drew nearer London to get to the end of the journey. My impatience ceased from the moment we caught sight of the modern Babylon. People say it is an event in one's life to see the capital of these realms for the first time. The emotions and feelings that are awakened in the mind are altogether new and peculiar, and can never be reproduced. My own experience certainly verified the saying. As I sat on the top of the coach and saw the towers and domes, the innumerable and continuous house-roofs and buildings of the city, rise before me in full, bold outline, and stretch far away on either side until they were lost in the mist of distance, or hid from view in a cloud of rolling smoke, I was overpowered with a sense of vague and confused wonder; and, as we went on, and at length rode into the interminable labyrinth of streets, amid the hum and stir of the moving crowds, I felt my pulse beat quicker, and my brain whirl with unusual excitement. I had felt nothing like it before, and, I suppose, I have never felt anything precisely similar since. There are two things which every English youth desires eagerly to behold-the sea and London. After these our island is comparatively uninteresting and tame. The rush and swell of emotion within me as I caught the first glimpse of the city, ANON. the conversation of the passengers did not at all tend to calm and allay. Either from the comfortable effect of the hasty snatch at dinner at the old Inn, or from weariness of the way, the gentlemen who sat near me had been almost silent, and rather inclined to doze, since we changed horses last, breaking out only now and then into brief exclamations when some field of extraordinary verdure, or some object of general notoriety came into view. Two of them who were just before me had, it is true, occasionally uttered a few abrupt and broken sentences on subjects I at that time knew nothing about, on funds, stocks, per cents., canal shares, &c., but they speedily relapsed into a sullen silence. The military gentleman, with moustache, who smoked a long Turkish pipe all the day, had not spoken a dozen words, in my hearing, at least, since we left the "Shepherd and Shepherdess." Now, however, as soon as we seemed to be breathing the atmosphere of London, everybody was seized, as by a quick and sudden impulse, with a disposition to talk, and began to chatter away as garrulously as a magpie or a Frenchman. The chief topic of conversation was politics; the dissolution of Parliament a month ago, the defeat of Fox, the prospects of the war, the probable results of the elections, and the great ferment and agitation through which the country had just passed; and which the elections would probably renew. The military gentleman abused Mr. Fox as violently as he could He said he ought to be drummed out of Parliament as a traitor to his country, and his name held in contempt by every true-born Englishman. He was nothing more than a lawless and fanatical demagogue. The discipline of the country. was growing lax, and the people mutinous because of him. He should like to see the head of Fox on a pole over the Tower gates. The younger of the commercial gentlemen opposite me took Fox's part warmly, and said "that the extravagant expenditure by Government of national wealth, the deficient harvest the previous year, the severe pressure of the |