sent to the ant, to learne industry; to the dove to learne innocency; to the serpent to learne wisdome; and why not to this bird to learne equanimity and patience, and to keepe the same tenour of mind's quietness, as well at the approach of the calamities of winter, as of the spring of happiness? And since the Roman's constancy is so commended, who changed not his countenance, with his changed fortunes, why should not I, with Christian resolution, hold a steady course in all weathers, and though I bee forced with crosse-windes to shift my sails and catch at side-windes, yet skillfully to steere and keep on my course, by the Cape of Good Hope, till I arrive at the haven of eternall happiness?

Arthur Warwick, 1637.

THE affliction of want, though great, is not such an affliction but God has far greater, with which He chastises the dearly beloved of his soul in this world; and should He remove this, and inflict those you would account your present state a very comfortable state, and bless God to be as you now are. What think ye? Should God remove your present troubles, supply all your outward wants, give you the desire of your hearts in creative comforts, but hide his face from you, shoot his arrows into your souls, and cause the venom of them to drink up your spirits; should He leave you but a few days to the buffeting of Satan, and his blasphemous injections; should he hold your eyes but a few nights, waking with horrors of conscience, tossing to and fro till the dawning of the day; should he lead you through the chambers of death, shew you the visions of darkness, and make his terrors set themselves in array against you, -then tell me if you would not count it a choice mercy to be back again in your former necessitous condition, with peace of conscience; and count bread and water, with God's favour a happy state? O, then take heed of repining. Say not God deals hardly with you, lest you provoke Him to convince you by your own sense and feeling, that He has worse rods than these for unsubmissive and froward children.

Flavel.

I GRIEVE that great virtues are exposed to such severe trials. Reason, religion and time, when they come to operate, do wonders— such wonders as the sufferer, in the first attack of sorrow, has no conception of.

Yet one cannot but lament that persons of the best sense and most piety, suffer more perhaps, from the first assaults of affliction than any others; and those who bear distress with the most dignity, I am persuaded, feel it with the greatest intenseness. I am going to

say a bold thing. I never could observe that nature suffered the less, because grace triumphed the more. And hence arises (as I take it) the glory of the Christian sufferer, he feels affliction more intensely than a bad man, or grace would not have its perfect work; as it would not be difficult to subdue that which is not difficult to endure.

Hannah More.

THIRTY years ago, before "the Lord caused me to wander from my father's house," and from my native place, I put my mark upon this passage in Isaiah, "I am the Lord; they shall not be ashamed that wait for me." Of the many books I now possess, the Bible that bears this mark is the only one of them all that belonged to me at that time. It now lies before me; and I find that although the hair which was then dark as night, has meanwhile become a sable silvered,” the ink which marked this text has grown into intensity of blackness, as the time advanced, corresponding with and in fact recording the growing intensity of the conviction that "they shall not be ashamed that wait for Thee." I believed it then; but I know now; and I can write probatum est with my whole heart over against the symbol, which that mark is to me of my ancient faith.

it

Old scholars and divines were wont to write, or paint up in their studies some favourite sentence from the sages of old or some chosen text of scripture. Those inclined to foilow this custom, could do no better than write up this one word "Wait." At the first slight view, merely to "wait" seems so simple a thing, as scarcely entitled to be called a grace, and yet larger promises are made to it, than to any other grace, except to faith, and hardly indeed with that exception, for the grace of "waiting," is part of the grace of faith, -is a form of faith,-is, as some would describe it, an effect of faith, or more strictly, one of its most fruitful manifestations.

Great and singular is the honour which God has set upon patient waiting for Him. Man, not seeing as God sees, sets higher value upon his fellows' active works,-the bright deeds of days or hours. God values these also; but He does not assign them the same pre-eminence as man does; He does not allow them any pre-eminence over that constant and long enduring struggle with the risings of the natural mind, which is evinced in long and steady waiting under all discouragements for Him, in the assured conviction that He will come at last for deliverance and protection, although his chariot wheels are so long in coming.

To have waited for the Lord, his tender consideration for us.

He allows to constitute a claim to "Be gracious to us; we have wait

ed for Thee." And no one ever yet could truly say, "I waited

patiently for the Lord," without being able rejoicingly to add,"and He heard me." And in that day of full fruition of all we have waited for, shall we not, out of the fulness of our replenished hearts, cry with exulting shouts to all that pass by, "Lo this is our God; we have waited for Him, and He will save us; this is the Lord, we have waited for Him, we will be glad and rejoice in our salvation"?

OUR own experience will, no doubt, furnish sufficient illus. tration of the truth that common mercies are unthankfully enjoyed. Health, food, and eye-sight seem ours by such prescriptive right, that their continued possession seldom forins the subject of

special thanksgiving. And among these daily unnoticed blessings the beauties of country scenery may, with most, be surely numbered. We may not live in a spot celebrated for its beauty; and yet the ever-changing clouds, the colouring of the woods or moors, and especially the exquisite form and variety of the wild flowers, may have offered us daily pleasure, too often but little appreciated. Perhaps some incident has made us suddenly aware of this-the harmony of our state of mind with nature-the careless plucking of a daisy, which, picturing by its yellow disk and white ray-like florets, the origin of its name, "day's eye," has suggested to our hearts the prayer that the image of the Sun of Righteousness might be formed in us; and, in wondering admiration, we find in a flower "a ladder for our thoughts where angels step," and find ourselves, at the same time, surrounded by a world of beauty, to trace which might be the happiness of an eternity.

What rich

If this be true of nature, how much more of grace! fruit God's husbandry is bearing in quiet homes, on sick beds, among Sunday scholars! While we are despairingly asking, “When the Son of Man cometh, shall He find faith on the earth ?" in selfdenial, in patient endurance, in striving for holiness, our next door neighbour, our well-known friend, may be advancing to the kingdom, until they "are not," for God takes them.

"Meek souls there are who little dream

Their daily life an angel's theme;

Or that the rod they take so calm

Shall prove in heaven a martyr's palm."

Such are the thoughts suggested by the death of my first Sunday scholar, whose unobtrusive character could attract but little attention, but who, by patient continuance in well doing, has, thank God! attained glory, honour, immortality, and eternal life. I would take note of this sweet but modest flower, transplanted now to Paradise, and "would tell its beauty over," for the encouragement of those who, obeying the command, "Go work to-day in my vineyard," feel often disappointed or despairing because no immediate result of their labour is to be seen. As Sunday school teachers, are we not too apt to cry, "No increase doth my dull husbandry improve," because among our scholars no case of evident conversion appears, forgetting that, in the first process of germination, the seed must "die," and, hidden from sight, gather that good which shall be disclosed hereafter in vigorous life? "Cast thy bread upon the waters, for thou shalt find it after many days." Only let the sole object of our teaching be the setting forth of Christ and his infinite perfection, in prayerful reliance on the promise, "I, if I be lifted

up, will draw all men unto me," and many a young heart, attracted by that Almighty love, will look to Him and be saved.

Gentle, attentive, obedient, and punctual, Celia was known in our Sunday school as a girl who could be trusted. Though seldom proffering remarks, her answers proved that she paid attention. Her good-nature made her a general favourite in the class, and her loss was regretted when she was elected to a vacancy in an Industrial school. Her mistress there can say of her, "She always

gave me pleasure." And diligently and faithfully she fulfilled the duties of her first situation, until recommended to the place of assistant mistress in an Industrial school in the country, for which her previous training had well fitted her. There she not only gained the obedient affection of her scholars, but approved herself to the lady, the founder of the school, from whom she received great kindness throughout her illness, and who could write of her, when appointing a successor, "Send me one as much like Celia as possible; she was all I could desire, and possessed great influence over the girls." In these days of display, refreshing, indeed, it was to look at her quiet and yet well-chosen dress; the daisy might well be the floral emblem of that bright, cheerful face and retiring manner. The gold was to be tried, however, and in weakness and pain; for, the first time alone in the company of the ungodly, she was called upon to redeem her baptismal pledge, and "not be ashamed to confess the faith of Christ crucified."

In the autumn of last year her health failed so rapidly, that it was thought necessary she should enter a London hospital; and, gratefully as she acknowledged the attention which was bestowed on her, she felt it a time of peculiar trial. As visitors, appreciating the admirable arrangements in the long ward of a London hospital for the comfort and recovery of the patients, perhaps we have never realised it as the scene of continual conflict, victory, and death-the sleepless nights passed there-the days of suffering, "the still wrestling of the lonely heart," to be resigned either to life or death-the heart hardened by chastisement, kicking against the pricks the frequent entrance of the angel of death-the presence of Christ, passing with his children through the furnace of afflic tion. In this case, a timid girl of eighteen, surrounded by strangers, when she sought to commune with Jesus and lay hold of the promises, had no power to enter her closet, and, shutting the door, pray to her Father in secret, but was liable to the continued distraction of worldly conversation, or might find the upraised eye or the clasped hands a subject for either comment or ridicule. No mention of this was made in her letters; they only expressed an ardent desire to resume her duties, should it be God's will, or to