saved, some may be lost; and if of another family many be lost, some may be saved. In such cases, of course, family reunion is mpossible, and yet it is hard to think that such cases will be excepions to a general rule; and if the affections appropriate to the lomestic tie continue to exist, it is impossible to conceive how such leficiencies in the group can be regarded by the blessed without an gony of pain unspeakable. By these views we are led to ask whether any probable reason an be assigned for this dying out of earthly relations in the future fe; and we think that at least one pertinent observation may be made. n the future life our nature is assuredly destined to a large-in all robability a very large-development. Freed from the fetters hich the corporeal organization has imposed, the emancipated pirit will start into an amplitude and vigour of being, of which at resent we have little or no conception. But all this development ill be ours simply as human beings, and none of it will attach to the phases of our existence which have been local and temporary. In all that is essential to human nature we shall be exalted, and in roportion as the essential is exalted, that which was accidental will e diminished and fall away. Now the relations which we here stain are all of them accidental. As we come into being we bear ne of them but the filial; and that this is not less accidental than e others is manifest from the fact that the first of our race did not stain even this. It is not in the nature of things that accidents this sort should incorporate themselves essentially with our being; al in their origin, and temporary in their object, decay and exaction seem to be their natural destiny. The future life may be pected to present to us the human being as such―man as man, man in his maturity. It does not appear, even, that mankind ll be exhibited in the simplest relation, as Adam and his children. might have been so had the federal relation between Adam and posterity still subsisted, and their happiness been secured by his edience; but since it is not so, but all-the first parents of the race well as the rest, have been placed in a position of individual reonsibility, it would seem that the whole race will hereafter stand rational beings related only to God, the maker and ruler of all. no infancy, no youth, no age, but MAN; so, no husband, no wife, parent, no child, no sister, no brother, but MAN. We have met newhere with an incident which pleased us, and which may illuste the idea we have been endeavouring to set before our readers. is narrated that, at some place on the Continent, in a season of rsecution, a Christian father and son were led together to execun, and that their last act was to take each the hand of the other, th the words, "No longer father and son, but brothers in Christ." ; that will be the only relative tie existing in heaven, "brothers Christ." So much, at least, of earthly language is as yet neces sary to help out our poor conceptions of the glory which is to be revealed. Our readers will not, we trust, feel that there is any real inconsis tency between the earlier and the later views which we have now set before them. We began by affirming the fact of future recog nition, and we now reaffirm it. We shall doubtless recollect all ou present relations as facts, but as facts which have been, rather thar as facts which are. "We were husbands and wives, parents and children," we may conceive it to be said hereafter, "although we are not now; and those relations had so much to do with our mora character and conduct that they contribute powerful moral element to our present happiness or misery." Much that we have already said has related equally to the huma race, whether saved or lost. We will now turn our eyes for a mo ment to the redeemed, and inquire how much, or rather what part of the love which is felt on earth may be expected to revive wit the recognition of heaven. Our love for each other in this world is clearly of various kind There is, for example, the love of the sexes, the love of relationshi the love of personal friendship, the love of social intercourse; the is also what may be called a holy love, a love of one another pr duced by the image of Christ discerned in us, and exercised mutual devout affections, and Christian activities. Now, of all the kinds of love, the last is the only one which can be supposed remain in the future life. It seems to us that all other love mu be conceived to become utterly extinct with the present lit Our holy love, however, will not perish. Why should it? As ti persons to whom it was directed are recognized, so the elements which it was generated, and on which it was ever feeding, are pe petuated. Still is the image of Christ to be beheld, and in great beauty; still are devout affections to be exercised, only entirely gladness and in praise; still are services to be performed, admittin to we know not what extent, of united action. Every thing that holy has in itself an element of perpetuity. It is a thing for in mortality it cannot die. : What a deep interest this thought attaches to the devout affe tions of the present world! All that is holy in them revives aft death, and lives for ever in heaven. Alas! how deeply is it to regretted that so little of our earthly love is holy, and that so mu of it, precious as it is now, should, by our own folly, be destined extinction. Most happy they whose hearts blend most largely the joys and sorrows of piety, in the toils of Christian duty, in t patience of suffering and of hope! THE ILLUMINATION NIGHT AND THE LONDON CROWD. NONE who looked upon London by day on March the Seventh, and by night on March the Tenth, will ever forget what they then beheld. A great people gathered in its Mother City, and moved to its depths by a gentle affection and a loyal enthusiasm, offered a spectacle as sublime as it was rare in a world of modern nations for the most part displeased with their rulers and governments. The occasions of difference and strife between the portions of this vast population are superficial as compared with the deep inward sympathies which unite our hearts and form us into a nation. That so enormous a concourse of people can have met and parted in concord and contentment is a triumph of sound legislation and a monument of the victories of peace. But I am now thinking chiefly of the night of the illuminations. On the day of the entry of the Princess the impression produced by the vastness of the population was restricted to a few points of her route-to the space in front of the Mansion House, to St. Paul's Churchyard, to Trafalgar Square, and to Hyde Park. Along the rest of the course the road was kept clear by cavalry, and the people were confined to the houses, the galleries, the pathways, and the side streets. But at the illuminations the mighty tide of life rolled broad and deep across the whole road-way from London Bridge to Hyde Park Corner and Portland Place. It poured in from Southwark and rushed in massive waves from all the Surrey side across the Bridge, whose ornaments and Danish trophies and numerous lamps flashed their unwonted splendours upon the dark river below. It swelled and roared beneath the Monument, whose golden crest blazed like an electric meteor in mid heaven; through the beautiful arch, whose white horses softly shone aloft like pure marble in the gleam of gas jets that revealed its statues, banners, and transparencies. It surged along in two tremendous tides up King William Street to the Bank, and down Cannon Street to St. Paul's Churchyard, at both of which openings the crush from the pressure of the struggling myriads was awful to look upon and terrible to endure, and here five women were trampled to death. Ludgate Hill from top to bottom was one living mass of humanity, scarcely breathing, from the dense packing of the multitudes. At Blackfriars four streams met and filled the open space from the bridge to the end of Farringdon Street with as many throngs fighting and forcing their way through each other, so that none but the strongest could preserve their foothold on the ground. From the faint light of St. Paul's dome and partially gleaming western front you looked up Fleet Street as far as the eye could reach and saw one heaving rolling stream of human creatures, gazing up at stars, and wreaths, and initials over almost every door. At Temple Bar the narrowing straits received the adverse currents, and swift and vehement was the tide that rushed under its arch and splendid coronet of lamps to reach the broader streets beyond it in the west. The main thoroughfare and the side ways around the Strand churches were all densely filled, the left hand being the way of those travelling westward, the right hand that of the travellers to the east. In the Strand the illuminations brightened; and here the whole breadth of the roadway was covered with the rejoicing multitudes, the far larger portion of whom were advancing to Charing Cross. At the embouchure of the Strand the rolling mass opened and spread abroad, uniting itself with fresh streams from Westminster and the northern districts, so as to fill to its utmost corners the whole bay of Trafalgar Square. Above the living heaving throng flashed the magnificent illumination of the National Gallery in one sheet of crystals and flickering flame; around, the innumerable lights of shops and clubs turned night into day; and far down Whitehall the mingled lustres of the Admiralty, the Treasury, and the Victoria Tower redly glowing into the midst of heaven, threw a solemn sheen upon the dark pinnacles of the Abbey. Onward rolled the crowd-up Pall Mall, up Waterloo Place, the beauty of the illuminations increasing at every step; the Quadrant shone from end to end with lines of fire along its galleries, till at length Regent Street was reached. And here the full impression of this popular outpouring was best to be obtained. The great breadth of the street, the exceeding splendour and wonderful number of the fiery devices, at once enabled the multitude to develope itself in all its volume, and permitted a full light to fall upon the people as they passed along. Here I sat for several hours on the outside of a high vehicle by the road side, watching the wide resistless current as it poured along from south to north in dark crested billows, roaring "like the voice of many waters." The tout ensemble of this grand view was such as to print itself indelibly on the memory. In the south distance you saw the commencement of the lines of light that indicated the sweep of the Quadrant; along either side the great clothiers, mercers, cutlers, silversmiths, jewellers, robe-makers, opticians, engravers, vied with each other in oak wreaths of emerald flame, in crowns and blazing stars, and prismatic Prince's plumes of glass and fire, in lines of light and blessing on the Royal pair, in dazzling initials of every hue, and in jets of gas that brought out the architectural outlines of windows, pediments, and doorways. Across the street were extended flags from roof to roof, and many a broad banner and string of Chinese lanterns combined with sudden bursts of crimson fire and electric light from the upper galleries to give a rich and varying effect to the far-stretching and most picturesque panorama. You looked along a whole vista of coloured flames till the eye could endure no addition to the splendour. And all along continued to roll the marvellous living river, filling the breadth of the roadway, surging, and eddying, and moving forward again, till the mind was confounded with the overpowering grandeur of the scene. In the breadth, roar, and volume of its passage it reminded you of all that you have read of Niagara, or of the "multitude that no man could number" in the unseen world. In vain you tried from your immoveable position to fix your eye steadily upon any individual or group in the white-faced miscellaneous throng that was always passing-passing-before and around you. Before you could sufficiently scrutinize any expression or countenance it was gone, borne forwards and lost in the successive billows of life that surrounded it on every side. There was every rank and condition, that you saw plainly, in the quick-footed crowd-from the highest to the lowest of the low. Dandies by thousands, and besmirched artizans by tens of thousands, the clerk and the factory-hand, the substantial citizens, all the domestic servants in London, all the petty shopkeepers, all the innumerable nondescripts of a mighty city and its environs, and the respectable wives, and sisters, and sweethearts of a toiling population, were mingled with the scum of the back streets, and the whole mass of vicious, unclean, profane and drunken men and women, lads and lasses of the criminal, outcast, and thievish orders of the community. Here a pretty and innocent girl was walking with her father or her lover in holiday array, and next her a gaudy female whose painted countenance and flaunting walk but ill disguised the foul spirit raging within, and tell of her "whose steps take hold on hell." Here a boy of the upper class with his companions was threading his way through the crowd, and all around a throng of little blackguards, garnished with prolonged artificial and inflamed noses, were making the road resound with their discordant cries and ringing outbursts of impudence and song. "Chaff" was the order of the day, or night, with the elder lads and ragamuffins. Any peculiarity in dress, any supposed ill-luck in seeing the illuminations, called forth shouts of banter as they passed along; but nothing lasted beyond the moment. All moved forward, forward, fresh faces every moment succeeding the last, and leaving you to wonder at the number of a crowd which seemed without beginning, middle, or end. Half a million must have passed before us. The mind grew weary of looking at them, oppressed by the thoughts that involuntarily arose, amidst all the glare and tumult of the spectacle. These multitudes, what are they? and whither are they going? Notwithstanding their general good temper, especially |