its separate details. As we have seen, the Church represents the Christian life, the porch before his baptism, the nave his life militant on earth, tossed about, seeking to ride as smoothly as he can the turbulent billows of opposition, coldness, and misunderstanding amongst men, the chancel his life in heaven, calm and peaceful, where he rests for ever before the throne of his GOD. Beneath and around him are the bodies of the dead, their names are inscribed on the walls, and upon the floor. So the symbol continues, and the grave meets us, forming a connecting link with another state, an earnest and assurance that our hope is not placed in earthly things, but that there is a communion of saints, of which, even now, we partially feel the benefit and the comfort, and which shall be hereafter more really known, when we cease to know in part, and we shall see even

as we are seen.

Let us now leave this sacred subject, lest any words we utter injure that which is beyond the reach of men's present frail comprehension, "He that hath ears to hear let him hear," and if, as the Apostle says, "ye, as lively stones, are built up a spiritual house," and also, that we are built upon the foundation of the Apostles and Prophets, JESUS CHRIST Himself being the chief corner stone, we need not wonder, that holy men of old, impressed with the dignity and mystery of the works of GOD, desirous of making them representations of the heavenly things, should so build their Churches as to make them symbolize the portions of the Christian faith, that every object that surrounds us should remind us of our religion, and of its holy hopes, and blessed promises. To our minds there is much of comfort in the thoughts which crowd upon us as we enter a Church; and harsher and ruder feelings are hushed within us as we dwell upon the holy truths, which each division of the sacred building impresses upon our minds.

A CHARACTER.

(From an unpublished Memoir.)

"Whose faith follow."

THE piety of her removed from amongst us was of no common order. It was the principle of her life, that which ruled in all her thoughts, words, and actions. Was she surrounded by blessing and enjoyment, her heart overflowed with praise to Him Whom she loved to acknowledge as the Giver of all good. If suffering was her portion, He was still her refuge, and she claimed the care of her Father, Which was in heaven.

Her profound humility was one of the leading traits in her Christian character. "Less than the least of all GOD's mercies" seemed to be her constant feeling regarding herself. This led her to undervalue all that she did, and all that she was; and while others admired and honoured, she could see only her own imperfections, and bewail her own shortcomings. Often would she charge herself with neglect of duty in the very points where she was, in fact, exemplary, as in her care for the poor, which many with sorrowing hearts can now testify, and that was marked by tenderness which she would have been the first to admire in another. She not only dealt out her charity to them with a liberal hand, and devoted much of her time to their service, but hers was the ear always patient to listen to their complaints, and the heart which, in bestowing its ready sympathy, more than doubled the value of her gifts.

Her natural disposition was kind and benevolent in the extreme; self was more than forgotten and, when the comfort of others was concerned, it seemed to be annihilated; and her own ease was the last to be thought of on all occasions. If those around her were happy, she was happy in their happiness; and if in sorrow, her sympathies were, if possible, still more readily and more warmly excited. The cheerful sweetness of her manners made her a universal favourite with the young for these she had an especial regard, and while her love excited theirs, she failed not to use it as a means of drawing them to seek the love of Him, Who had long been the ruler of her mind and her affections. And her own character was eminently fitted to recommend the religion she professed; pervaded as it was by that love which is the "fulfilling of the law."

Her piety was equally removed from moroseness, and from levity. The good-will to all, which animated her heart, beamed in her countenance with an attractive grace, which will never be forgotten by those who enjoyed her friendship; and strangers who saw her for the first time, were often so struck with the look of angelic sweetness which she wore, that they would at once exclaim, that in her assuredly, there was far more of heaven than of earth. "Whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report," were had in remembrance by her from her youth up.

Her understanding was clear and vigorous; and the refinement of her taste was evidenced by the delight with which, at an early age, she read and re-read some of our best English authors. Milton, and Young, and Cowper, were her favourite poets; and she would often speak of the delight, little short of ecstasy, with which, at the age of fifteen, she had explored the treasures of "Paradise Lost." Her fondness for reading, early

N

developed, never forsook her. Few whose lives were so active read so much as she did. Her industry was remarkable— scarcely a moment in the day was unemployed, and none were wasted. So soon as her active occupation in her family was concluded, and she sat down to rest, her knitting was taken up, and her book laid before her; and if anything struck her as likely to interest those around her, the social kindness of her disposition made it impossible for her to enjoy it alone, and she would read aloud with all the energy and vivacity of her youth.

While her children were young, she guided their reading, in a proper direction, by herself looking over every book which was to be placed in their hands; and that their Sunday employments might accord with the sanctity of the day, she seldom left them during the intervals of public worship, and would often deny herself the pleasure of attending upon evening service to remain at home with them, praying with them, reading to them, and instructing them in religious truth according to their ages and capacities.

She would often say, that to be a teacher of babes required great wisdom, and would lament her own unfitness for the office, but the deficiency existed only in her own chastened and lowly estimate of herself; for few possessed, to the extent that she did, the happy art of securing the prompt and unquestioning obedience of her children; while at the same time, the reverence in which they held her commands, took away nothing from the tenderest affection. It was never her habit to say and unsay; and so well was it understood that what she said, she meant, that her children rarely thought of trying to persuade her to change an expressed determination. So well were they convinced of her wisdom and kindness, that they were content even when their childish wills were thwarted; and could not have enjoyed anything, however pleasant in itself, which she had not fully and freely granted them. To the tenderness and greatness of her love for them no words can do justice. Her daily intercourse with them overflowed with acts and expressions of kindness; and as they grew up and were occasionally or permanently removed from the family, her correspondence conveyed in thrilling accents the fulness of a mother's heart. The elevation of the Christian and the sweetness of the woman are delightfully mingled in these letters; they are perfect transcripts of herself, for she wrote with an ease and freedom which few attain to; and they now form an invaluable record of one who, as a wife, a mother, and a friend, might possibly be equalled, but among the children of mortality, has too surely seldom been surpassed.

Her great consideration for all who were about her, was another feature in her character, which often impressed itself upon the notice of her family. She would never require another's convenience to give way to her own-nor cause any poor person a needless loss of time, by delaying to attend to his wants. She never seemed to lose sight of the Divine requirement that we should do to others as we would that they should do unto us; she almost extended the injunction, and certainly made more allowance for the wishes of others than she claimed for her own. Her servants were never harassed by unnecessary or contradictory orders, she would not so much as inconsiderately ring a bell, and would put herself to some inconvenience rather than deprive them of their accustomed privileges.

For their spiritual welfare she was always much concerned, and her labour was not in vain in the LORD. Some, who it is now believed are leading a life of faith in the Son of GOD, date their first religious impressions from her conversation and prayers; at the family altar they were never forgotten, and even when absent, as was sometimes the case on the Sunday afternoon, she would still bear them in mind, and pray that the public worship, in which they were then engaged, might have its right effect on their hearts and consciences.

Much might be added to this imperfect, though correct, delineation of character; and many instances, in confirmation of each particular, might easily be mentioned; but enough has been said if, in briefly recalling her excellence, any shall be induced, while they admire, to imitate her example.

The grand aim of her life was to honour GOD in all her ways, and to serve Him according to her baptismal vow, in keeping His holy will and commandments; to this all her wishes tended and all her designs were made subservient, while her unaffected and rare humility made her, with all her gifts and all her graces, count herself as one of the most unworthy of the children of GOD. But this very lowliness of mind, combined as it was with the constant practice of every virtue, proved her to be one of the heirs of heaven; and if the purity of her life could have left any one in doubt as to the reality of her religious profession, the blessedness of her death must have more than silenced every gainsayer.

The GOD Whom she had so long honoured did not forsake His servant in the hour of her last extremity; for her the valley of the shadow of death was irradiated by the light of His countenance; and when she had done and suffered all, she received the gracious award, "It is enough, come up hither."

SORROW FOR THE DEAD.

THE sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced. Every other wound we seek to heal— every other affliction to forget; but this wound we consider it a duty to keep open-this affliction we cherish and brood over in solitude. Where is the mother who would willingly forget the infant that perished like a blossom from her arms, though every recollection is a pang? Where is the child that would willingly forget the most tender of parents, though to remember be but to lament? Who, even in the hour of agony, would forget the friend over whom he mourns? Who, even when the tomb is closing upon the remains of her he most loved; when he feels his heart, as it were, crushed in the closing of its portal, would accept of consolation that must be bought by forgetfulness? No the love which survives the tomb is one of the noblest attributes of the soul. If it has its woes, it has likewise its delights; and when the overwhelming burst of grief is calmed into the gentle tear of recollection; when the sudden anguish, and the convulsive agony over the present ruins of all that we most loved, is softened away into pensive meditation on all that it was in the days of its loveliness-who would root out such a sorrow from the heart? Though it may sometimes throw a passing cloud over the bright hour of gaiety, or spread a deeper sadness over the hour of gloom, yet who would exchange it, even for the song of pleasure or the burst of revelry? there is a voice from the tomb sweeter than song. There is a remembrance of the dead to which we turn, even from the charms of the living. Oh, the grave! the grave! It buries every error-covers every defect-extinguishes every resentment. From its peaceful bosom spring none but fond regrets and tender recollections. Who can look down upon the grave, even of an enemy, and not feel a compunctious throb, that he should ever have warred with the poor handful of earth that lies mouldering before him?

No:

But the grave of those we loved-what a place for meditation! There it is that we call up in long review the whole history of virtue and gentleness, and the thousand endearments lavished upon us almost unheeded in the daily intercourse of intimacy— there it is that we dwell upon the tenderness, the solemn awful tenderness, of the parting scene. The bed of death, with all its stifled griefs-its noiseless attendance-its mute, watchful assiduities. The last testimonies of expiring love! The feeble, fluttering, thrilling-oh! how thrilling!-pressure of the hand. The last fond look of the glazing eye, turning upon us even