"It may well be said that so soon as man had fallen it was night on this Creation. The creature had shut itself out from the favour of its Creator, and what was this but to shroud the globe with the worst of all darkness? . . . It was only to have been expected when the fatal act had been committed that there would have ascended from the earth one fearful cry, and that then an eternal silence would have covered the desecrated globe. But in place of this-though the gathered night was not at once dispersed-there still went up the anthem of praise from lowing herds and waving corn and stately forests; and man in his exile had an evening and a morning hymn . . . and all because God had already discovered Himself as our maker who giveth songs in the night . we may assert that there cannot be imagined, much less found, the darkness in passing through which there is no promise of Scripture by which you may be cheered. Let us take the case of most frequent occurrence but of which the frequency diminishes nothing of the bitterness; we mean the case of the loss of friends, the case in which death makes way into a family and carries off one of the most beloved of its members. It is night, deep night, in a household whensoever this occurs. Philosophy comes in with its wellmeant but idle endeavours to console those who sit in this darkness—and pleasure approaches with its allurements and fascinations to cheat the mind into forgetfulness, and wile the heart from its sadness. Yes, philosophy may enter where all is night, but it leaves what it found even weeping and wailing, and pleasure may take the lyre whose strings have often seduced and enchanted,

but the wearied spirit has no ear in the gloom for what sounded magically when a thousand lights were blazing. But religion, faith in the promises of that God who is the husband of the widow and the father of the fatherless, this can cause the sorrowing to be glad in the midst of their sorrow . . . We might easily multiply our illustrations. We might follow the believer through all the stages of his progress from earth to Heaven; and wheresoever you could show that it was night there could we show you that God giveth songs. Is it the loss of property with which believers are visited? our Maker giveth songs in the night, and the chorus is heard. We have in Heaven a better, even an enduring substance. Is it the loss of friends? our Maker, as we have shown you, 'giveth songs in the night:' they sorrow not as others who have no hope,' and over the grave is heard the fine confession, Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord.' Let the thickest night gather. Let death be at hand, and shall it be said that our text fails of accomplishment? On the contrary, it is here emphatically true that our Maker 'giveth songs in the night.' The believer in Christ knows and feels that his Redeemer hath abolished death. . . . What upholds the dying man ? What throws over his wasted countenance that air of serenity? What prompts those expressions of peace, those breathings of hope which seem so little in accordance with his circumstances of trouble and decay? It is because God is whispering to his soul such words as these Fear thou not, for I am with thee; be not dismayed, for I am thy God. I will strengthen thee, yea, I will help thee.' . . . It is our nature to rejoice when all

within and without is undisturbed; the miracle is to rejoice in tribulation, and this miracle is continually wrought as the believer passes through the wilderness. The harp of the human spirit never yields such sweet music as when its framework is most shattered and its strings are most torn. Then it is that when the world pronounces the instrument useless and man would put it away as incapable of melody that the finger of God delights in touching it, and draws from it a fine swell of harmony; come night, come calamity, come affliction. God still says to His people, as He said to the Jews when expecting the irruption of the Assyrian, 'Ye shall have a song as in the night.'"*

It appears, then, that our hypothesis accounts for all the phenomena of human experience and consciousness so far as they are immediately connected with man himself that it supposes a darkness exactly analogous to that of the particular season to which we compare it, and caused in a similar way that the darkness is one of ignorance, delusion, sin, and sorrow-the darkness of degradation. Now, degradation is no such unusual thing in nature as to render it in this case incredible, for it is certain that there are many instances of degeneracy, not only in the animal and vegetable kingdoms generally, but in individuals, families, and whole races of men in particular, while in the three last cases this degradation can be traced almost always to sin. It would also appear that this darkness is not in the least degree exaggerated in

Sermons preached before the University of Cambridge, by Henry Melville, B.D. Sermon II.

Scripture that it tells us of a sufficient remedy-that the darkness of ignorance is just of that sort that is necessary to enable a fallen creature to acquire in another world the desired illumination-that a provision has been made for the final dissipation of all human delusionsthat the consequences as well as the pollution and the power of the sin can be removed-that the sorrow can be turned into joy, and joy, partly at least, through the very instrumentality of that sorrow-that though we cannot account for evil, we can do better, and that is overcome it—and that in the very darkest hour of the night as it gathers round ourselves, our Maker has given us songs wherewith we can be comforted and made glad.

Abide with me, past is the even-tide,

The darkness deepens, Lord, with me abide ;
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.

Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes;
Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies,
Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee,
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.

THE DARKNESS ACKNOWLEDGED.

Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one,
Have ofttimes no connexion. Knowledge dwells
In heads replete with thoughts of other men,
Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.
Knowledge a mere unprofitable mass,

The rude materials with which wisdom builds ;
Knowledge is proud that it has learned so much-
Wisdom is humble that it knows no more.

MR. THEODORE PARKER is, we believe, almost the only writer who has flatly denied that man is really sinful and sorrowful at all; and Cowper's distinction between wisdom and knowledge should be carefully attended to in judging of the authority due to his opinions. The stubborn fact that we are all guilty and suffering creatures is so variously attested, so extensively experienced, and so deeply felt, that the vast majority of our race have considered it beyond dispute. The great conscience of universal man bears an unequivocal and unhesitating testimony to the solemn truth that his "heart is not right before God;" and as for the suffering, the tendency of men in general is not to deny but to exaggerate its intensity. Hence the various explanations of moral and physical evil, and hence the readiness with