vey divine influence and blessing when imparted by episcopally-ordained persons, and without such an administration are null and void, and if such outward ceremonies are the only mode by which God ever cleanses from sin and forgives the guilty; the pious man is lost, although our Lord and Master "who spake as never man spake," (and who we dare to think knew somewhat better than Oxford Tract men what his own doctrines were) graciously and definitely said "whosoever believeth in me shall never perish, but have everlasting life." John iii. 16. "He that heareth my word and believeth on him that sent me hath everlasting life, and shall not come into condemnation." John v. 24.

Our Ultra-Protestant notions of the right of private judgment permit each one to form his own opinions, and to select which he prefers as most scriptural and rational-the written and fulfilled promises of the Lord God Almighty, or the self-interested dogmas of Popish and Puseyite Catholics. "Let me fall into the hands of God rather than men." (1 Cor. xiii.)

(To be concluded in our next.)

FACTS.

How vain it is to look for happiness in a world where all is frail and perishing! We may, perhaps, when surrounded by comforts and those endearing ties which bind us to life, think that our cup of bliss is full, but in a moment, by the removal of some loved object, some idol of our affections, how changed is the scene: instead of the bright sunshine, a winter's gloom is upon our hearts, and then it is we feel the truth of the preacher's words, "Vanity, vanity, all is vanity."

Never had a more happy party met together, than that assembled on an autumnal day of the year 1839, in the little town of T. It consisted of a family of eleven children, parents, and an aged grandmother. Not often had they met together, for different paths of duty separated them: however, on this day they were all assembled under the parental roof, and many a word of love, and many a kindly wish went round, as they sat at the social board, whilst health and happiness beamed on every countenance.

The sight would have been interesting even to a stranger's eye, but one group particularly would have attracted his attention two young girls, in the spring time of youth and beauty, with a brother, whom they seemed to gaze on with much affection, seated between them. In a family when the number is large, we often see those who are nearly of an age forming

closer ties, and choosing the brother or sister, near them, as their bosom friend. So it was with this happy two, they had been brought up together, and from childhood shared each other's joys and sorrows, and though very different in character and disposition, it always seemed impossible to separate them. Often have I watched them as they paced the little gardenwalk surrounding our house, the brother's arm encircling the sisters he so dearly loved, and whilst listening to their merry voices and happy laugh, I have thought if happiness had a place on earth, it was surely with them. But I must resume my narrative; a few hours passed away, and the family circle was broken, never more to be formed again on earth. Each returned to his or her accustomed duties, anticipating soon, another happy re-union. How wisely has our heavenly Father ordered all things. Could the change which a little time produced in our circle have been foreseen, how would that day of joy have been beclouded?

Autumn's leaves had fallen, and stern winter was approaching, when the eldest of that group to which I have introduced my readers, was seized by the dull, cold hand of death. Jane, for so was she named, had been frail and delicate from her youth, but little did we dream she was a subject of that sad complaint so fatal in our isle-consumption. True it is, there was always something unearthly about her, the mild blue eye and expressive countenance, (the index of the mind) spoke more of heaven than earth, and often has she been found in some retired place at prayer, or studying the Word of Truth, whilst her companions have been engaged in some trifling pursuit. Often too have I heard the blessing of the poor

poured upon her as they have told me of her acts of charity and love, for she delighted to visit their humble dwellings, and her little all was generally expended on them. My beloved sister lingered many months, and at times her sufferings were acute, but how mercifully was she supported by that Saviour who never faileth them that put their trust in Him. Not a murmur passed her lips, not a desire to recover. And when the hour of her departure came, she gently fell asleep in Jesus, with the words of prayer and praise on her lips.

A sad, sad gap was thus made in that little group, and we seemed to have a presentiment that those who had so loved in life, in death could not be divided. But time passed on, and the wound thus made was beginning to heal. An elder sister was about to become a happy bride, and the garments of woe were to be exchanged for the bridal attire. But how unsearchable are thy ways, O God! Ere that period arrived, another message from the king of terrors had been sent. Ellen, the most lovely, the best beloved amongst us-she whose every look was love, who filled each heart with glee, she too had been summoned. The cloudless eye, the hectic flush, the loveliness too beautiful for earth, could not be mistaken. Death slowly but surely was laying her low. And did this sweet sufferer repine at the will of Him who was about to remove her thus early from a world which to her wore its brightest colours? Oh, no: her continual prayer was "Thy will, not mine, O God be done." And as I have sat by her bed-side, and seen her countenance lighted up with celestial brightness, whilst repeating that beautiful hymn of Marie de Fleurie, "Longing to depart," I have been

tempted to wish her lot had been mine.

But where was he, the beloved brother of these dear ones, the prop of this little trio, whose many virtues had endeared him to all hearts, could he see his loved ones fall beside him and live on? Oh, no! dear, dear Henry, thou too art called to an untimely grave; sixteen short summers alone hast thou numbered, and now thou art summoned away. We knew thou wert not for earth, thy frail form and sensitive mind were not made to buffet with a cold and careless world. We part from thee without a pang, for we know “to die," with thee" is gain."

Earth was clad with verdure, the singing time of birds was come, all nature seemed to invite us to join in their song of praise, when these dear ones were taken from us. All peace were their last moments, and not long their separation. The grave had but just been closed on the one, before it was opened to receive the other: and now, side by side they rest until the joyful resurrection morn.

Mysterious are the ways of Providence, and strange to us erring, short-sighted mortals it seems that the old parent stalk, who has numbered nearly a century of years, should be spared, whilst three young creatures, on the eldest of whom but eighteen summers had set, should be early consigned to the tomb. But sufficient that the Lord hath done it, and though nature may weep at the devastation which death has made in our circle, yet faith rises triumphant, and enables us to say, "The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, blessed be the Name of the Lord.”

H. E.