speak a word. He published one book, "The Complete Duty of Man." It is excellent; but like Wilberforce's "View," and other treatises of that period, it has fulfilled its function-the world needs something fresh, something older or something newer, something which our immediate predecessors have not commonplaced. Still, it is an excellent treatise, a clear and engaging summary of practical divinity, and it did much good when

new.

WILLIAM ROMAINE*

Began his course as Gresham Professor of Astronomy, and editor of the four folios of Calasio's Hebrew Concordance. But after he caught the evangelic fire he burned and shone for nearly fifty years-so far as the Establishment is concerned-the light of London. It needed all his strength of character to hold his ground and conquer opposition. He was appointed Assistant Morning Lecturer at St George's, Hanover Square; but his fervent preaching brought a mob of people to that fashionable place of worship, and on the charge of having vulgarised the congregation and overcrowded the church, the rector removed him. He was popularly elected to the Evening Lectureship of St Dunstan's; but the rector there took possession of the pulpit in the time of prayer, so as to exclude the fanatic. Lord Mansfield decided that after seven in the evening Mr Romaine was entitled to the use of the church; so, till the clock struck seven, the church-wardens kept the door firm shut, and by drenching them in rain and freezing them in frost, hoped to weary out the crowd. Failing in this, they refused to light the church, and Mr Romaine often preached to his vast auditory with no light except the solitary candle which he held in his hand. But, "like another Cocles, he was resolved to keep the pass, and if the bridge fell to leap into the Tiber." Though for years his stipend was only £18, he wore home-spun cloth, and lived so plainly, that they could not starve him out. And though they repeatedly dragged him to the courts of law, they could not force him out. And though they sought occasion against him in regard to the canons, they could not get the bishop to turn him out. He held his post till, with much ado, he gained the pulpit of Blackfriars, and preached with unquenched fire till past fourscore, the Life, the Walk, the Triumph of Faith. For a great while he was one of the sights of London, and people who came from Ireland and elsewhere to see Garrick act, went to hear Romaine discourse; and many blessed the day which first drew their thoughtless steps to St Dunstan's or St Ann's. And in his more tranquil evening there was a cluster of pious citizens about Ludgate Hill and St Paul's Churchyard who exceedingly revered the abrupt old man. Of all the churches in the capital, as in the days of Gouge, a hundred

*Born 1714. Died 1795.

years before, his was the one towards which most home-feeling flowed. It shed a Sabbatic air through its environs, and the dingy lanes around it seemed to brighten in its religion of life and hope. Full of sober hearers and joyful worshippers, it was a source of substantial service to the neighbourhood in times of need; and whilst the warm focus to which provincial piety and travelled worth most readily repaired, it was the spot endeared to many a thankful memory as the Peniel where first they beheld that great sight, CHRIST CRUCIFIED.

Time would fail to tell of Scott the commentator, of Andrew Fuller, of Charles Simeon, of Richard Cecil, of John Newton, of John Berridge, and other preachers and authors who are claimed by the present century, although so much of their work was done among our predecessors. Meanwhile, we trust that even this hasty retrospect may bring some readers to a better acquaintance with those men of faith and fervour who broke the death-slumbers of a former generation, and to whom, under God, we are indebted for the evangelistic institutions and benevolent undertakings by which the present age is distinguished.

THE FAMILY CLOCK.

YES-it is the same-the old clock-the family clock-that measured off the hours of my childhood-that uttered its stern call to study, to school, to work-that struck its merry peal when the task was accomplished, and smiled cheerily as the whole bevy of boys and girls that had sprung up around my father's hearth-stone, bounded forth to sport and frolic-the clock, whose evening chimes gathered parents and children to the altar of cheerful, holy sacrifice. Ah! yes the whole scene is before me. My father (no other was ever more revered and beloved)—as the priest of his household, seems invested with a sanctity, not unlike that with which our childish imaginations clothed Abraham, and Isaac, and Moses. Even my mother, as she takes her accustomed seat, regards him with a look that seems almost reverential. No other sound than his voice, save the ceaseless "tick

tick-tick"-of the familiar clock, is heard while the holy page is read, and mingled supplications and thanksgivings ascend to be offered "with the prayers of all saints upon the golden altar which is before the throne." The impressive words of parental admonition and counsel linger on our ears, as the "good night" is spoken, and our last conscious thoughts, as slumber steals over us, are of God, who so loved us as to give His Son to die for us, and the infinite danger of slighting the great salvation thus provided.

But the clock ticked away the years, and each brought its changes to our happy circle.

The chubby, rosy-cheeked little boys, playing so lately in frocks and pinafores, grow to stalwart lads. They "put away childish things," and, one after another, they go forth to engage for themselves in the great battle of life. The hallowed influences of that home are around them, and its teachings are never forgotten. They understand the responsibility resting upon every man to glorify God every day, in every business transaction, as well as in Sabbath worship. The influence they exert savours of that fireside instruction, and as they become the centres of new homes, the scenes in which they mingled under the parental roof are repeated there. From one family altar there are erected four, from which ascend, each morning and evening, incense and the pure offering. In other homes, the sisters, who shared their sports, now wives and mothers, are daily imparting the same lessons their mother taught them, to the children who shall yet "rise up and call them blessed."

Meanwhile, the ticking of the clock is heard more distinctly in the old home. It looks upon a scene, changed indeed. Two easy arm-chairs, the same as of old, stand just where they have stood so many years. They who occupy them are the same, but there is less of activity and more of repose in the attitude and countenance of each. They tell now of days long gone by, when the voices of laughing boys and singing girls made cheerful music in their now quiet halls. They relate pleasant incidents in the childish life of each, and smile at many a well-remembered roguish prank. They recount the deeds of thoughtful love, and the conscientious regard for truth and honesty that then filled their hearts with hope and joy, and which have now ripened into rich fruition. They review the early years of their love and wedded life, and thank God for all the happiness they have enjoyed, and that their children live to do them honour-that one daughter remains to minister to their comfort, and that, with a single exception, all their children have set their dwellings near the paternal mansion.

But the clock ticks on, and it brings a day when one of those chairs is vacant. It was hard at first, for her who had occupied it, to relinquish the place which, for fifty years, she had held, at the head of her family. She knew how the heart of her husband trusted in her, and how he would miss her society and her accustomed attentions, and she had prayed that her life and health might be spared while he should need her love. But the stroke of God is upon her. The limbs, which have been so active in their errands of mercy, are paralysed; the hands, always busy, must rest from their labours; hardest of all, the faltering tongue can with difficulty express the thoughts and feelings which occupy and interest her. But she does not murmur. The cheerful, playful humour, which

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had always given to her society a peculiar charm for her children, does not forsake her now. It often breaks through all the restraints of the sick-room, and calls smiles to the sympathising faces bending over her when her sufferings would otherwise break up the fountain of tears. But no natural cheerfulness could triumph over the many months of weariness and pain allotted to her. The God in whom she had placed the hope of her youth draws near, puts underneath her His everlasting arms, and gives her support in all her trials with the assurance of their glorious termination. Her husband still finds much pleasure in her society, and his ministrations to her are very tender. Early and late he is at her bedside-but, the old clock is measuring off his last days. Unseen, there steals over the threshold a messenger, who has not entered that door before for more than forty years- -a messenger "who never returns alone." And the summons is for him. He receives it calmly, and prepares to obey the call. Once more the finger of the old clock points to the hour of prayer, and, languid and trembling as he is, he cannot lie down without committing himself and his family to the care of Israel's Shepherd. He lingers with even more than his accustomed tenderness at the side of his wife. No word is spoken, as they throw their arms around each other in close embrace, and exchanged the prolonged kiss. But they look unutterable things. Each feels that it is the last farewell, till they greet each other in their Father's house above. Another night—she is a widow, and their children fatherless.

Now, she feels that the strongest tie to earth is broken, and she would gladly be "absent from the body and present with the Lord." But the clock must tick on another whole year before her mortality shall be swallowed up of life. Many a lesson of faith, and hope, and patience, is learned at her bedside during those last months. A beautiful example of filial devotion, too, is exhibited, as her children gather there, and by their increased attention strive to fill the last void in her heart. Morning by morning, her manly sons are seen bending over to receive her kiss and benediction, before they seek their places of business. The youngest can less frequently be there, but there is a glad light in the eyes of the aged mother, whenever she can fold him in her arms, and her faith grows stronger as the voice of "her Benjamin" repeats the gracious promises in her ear, and offers fervent supplications, that God will verify them all to her.

And the clock ticks on-hour by hourday by day-till all are numbered-till the last pang is suffered the long struggle over. She lies beside the companion of her pilgrimage, -the old home is forsaken, and the dwelling no longer knows parents or children. But the memories lingering around the old

clock are too pleasant and too sacred for it to be allowed to pass into the hands of strangers. Now it stands where the eyes of one of the sons rest upon it, as the light of each new day dawns, and its "tick, tick, tick," is the last sound in his ears when the light has faded into darkness, and he is reminded that he is one post nearer the end of his journey. Yes it is the same old clock, associated with all the days of the past, its fingers steadily pointing forward, while it is counting off the days of the children, as it has counted the days of the parents. But, when its voice shall be silent, we will believe that the happy group of the early home will all be gathered in the better and the heavenly. T.

HATE NOT.

BY AUGUSTA MOORE.

HATE not. It is not worth while. Your life is not long enough to make it pay to cherish ill-will or hard thoughts towards any one. What if that man has cheated you, or that woman has played you false? What if this friend has forsaken you in your time of need, or that one, having won your utmost confidence, your warmest love, has concluded that he prefers to consider and treat you as a stranger? Let it all pass. What difference will it make to you in a few years, when you go hence to the "undiscovered country?" All who ill treat you now will be more sorry for it then than you, even in your deepest disappointment and grief, can be.

Do not commit the folly of hating or feeling revengeful towards the frail beings for whom, if you are a true child of God, your soul is yet to yearn in agonising pity, or to burn with quenchless love.

A little while and all misunderstandings, differences, and heart-burnings are to be over for ever; and how you will then regret that ever you had an unkind thought of any human being!

When one, who is your enemy-or worse, your ungenerous and untractable friend-refuses to favour you, or makes a thrust at your interest or your feelings, if you feel the motions of that revengeful tiger that has his lair in every heart, if he lift himself up, and shake his fierce head, and say, "Beware, I have it in my power to bring you forcibly to terms, or at least sorely to punish you," hold that tiger down. He is a child of the devil, and his business is to teaze you, and to drive you, to rend and destroy. Listen not to him, but look upon the one he asks for his victim, and say-" He is but dust and ashes as I am. His heart has its own burdens and sorrows, though his eyes now have that hard and steely light, and though their glances are cold as ice when they turn on me, yet they have wept tears of anguish, and they will weep again be

fore they close for ever. He will have enough to bear, let not me torment him. When we stand in judgment before God, if his doom is to go into banishment, how thankful shall I be that I forgave the wrong he did me, or that I did not add a feather to the trouble of his life! and if he and I are welcomed to the Holy City, surely, then, I shall rejoice that I avenged not myself against him. It may be hard now to love when I am not loved-it may be a struggle freely to forgive-but it is not worth while to do aught else; for the dying should never contend with the dying, nor be anything but patient and pitiful with each other. And, verily, we are all worms together, and soon we shall be hidden together in the earth."

A few more smiles, a few more tears, some pleasure, much pain, a little longer hurrying and worrying through the world, some hasty greetings, and abrupt farewells, and our play will be played out, and the injurer and the injured will be laid away, and, ere long, forgotten. Is it worth while to hate each other!

THE RISING TIDE.

WHEN the tide is out, you have noticed, as you ramble among the rocks, little pools with little fishes in them. To the shrimp in such a pool his foot depth of salt water is all the ocean for the time being. He has no dealings with his neighbour shrimp in the adjacent pool, though it may be only a few inches of sand that divide them. But when the rising ocean begins to leap over the margin of the lurking-place, one pool joins another, their various tenants meet, and by-andby, in place of their little patch of standing water they have the ocean's boundless fields to roam in. When the tide is out-when religion is low-the faithful are to be found insulated, here a few and there a few, in the little standing pools that stud the beach, having no dealings with their neighbours of the adjoining pools, calling them Samaritans, and fancying that their own little communion includes all that are precious in God's sight. They forget for a time that there is a vast and expansive ocean rising-every ripple brings it nearer-a mighty communion-even the communion of saints-which is to engulf all minor considerations, and to enable the fishes of all pools-the Christians, the Christlovers of all denominations to come together. When, like a flood, the Spirit flows into the churches, church will join to church, and saint will join to saint, and all will rejoice to find, that if their little pools have perished, it is not by the scorching summer's drouth, nor the casting in of earthly rubbish, but by the influx of that boundless sea whose glad waters touch eternity, and in whose ample depths the saints in heaven as well as the saints of earth have room enough to range.

does not change; and we His creatures are always working out this plan, though we seem to be doing just what we like. It was part of His plan that we should not come in the Pacific, and therefore we found it impossible to get berths; and it was also part of His plan that others should sail in her, and, so far as we know, be lost; and though we cannot see the reasons, it is all right.

"Sometimes He disappoints us, and does not let us see the reasons why He does it. Sometimes, as in our case, we see how much better it was for us to be disappointed. One blessed assurance we have, my daughter, that 'all things work together for good to those who love Him.' Oh, how happy should we be if we could learn in all things to trust Him, knowing that all He does is right, whether our eyes see it or not, or whether or not our wishes are granted."

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning providence

He hides a smiling face.

CHARLES AND JACK.

A LITTLE BOY, whose papa and mamma were very rich, thought it beneath him to speak to a poor boy with patched clothes, who every day passed his father's gate with papers to sell, for this was the way in which he supported himself and sick mother.

Charles (for that was the rich boy's name) had more than once insulted poor Jack by setting his dog on him, or speaking in a loud tone to his companions about the "little ragamuffin," as he contemptuously styled him. Jack took no notice of all this abuse, for his kind mother had taught him to return good for evil, and to love his enemies, because his Saviour commanded him.

Charles was very fond of fishing; he would frequently take his hook and line, and go with some of his companions to a lake about a mile distant. On one occasion of this kind, he was seated on the end of a decayed log which projected some distance into the water. A fish played around his hook; he was so intent on catching it that he forgot everything else. Giving the line a sudden jerk, the log tilted, and he was thrown into the deep water. He did not know how to swim, so he struggled about, calling to his companions for aid; but they were all afraid to venture their lives for another. Jack, who was also fishing at a little distance off, hearing the screams of the frightened boys, hastened to know the cause. When he saw Charles struggling and sinking, without once thinking of the evil treatment he had received from him, he plunged into the water and saved his life.

Before Charles had recovered from his wetting, Jack ran off home, not even waiting to receive thanks. The next day Charles sent for him to come to him, as he was quite sick, and therefore not able to go out.

When Jack entered his room, the unhappy boy hung his head; then taking the proffered hand of the poor boy, confessed all his past wickedness, asking the forgiveness of him he had once despised.

Never, since then, has Charles spoken in contempt of those whom God has not favoured with riches.

He and Jack are the best of friends; for, says he, "I owe my life to him, how can I be otherwise than grateful?"

Little readers, I hope you may all possess Jack's forgiving spirit. Remember what the Bible says, "If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink.”

WHERE do we first read of thorns and thistles?

For what purpose did a man of small stature once climb a sycamore tree ?

Who tarried under a pomegranate tree? Who compares himself to a vine ? Whom does he call the branches? Who is likened to a tree planted by the waters?

Who is like a heath in the desert?

Who rested under a vine that came up in a night?

Under what tree did a person once sit to judge Israel?

Under what tree was one of the kings of Israel buried?

Who entertained his guests under a tree? What kind of a tree once withered away at the word of Christ?

Who heard a sound in the tops of the mulberry trees?

Of what tree are the leaves for the healing of the nations?

How many kinds of fruit does it yield?
Do you hope to see and taste of it?