acquisition of that, which, when attained, for want of an object to which to apply it, has been utterly vain; how many youth have spent their powers in the pursuit of learning which yielded them no additional enjoyment, and was but as lumber in their minds; how many, introduced into the spacious fields of knowledge without a guide, and without a purpose, have turned aside to that which was not merely useless but pernicious, who, had their eye been fixed upon the elucidation of the Scriptures, and their efforts directed to that end, would have had their taste refined, their minds expanded and enlightened, and their hearts prepared for the reception of "that wisdom which cometh down from above."

In the day when "the knowledge of the Lord shall cover the earth as the waters do the sea," when "holiness to the Lord shall be written upon the bells of the horses," how changed in the estimation of men will these things be which now they exalt so highly. That will be an intellectual as well as a religious age, but its intelligence will be a sanctified intelligence. The fables of heathenism, the impure fictions of its mythology, and the worse than senseless vanities of much of its literature, now the objects of so much applause and study, will then sink to their proper level, sought for only as a contrast to the holy loveliness of the Christian Revelation. The records of men will then be valuable, but valuable chiefly, if not solely, for the light they may cast upon the Revelation of God. The fascinations of poetry and of song, and all the refinements of taste, will not then cease to captivate, but, won from the service of the prince of evil, they will only swell and adorn the triumphs of truth. Many will run to and fro, and knowledge shall be increased, but it will be a knowledge that, even in the light of eternity, will look desirable—the ally and the servant of spiritual and celestial wisdom. That will be a happy age-the happiest since the withering of Eden; and if, young friends, you would enjoy some portion of its delight, and hasten its happy approach, be it yours to consecrate your powers, to choose those pursuits of an intellectual kind most calculated to dignify your mind, and make you the instruments of improving others, to increase your perception and your relish of the unspeakable beauties of the pure word of life; pursuits most consonant with those of the skies, and tending most to meeten you for their bliss.

Clapham.

W. K. F.

TYPES IN NATURE.

THE following beautiful passage is extracted from a pocket volume, entitled, "The Sacred Philosophy of the Seasons," comprising as the first of a series under that title, the period of winter. It is just such a fire-side book as we could wish to see in the hands of our young readers during the Christmas holidays, as we think it no less calculated to give a zest to their healthful rambles over hill and valley than to those more philosophical pursuits to which the long evenings of winter are occasionally devoted. The author has indeed discarded the antiquated idea of leading the mind “ through nature up to nature's God," for a plan far wiser and more satisfactory. Conscious that the entrance of God's word only can give such light as will enable us to behold his works to most advantage, he has there drank deeply, and with its elevating and heart-healing influences upon him, goes forth amidst the manifold wonders of creation, “musing praise and looking lively gratitude."

"IF we think of the instinct which leads some quadrupeds to burrow in the earth, till the ungenial winter be past, we may compare their temporary sleep to the death of the believer, who is 'taken away from the evil to come.' He has retired from the blasts of winter, and sleeps in a tomb purified from corruption, and prepared as a bed of peaceful rest, by Him who liveth and was dead;' and, when the promised resurrection comes, and He who is already risen, the first fruits of them that sleep,'— appears in glory, then the winter is past,-the spring of an eternal year has revolved; and, at the voice of his divine Master, he comes forth to light, and life, and joy, which never end.

"Or, more strikingly emblematical still, we can fancy the bird, borne by a secret impulse from the coming gloom and sterility of its native haunts, winging its way over sea and land, looking down with indifference on the placid expanse of the ocean, or rising far above its stormy waves; gliding, without the desire of rest or food, over flowery plains and wide-spread wastes, frowning forests, lucid lakes, and swelling mountains; fixing its eager eye on the distant horizon; still onward-onward keeping its steady course; and giving no rest to its buoyant wings, or at least none except what Nature loudly demands, till it reaches the happy shore, to which an unseen hand was guiding it, and a voice, unheard by the out

ward ear, was whispering all the while, 'Behold the place of your rest.' All this, which every recurring year realizes, we can fancy, and we can see, in that wonderful flight, an emblem of the race of the pious Christian, who seeks his rest in heaven. The same unseen hand is guiding him from the storms of earth, the same unheard voice communicates inwardly with his conscious soul; with a similar desire he burns; with a corresponding eagerness he pants;-but his view is not bounded by a horizon of earth; his hopes are far, far beyond the regions of the sun; to the distant heavens he directs his anxious gaze; before him still he sees the track, and knows the footmarks of his crucified Redeemer; dim in the distant sky, a shining spot appears; on that spot his anxious eye is fixed; it brightens and enlarges as he advances; one struggle more; the ties which bound him to the world are broken; earth disappears; he enters the portals of heaven; he is in the arms of his Saviour; he is singing hosannahs with angels und blessed spirits before the throne of God!"

FREDERICK'S DYING REGRETS.

MY DEAR YOUNG FRIENDS,

WHEN I first wrote for the Youths' Magazine, which is now more than twenty years ago, most of the readers of the present series were not in being. How rapidly time bears away the season of youth, and how soon the present race will arrive at maturity, and make way for another succession. Let it be remembered, that time is carrying you forward with a steady and certain pace to the next stage of earthly existence, and that death itself may be much nearer to you than you anticipate. It was so in relation to the dear youth whose letter is now presented for your perusal, with a view to your present and everlasting welfare. He was a child of pious parents, and it was my privilege to attend to his mental and religious culture for a considerable period. When he was capable, he was employed in a counting-house in the great city. Here, however, having been introduced to the company of vain young men, he soon learned to imbibe their sentiments, and copy their example. I need scarcely remark, that his dear parents were very much grieved at the visible alteration of his behaviour, blended with avowed hostility to religious principles. It pleased

God, however, to arrest his progress, and to bring him, as the publican, to sue for mercy, or as the prodigal, to return to his heavenly Father. He had lost his affectionate mother, and a beloved brother, by death; these solemn events made but a very faint impression. It was his own severe illness, and the consciousness that he could not very long remain here, that led him to serious reflection, which issued in, what I think we are warranted to pronounce, a sound conversion. Nothing more need be advanced, than an expression of sincere desire on the part of the writer, that the letter of this dear youth, written at the age of 17, and only a day or two before his death, may prove an eminent blessing to many young persons, in their deliverance from those evils, which had nearly ruined the immortal soul of dear Frederick. And now, my dear young friends, as you may never, never hear from me again, I bid you most affectionately farewell.

A VOICE FROM THE DEATH-BED.

W.

"DEAR WALTer,

66

Sept. 20th, 1834.

"SINCE you left me this morning, thinking, perhaps, that I might never see you more, I resolved, though hardly equal to the task, to write to you. I led you into sin and folly, and now I greatly wish to lead your mind (if God be pleased to bless the humble undertaking) to that Saviour who alone can give you comfort in a dying hour. I myself have run a long course of sin, and I fear, did your mind no good, during your stay with my father; but, on the contrary, I was the cause of leading you to that abominable seat of Satan, the theatre. By my example you were taught to neglect the Sabbath, and to take God's name in vain. I neglected the salutary warnings he gave me in my brother's and mother's death; but now he has laid his heavy afflicting hand upon me, and brought me to the edge of the grave: but he hath dealt graciously with me, and I hope I can say I love him. He has, I trust, brought me to see my own unworthinessthe love of Christ-his boundless love in coming into this world to save weak, worthless, helpless worms. We have all sinned against God: his justice must be satisfied-Christ died that it might be satisfied, and, therefore, our sins are laid upon Christ, and he who believes in Christ shall be saved. He OFFERS his salvation. He

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saith, Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out:" -a passage I never can forget. Again he saith, Come unto me, all ye that labour, and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.' You, it means who are labouring under the burden of sin-the Lord grant that you may feel yourself labouring under the burden of sin, and O, may he give you faith to believe in Christ, which is the only thing that can support you in a dying hour. You have only to pray to him for faith-seek him, plead the blessed promise, 'Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out.' Leave those companions of sin, O do, I beseech you, they will neglect you in a dying hour-they cannot save you. Read the Bible— Christ saith, Search the Scriptures, for they testify of me.' That which was once dark to me in them, is now become light: and, if you pray to God for his Holy Spirit, they will become the same to you. You will delight in reading them. What good would all the novels and books of that description do me now I am on my deathbed? No, nothing but a belief in the Saviour can give you consolation in that awful hour, and that you may be enabled to believe in Christ, the only hope of a sinner, is the constant prayer of your dying and affectionate cousin, FREDERICK."

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THE LIVING AND THE DEAD.

"If one went unto them from the dead, they will repent."-LUKE XVI. 30. THESE Words were uttered under circumstances of unusual solemnity. Whilst God's word should at all times be approached with reverence, there are parts of it so awfully tremendous, that the lightnings of Sinai, and the glories of the burning bush seem to gather around them, and to render them unapproachable except under the shadows of Omnipotent mercy and inscrutable except to the eye bathed in tears of penitence, and strengthened by long and earnest converse with Him who is Light, and in whom there is no darkness at all. A rich man has died, and the rites of a pompous funeral have been bestowed on that body, which, when it enshrined a soul, had been debased and dishonored. He had enjoyed worldly grandeur and worldly riches, but being in honor, had not understood its purport, and had become in consequence as the brutes that perish. A poor man has died too, but of his VOL. IX. 3rd SERIES.

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