aims at is to leave GOD their patrimony. In the choice of their calling or match, he propounds but forces not, as knowing they have also wills of their own, which it is fitter for him to bow than to break.

Is he a son? he is such as may be fit to proceed from such loins.

Is he a servant? he cannot but be officious; for he must please two masters, though one under, not against the other: when his visible master sees him not, he knows he cannot be out of the eye of the Invisible, and therefore dares not be either negligent or unfaithful. The work that he undertakes he goes through, not out of fear, but out of conscience; and would do his business no otherwise than well, though he served a blind master. He is no blab of the defects at home, and where he cannot defend is ready to excuse. He yields patiently to a just reproof, and answers with an humble silence; and is more careful not to deserve than to avoid stripes.

Is he a subject? He is awfully affected to sovereignty, as knowing by whom the powers are ordained. He dares not curse the king; no, not in his thought; nor revile the ruler of his people, though justly faulty: much less dare he slander the footsteps of GOD's anointed. He submits, not only for wrath, but also for conscience' sake, to every ordinance of God; yea, to every ordinance of man, for the LORD's sake: not daring to disobey in regard of the oath of GOD. If he have reached forth his hand to cut off but the skirt of the royal robe, his heart smites him. He is a true paymaster, and willingly renders tribute to whom tribute, custom to whom custom, honour to whom honour is due; and justly divides his duties betwixt GOD and Cæsar.

Finally, in whatever relation he stands, he is diligent, faithful, conscionable; observant of his rule, and careful to be approved such both to GOD and men.

SECTION VII.-His Resolution in matter of Religion.

He hath fully informed himself of all the necessary points of religion; and is so firmly grounded in those fundamental and saving truths, that he cannot be carried about with every wind of doctrine. As for collateral and unmaterial verities, he neither despiseth, not yet doth too eagerly pursue them. He lists not to take opinions upon trust: neither dares absolutely follow any guide, but those who he knows could not err.

He is ever suspicious of new faces of theological truths, and cannot think it safe to walk in untrodden paths.

Matters of speculation are not unwelcome to him, but his chief care is to reduce his knowledge to practice; and therefore

he holds nothing his own but what his heart hath appropriated, and his life acted.

He dares not be too much wedded to his own conceit; and hath so much humility, as to think the whole Church of CHRIST upon earth wiser than himself. However he be a great lover of constancy, yet, upon better reason, he can change his mind in some litigious and unimporting truths, and can be silent where he must dissent.

THE THREE PICTURES.

"O Lamb of God, that takest away the sins of the world; grant us Thy peace."

Sir Hildebrand was brave and bold, no bolder knight than he
E'er gained his spurs in tented field, or fought for Chivalry.
Emblazoned on his shield was seen a Cross of snowy white,
Which seemed to guard his noble form from danger in the fight.
Sir Bruno was his bitter foe, whose ever constant aim
Was to asperse his gallant deeds, and taint his spotless fame.
One morn, while yet 'twas twilight grey, Sir Hildebrand arose,
And to wreak vengeance on his foe in burning wrath he goes-
A chapel door was open wide, that all might enter in,
And kneel in penitence and prayer to keep that day from sin.
Sir Hildebrand his plumèd helm unclasps, and downward lays,
And entering the Holy Place, he bends his reverent gaze
Upon each sacred thing around, and on the storied pane,

Through which the early sunbeams poured in floods of golden rain.
From angels near he seemed to breathe an atmosphere of balm,
Whose influence upon his soul diffused a holy calm.
Next looketh he upon a scene wherein the limner's art
Depicted what should never fade from that true warrior's heart.

Arrayed in the purple robe, behold our Blessed LORD,

Who heareth the false witnesses, and answereth not a word;
There stands He, blessed Lamb of GoD, without or stain or spot,
To false accusers He is dumb; reviled, He answereth not.

Next see His sacred body scourged, and bleeding 'neath the blows,
Behold the look of bitter hate in His accursed foes;
Shrinking (for He is "very man") beneath the cruel rod,
No earthly passion doth He show, Who still is "very GOD."

Now gaze upon the final act of Him the mocked and tried,
Bearing our sins upon the Cross, behold the Crucified !

Behold that deepest, deadliest thrust, which through His heart doth pierce
(Can any look on this nor quell each feeling harsh or fierce ?)

Behold the deep and quenchless love that warms that pierced heart,

He prayeth for His murderers ere He from earth doth part;

His dying glance to Heaven is raised, and can such love be true,

"FATHER, forgive them," prayeth He," they know not what they do."

In silent thought Sir Hildebrand before the pictures stood,
Then lowly kneeling doth he pray, in meek and contrite mood.
He passeth forth an altered man into the morning air,

Like Nature fresh with morning dew, his soul with matin prayer.

With hurried steps in breathless haste some serving men draw nigh,
"GOD speed thee, Knight," say they," and haste ere brave Sir Bruno die;
Good Father Cyril tendeth him, to whom he hath confessed,
Yet saith he, if thou comest not, his spirit may not rest."

Sir Hildebrand springs on his steed, and fleeth like the wind,

And many a silent prayer he breathed, and oft the Cross he signed.
Sir Bruno's castle gained, he toils up many a winding stair,
Then gazes on his ancient foe,-but what a change is there!
That stalwart form is frail and thin, those iron hands are weak,
The dew of death stands on his brow, and pales his hollow cheek:
With gentle step the Knight approached, and bendeth down his head,
"Canst thou my injuries forgive?" the dying man hath said.
Sir Hildebrand's deep earnest eyes beamed with a light divine,
"Nought hast thou done to injure me, GOD save thee, brother mine
"May He reward thee for this deed-" Sir Bruno could no more,
And angels from its mortal frame his spirit upward bore.

The last faint rays of evening light were fading in the West,
And Evening shed on every soul her sacrament of rest.

The Knight upon his trusty steed pursued his homeward way,

In silence pondering on all the actions of the day;

His soul was filled with that bless'd peace which this world cannot give, He felt 'twas manlike to revenge, but Godlike to forgive.

Thenceforth he never girdeth on his armour for the fight,
Without deep musing when he views the Cross of snowy white,
He thinks of Him Who hung thereon, his LORD, the Crucified:
Of how He suffered, how He lived, and for all sinners died.
That sacred symbol speaks to him of Faith, and Hope, and Love;
How God's will should be done on earth as it is done above.
Like him, we ne'er should view the Cross with cold or heedless eye,
But it should ever raise our thoughts to our dear LORD on high;
Learn we to bear each cross He sends in meekness day by day,
And in the steps of His bless'd life to tread our heavenward way.
Let us not sink in weak dismay beneath each cross and trial,
But think upon His daily course of love and self-denial.
Moreover when the cross we view, think we of that great day,
When in the heavens the Son of Man will His own sign display,
Then every cross shall bring a crown, and every trial shall cease,
And JESUS CHRIST unto His own will give eternal peace.

A.

LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS.

I HAD been thinking of the account given me by the pious and intelligent master of a deaf and dumb school, of one of his favourite pupils, the daughter of a farmer. He told me of the delight with which she learned from him the glad tidings of great joy concerning the redemption which is in CHRIST JESUS, and of her own standing, as made in holy baptism a member of CHRIST, the child of GOD, and an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven. Beautiful it

was, he said, to look upon her sweet peaceful countenance, and to learn from her in her mute language how she prayed continually, "Thy kingdom come!" and how she was quite happy walking all day long in the presence of GOD. Her affliction seemed to her a con

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scious blessing, shutting her out from communion with others, only that she might more uninterruptedly commune with Him Who had so loved her, and given Himself for her. Like another deaf and dumb child, who, on being asked who caused him to be born deaf and dumb, wrote upon his slate in answer these touching words," Even so, FATHER, for so it seemed good in Thy sight," -she, too, seemed to recognize a Father's will in the circumstances of her earthly lot, and to know that all things work together for good to those that love Him. But what most struck me in her story, was the great and blessed change which she had been the means of effecting in her parents' house on her return home. "She was amongst them," said the master, as a little preacher of righteousness. "How was that," I asked, "when she could not speak, and they could hardly converse with her by signs, at first?" Then he told me how her very silence, her holy example, her every look preached to them, as she walked before them in all lowliness and gentleness, in peace and purity, like one whose conversation was in heaven. There was but one thing that brought a shadow over her sweet face, and it was sin; while, on the other hand, it needed but the turning away from evil on the part of those around her, or some deed of righteousness or mercy, to brighten up her countenance with the radiant happiness of a saint. And so it was that by degrees one evil habit after another was given up, lest they should vex the loving gentle-hearted one, whose grief and gladness were but the showing forth of the mind of CHRIST; and thus, by the silent example of her holy walk, they learned to glorify God, and to do well themselves. It was a beautiful instance of the light reproving the darkness; and as I dwelt upon it, I thought how very different was such reproof from the fault-finding so common in the world. And just at this moment my attention was aroused by the angry voices of two little ones, who were playing in the den not far from me.

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"You are very naughty, Edward! Papa told you not to dig there; you naughty child, you !" said his elder sister; and running up to him she passionately snatched away a little wheelbarrow which Eddy had been using, and which he now struggled to retain possession of, while he repeated, "I'm not naughty, Lucy, I'm not naughty, but you are; you shouldn't take away my barrow."

I went up to the little ones, and endeavoured to make peace; not, if the truth must be told, with very good success, for both tried to justify their own conduct by finding fault with each other. " Papa said we were not to dig on our borders; and Edward is very naughty!" repeated Lucy: while I was inclined to think that the real cause of offence was that Edward had taken possession of the wheelbarrow, which she herself wanted. And it is strange to see how some little ones, when thwarted in any way, find a sort of relief in condemning others. I once heard a little boy in this kind

of temper, exclaim of his nurse Mary, "Naughty Mary! naughty Mary!" for so he used to call her. "Johnnie must not say so,' said his mother; on which the child exclaimed, 66 Naughty aunt Annie! naughty aunt Annie!" "No, Johnnie must not call aunt naughty." "Naughty King Herod, then! may say naughty King Herod. Naughty King Herod, kill all the little children; but they're all up in heaven now, where he can't get at them, and Johnnie may say naughty King Herod! Johnnie will say naughty, very naughty King Herod; mayn't he, mamma?" I could not help observing that Johnnie would do best to call himself naughty, and to be angry with himself; and it was something of the same kind that I said to poor little Lucy, as she sobbed out in my arms, “Edward is naughty.”

"Were not you naughty to snatcn away the barrow from him?" "But he shouldn't dig up the border, Auntie; and I don't love him, I don't!'

Lucy did love him very dearly, and would never have said so but in her naughty passion; and it was always a very hard matter to bring my little favourite (for so she was, notwithstanding many things that often pained me in her), to acknowledge that she herself was in the wrong. It was after this interruption that I returned to what had been the subject of my thoughts just before; and while looking down from the garden of which I have spoken, and which, being upon the brow of a hill, commanded an extensive view of the lovely valley in which so many of my early days were spent, I fell into a sort of waking dream of the days and ways of childhood.

Methought that I was looking on a company of baptized little ones, in a valley unlike the one before me; for that was bright and lovely, but this was dim with the misty shadows of a dark and cloudy day: so dim, that, but for the light of a lantern which the little ones held in their hands, they would many times have missed the path in which they were walking. Some of them, indeed, walked along carelessly enough; and while they held the lantern, they took no heed to walk by its light; and so they soon got off the dry firm path into miry ways, where their white robes got splashed: and yet the children seemed themselves unconscious of it, while, from the dimness in which they walked, they were constantly jostling one another. When this happened, they would hold up their lanterns, not to be a light unto their feet, and a lamp unto their path, but to show the stains upon the garments of their companions. "Look at your robe; see how splashed and dirty it is !" one would say; while the child addressed would make answer angrily, "Look at your own; it is much more splashed than mine, I can tell you." And sometimes while they were thus disputing, their feet seemed to slip, and they not only fell down themselves, but in their fall they pushed others down also. Now all these children had been