do not abound in works of mercy as Christians should, but are, to say the least, in danger of making our faith an excuse for neglecting good works. What GOD hath joined, let not man put asunder. The apostolic teaching is that we do not "make void the law through faith; yea, we establish the law." This is still to be the rule of our duty, the measure of that holiness which we are to seek to attain; though (thanks be to the eternal mercy of GoD!) the terrors with which it was invested on Sinai are now lost in the glory of Calvary. And when we do good, how often is it from an improper motive. No work can be called good, in a Christian sense, unless it springs from a pure desire to please, and promote the glory of GOD. If it be otherwise, however excellent and amiable may be the feelings that prompt it, it forfeits its claim to be thus regarded. The objects of it are of course equally benefited: but we lose our reward for it is only for beneficence exercised for CHRIST'S sake that we shall be recompensed at the last day. It is His value, and worth, and excellence which GOD beholds, when He looks favourably on our imperfect doings; and then He showers upon us rich gifts for the ineffable joy with which He regards the Son of His love! We must not be afraid of owning that good works will be rewarded. GOD in His mercy, and for our encouragement, has so appointed: only let us ever remember that they must be done as He "has willed and commanded them to be done."

One more of the Church's sins, and we have done. How suspicious, how ready to believe evil of each other, how full of evil surmisings, how easily offended, how censorious are we, who are enjoined to love as brethren, to be pitiful, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as GOD for CHRIST's sake has forgiven us. But "with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again." O for the charity that "thinketh no evil, suffereth long, and is kind :" that never faileth !”

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To sum up briefly (for it were well-nigh impossible to enumerate particularly the fearful array of the Church's sins) in order that each one may ascertain for himself whether his works are "found perfect before GOD," let him put to himself this question: Am I living as if I believed, from the very ground of my heart, those Scriptures which I profess to make the rule of my faith and conduct; regulating my spirit by, and conforming my practice to, the requirements of the Divine Will, regardless of the suffering, from within and from without, which this may bring upon me; do join a rigid and universal morality, in small things as well as great, to that faith in the great atonement, without which "all our doings are nothing worth?"

And then, let conscience, enlightened by the word of GOD,

do its work unsparingly. Bitter may be our suffering, as sin after sin is dragged from its hiding-place; as wound after wound is inflicted by that tremendous "discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart." Yet let us not shrink from the painful, though salutary ordeal. Let us rather pray that the keen point of the "sword of the Spirit," which has pierced our souls, may wound deeply, for it “killeth and maketh alive.” And mourning over the, till now, hidden and unsuspected evils of our life and conversation, let us humble ourselves before the Eternal GOD, and say, "Enter not into judgment with Thy servant, O LORD, for in Thy sight shall no man living be justified." Hide Thy face from our sins, and blot out all our iniquities; "Create in us clean hearts, and renew a right spirit within us.' Let us, with penitent and contrite hearts, look alone to the work of CHRIST, to that salvation which He has wrought for us, a salvation from our sins! And as the prophet wrapped himself in his mantle, and stood before the LORD, waiting for His still small voice, so let us wrap ourselves in the mantle of His righteousness, and stand before Him, till the voice of His mercy shall be heard, "thy sins are forgiven thee; go in peace." Fear not, I am thy strength, and thy exceeding great reward."

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May all who "name the name of CHRIST depart from all iniquity, and walk worthy of Him Who "did no sin, neither was guile found in His mouth." May those good works abound in us which He hath "before ordained that we should walk in them :" for He hath "purchased us to Himself to be a holy people." And then shall the Church arise from the dust, "loose the bands of her neck," and go forth, "terrible as an army with banners," for the destruction of the kingdom of darkness: then shall be fulfilled those glorious prophecies which holy men of old, inspired by the Spirit of truth, spake concerning it then shall "the floods clap their hands, and the hills be joyful together," the "trees of the wood shall break forth into singing," for GOD shall restore Sion, and comfort His people.

May our faith be unwavering, our hope steadfast, and our charity perfect; so at the last shall we have ministered unto us an abundant entrance into that future and eternal "rest that remaineth for the people of GOD!"

"Blessed are the undefiled in the way, who walk in the law of the LORD."

"They also do no iniquity, they walk in His ways."

M. J.

THE ANGEL OF LIFE.
CHAPTER III.

ERNEST quickly joined his sister, and for a few minutes their tears and prayers were mingled together; so absorbed were they, that when they lifted their faces from the ground, they were astonished to see beside them a majestic figure. With trembling fear they tried to see that countenance whose brightness dazzled them; and for a second they turned their faces aside. On looking again, they perceived his countenance was mild though determined, and looking at them gravely, he said in a voice of such sternness, that it ran thrilling through all their frame, “How dare you be here this hour of the night, in this forest of desolation?"

Ernest and Rosalie wept aloud, and would have run away, had not something riveted them to the spot. Poor Fido, as if conscious of something amiss, and ashamed of being there, hung down his head.

"You have done wrong in running thoughtlessly into sin and disobeying your parents; you might have been destroyed before this time by the wild beasts, were there not others for whose sake a little season you are spared; your mother's injunctions have been forgotten, her counsels unheeded, her kindness thrown away; for ye are naughty children, and who can tell what may be your end?"

"O indeed it is not Ernest! do not blame dear Ernest: he begged me not to come: it is all my fault- I am the naughty disobedient child whom you must punish. Pray forgive me, mighty stranger," said she, falling down; "I will try, indeed I will, not to be so thoughtless and wicked any more.'

دو

"Ernest, lift up your sister. You hear what she says. You have acted naturally, but not rightly. You erred in asking those to join you whose character was unknown to you; who had no pleasure in those things wherein you have been taught to delight. On you, as the elder, devolves the higher responsibility; you should guard and watch over your weaker sister ; you were the cause of her being led astray by bad company, and you must share her punishment.'

"Within this dark forest you must stay until I permit you to depart, on your faithful performance of duties which I shall assign you; on your steady perseverance, your penitence for what is past, and your hearty endeavours for the future, depends your return, in the course of some weeks, to your anxious mother. If you disregard my words, and continue careless and disobedient, I will and must leave you a prey to the fury of the wild beasts, for I can only remain with the contrite and humble." "Pray do not forsake us! oh do not leave us altogether,"

sobbed the poor frightened children; "we shall never find our road in this dreadful forest; never see our loving mother and beautiful home again, if you will not help us. Ŏ teach us, mighty stranger, and we will do our utmost to please and obey you." "Remember your promise, then, and fulfil it; you may then rely on such assistance as I can give you. Think what heartrending grief your mother now suffers on your account; the garden gate is open, the tasks deserted, the lovely flowers all trampled and destroyed by wandering beasts; then think you any grief of yours here can soothe her desolate heart? however humbled and sorrowful you may feel so far removed, can it restore you to her bosom? Happy will ye be, if this one experience engrave indelibly on your memory the consequences of folly and disobedience."

The stranger paused, letting them weep unrestrainedly; then gently lifting them both in his arms, and motioning to Fido to follow him, he carried them swiftly to a mossy cavern, not very far distant, and placing them on the soft couch, said, "Here sleep: to-morrow I will return by sunrise. Before this cavern is a spring, there wash daily then pray as you have been taught, and watch for me until I come again. Here is food in this little basket for you, and some for Fido."

:

The children turned to thank him, but before the words rose to their lips, he was gone.

CHAPTER IV.

There breathes a living fragrance from the shore,
Of flowers yet fresh with childhood; on the ear
Drops the light drip of the suspended oar,

Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more.
CHILDE HAROLD.

How sound and unbroken was the slumber of our wearied wanderers; night shone about them with her gentle moon; and brilliant twinkling stars anon and again peering into the cavern, catching sly glimpses of them in their mossy couch, and quickly passing by, lest such sweet repose should meet disturbance; then the murmuring breeze wafted over them, mingling with the songs of the midnight stars, while flowers seemed to bow their lovely blossoms with their friends the lowly reeds, in chorus to those tired ones' lullaby. And their mute companion looked up at the sky, wondering at their marvellous melody; then stole with cautious tread to their couch, listening to their measured and deep breathing: again returning noiselessly to his post, to defend and guard his treasures.

Anon broke forth in loneliness the morning star, and all the others seemed to hide themselves one after another, as if sur

passed in beauty they fell disappointed: and the feathered choir hasted to greet the appearance of the new arrival, turning their voices into songs of thanksgiving for their night's tranquil rest. With wistful eye, Fido looked out, then towards the sleeping pair, and approaching them, licked their hands.

"Ernest, dearest brother, arise," said Rosalie ; "Fido has called us: oh where are we? I have had such sweet dreams: I thought mamma had returned, and came as usual and sung us to sleep, and—”

66 Hush, dearest sister; remember what is actual, and not what fancy pictures to your vivid imagination: have you forgotten the awful stranger and his bidding? let us hasten and fulfil his first commands."

Hand in hand they descended into the pure waters of that bright fountain: fresh hopes, fresh life seemed in its silvery waters; and Ernest thought he had never seen Rosalie so fair, and perchance the same thoughts passed through his sister's mind: neither spoke.

They returned within the cavern ; on bended knees they besought pardon for the past and strength for time to come. Sighs and tears mingled with their petitions; yet long before they rose from their devotions, sorrow was turned into a calm peaceable joy.

The stranger's gift-the little basket—was brought, and they sat down side by side on a bank outside the cavern, with Fido by them, looking very hungry, and watching the contents of the basket.

A beautiful prospect was before them; the fountain we have mentioned lay at their feet, from whence issued a thousand rivulets which watered the valley, and flowing far, far away, were lost among the thick undergrowth: on either hand the green slopes stretched far upwards to the craggy summits of the mountains, whilst their pine-covered tops seemed piercing the skies, sheltering them from the keen blasts of wind. The only opening was before them, and there the mighty ocean spread its majestic waters, wave after wave sparkling with the rays of the morning sun, which just appeared lighting the mountain tops, bringing out in every brilliancy of tint the opposite hills, and lighting each tree and each stream as it rose higher and higher; the dark pine grove, the mantling crag, the verdant slope, the mountain glade, until at last it reached the very grass and flowers, causing the dewdrops to glitter like diamonds.

"Come here, Fido, and have your breakfast, poor old dog." Rosalie put her arms round Fido's neck, and patted him gently. "Let us see your foot, Fido," said Ernest. poor dog licked his little master's hand, and gave a low moan.

The