Unbelief, self-will, envy, slavish fear, jealousy, pride, anger, covetousness, &c., are entirely destroyed. And, secondly, it consists in being filled with the Spirit, all its energies and powers being directed, controlled, and governed by the Spirit. Then, we shall be able to "love God with all the soul, might, and strength, and our neighbor as ourselves." Glorious state! Exalted privilege! A state that all Christians may possess, and a privilege that they may enjoy.

Nobility denotes a proper discipline and government of the body. This consists, first, in a proper regulation of the desires and appetites. These should be strictly conformed to the principles of morality and religion. All inordinacy should be avoided. Secondly, it consists in habits of temperance. Nothing should be received as food, or as a beverage, that defiles or pollutes. The "temple of God" should be kept pure. That quantity of wholesome food only should be taken that nature requires. Excess in eating is a fearful evil. The costume should be adapted and arranged for health and usefulness. The body needs to be properly attired; but let the "outward adorning" be such "as becometh godli

ness.

Cleanliness should be its constant attendant. This, Mr. Wesley, declares to be "next to godliness." Thirdly, it consists in suitable corporeal exercise. The full maturity of all the physical powers, requires this: in this way only, can they obtain their full strength, symmetry, and beauty.

Nobility denotes a life consecrated to the glory of God, and the work of doing good. This is the great business of life. In it, we can only answer the end of our being: for this we were made; and our Maker designed that in this noble work, we should answer the grand purposes of our creation, and thereby secure a fadeless crown in heaven. "By patient continuance in well-doing, we seek for glory, honor, immortality, eternal life."

Thus, we have briefly glanced at what we conceive to be the true import of the term nobility. Those who possess what it denotes, as above described, are the true nobility. Whether they live in palace or cottage, in the city or country, whether they are rich or poor, honored or despised, they are the nobility-the nobility of our land-the nobility of our world. After life's toils are ended, they shall wear crowns, inherit mansions, and possess kingdoms. On the coronation day, when the Savior shall be crowned Lord of all, they shall appear among the gems of his redeeming triumphs, to stud the royal diadem. Who, then, would not aspire to be numbered among the true nobility!

"As well might the chemist," says Dr. Beaumont, "hope for a universal elixir from the polluted water of a stagnant lake, as mankind expect from earthly things the light and bliss of their immortal souls."

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JOB said, "I would not live alway." He desired a release from earth, that he might dwell in heaven. David expressed the same sentiment when he cried out, "O, that I had wings like a dove, for then would I fly away and be at rest." Utterance is again given it by the apostle Paul: "For I am in a strait betwixt two; having a desire to depart and be with Christ, which is far better." Hallowed sentiment! Blessed feeling! It is found, also, in the heart of every Christian; it dwells wherever grace has done its holy work, and fitted the soul for a life in the skies. But why this sentiment? why this language? Partly, it may be because of the defects in the present mode of being; but chiefly, rather because of the superiority of heaven over earth; the former, though numerous, would still fail to render life undesirable; but the latter exerts unspeakable power over every soul converted to God. Heaven has attractions. It has power to allure away purified spirits, and cause them to exclaim, "I would not live alway;" "Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly."

Among the objects that draw the Christian heavenward, and cause him to exclaim in language like the above, God himself, should first be mentioned. The spirit purified by Divine grace, would ever repose upon the very bosom of its Maker It desires with him the most perfect intimacy. Here, however, he is but dimly seen-but partially known. True, he dwells within and encircles the soul. He soothes, strengthens, and supports; he animates, loves, and cheers; but brighter manifestations of him are longed for still. These are promised in heaven above. They are numbered with the beatitudes of that fairer world to which the Christian aspires, and longs to go. "For now we see through a glass darkly; but then face to face." "Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God." Holy prospect! Not only to love God and feel him within the soul, but to gaze upon his perfections with eyes immortal. To dwell in the effulgence of the Divine glory, is a promise as dear to the Christian as its fulfillment is certain. The soul loves to be happy, and whatever is calculated to augment its felicity, is regarded by the Christian with a joy that is peculiar. Though God may be enjoyed upon earth, blessed be his name, the Scriptures inform us, that in heaven he shall be enjoyed with still greater and increasing fullness.

There will be met, also, all the pious of the whole earth. What a sympathy is felt between those of this class even here below! Two souls truly converted are in a certain sense one; one in feeling, in spirit, in hope, one. Here are many and valuable friends; many ardent, warm-hearted Christians. But in heaven all are pure-all are holy. No exceptions

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will appear to disfigure the beauty, or mar the joy, of that beatified brotherhood. All will be holy, loving, and lovely. What a blessing, that we may even anticipate the enjoyment of society like this! The ancient patriarchs, holy prophets, zealous ardent apostles, faithful martyrs, the devoted humble follower of Christ, the perseveringly pious of all the earth shall be there; "an innumerable company which no man can number," who have all "washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb." Blessed society! No discord is felt to annoy-no jarring is known to exist-all is harmony, union, and love. No tear is seen to indicate sorrow-not a sigh is heard to escape-"all tears are wiped away," and sighing and sorrow have eternally fled. What heart changed by Divine grace, and possessed of a consciousness of the Divine favor, that does not feel a longing after such society?

There will be also the glorified Savior. When on earth, he scattered in rich munificence upon all around him, the blessings of his love, and doubtless he will be no less active in offices of kindness in heaven. Who of those now pardoned and free, but longs to view him, upon whose bosom the beloved disciple leaned with such frequency and delight?

"To Jesus the crown of my hope,

My soul is in haste to be gone;
O, bear me, ye cherubim, up,

And waft me away to his throne."

There too are the angels of God. Their office is high, their employments holy; they are always spoken of in holy writ in terms of high distinction; in the scale of creation, they rank foremost. What a joy must be felt by the earth-released soul, when first embraced by these sinless beings, clad in the livery of the upper world! To associate with these objects of creating love, will surely be no ordinary privilege. To hear them laud the perfections of Jehovah, to hear them sing of the love of God, of the Savior, the cross, the redemption of the world, the beatitudes of heaven, will be a privilege unknown to men while here below. How rich will be their music, how glorious their themes, and how ceaseless their praises! "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God of hosts."

Heaven has many attractions. Its triune God, its triumphant glorified Savior, its holy angels, its exalted myriads saved by the washing of regeneration, its shining Jerusalem, with its gold-paved streets, its beautiful proportions, its divine architecture, give it a value far above earth. Its flowing river, and tree of life, its freedom from sorrow, sighing, pain and death, its unalloyed and unrestricted felicity, its high and holy employments, its songs of praise poured forth in notes divine, these alone, without any reference to the declaration, "Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive," give to heaven a power divine.

But it faded, and the rude winds scattered its pale leaves over the ground, heeding not that it was the wreck of beauty they were devouring. 'Tis gone! But is there no hope that it will return again? Yes, there is. By the mysterious laws of Providence it will be reproduced, and renewed, and, in some lovely form, live again to deck the earth. Though now it is withered and wasting, and must molder back to its mother-dust, yet, will it not be destroyed or blotted from the book of existence. It is the handiwork of God, who has appointed the time for its redemption, when it shall come forth in newness of life, revived in beauty, and clothed in the habiliments of rejoicing. No particle will be lost. Such is the protecting goodness and the watchful care of our Father in heaven over all his works. Not a flower of the field fadeth but he knows it. Not a sparrow falls to the ground but he sees it. O, may we not trust in him! May we not take shelter

"Beneath his royal wing!"

Yes, this is our high privilege; and to him, who is ever merciful and kind, we may approach, calm in the assurance that he will uphold us; for with him "even the hairs of our head are all numbered."

O, what a consoling thought to the way-worn and weary! Buffeted by the storms of adversity, and tossed upon the waves of life's troubled ocean, how the tempest-driven wanderer, soiled and distressed, turns from the dull scenes of his conflicts, to drink at the peace-running river which flows from the fount of God! There in the calm of devotion,

Rest, weary pilgrim, rest from thy toils. Again, I have seen the little infant, tender and beautiful, rest upon its mother's bosom, and smile in the fresh joys of existence. The light of innocence beamed in its eye; the bloom of loveliness rested on its cheek. As the unblemished bud opens with promise of a rich blossom, so it, a bud of immortality, though mortal, gave promise to be one of earth's

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THE LAST COMMUNION.

BY REV. B. M. GENUNG.

THE ROSE AND THE BREEZE.

BY GEORGE JOHNSON,

It was on a lovely sabbath morning in June, when a few friends were called together to partake of the communion with one who lay near the close of life. She had requested this. For years she had adorned the profession of Christianity, had lived a bright example of Christian virtue, had nourished and comforted her aged parents, had enjoyed much of the presence of her Savior; and now, that death drew near, she desired once more to commemorate the sufferings and death of Him in whom she trusted for salvation.

The table was drawn near her bed; and, as we knelt around it, we felt that the Master himself was there. As the dying one partook of the emblems of Christ's broken body and shed blood, all present were conscious that with her, at least, it was the last communion-that she would not drink again of that wine till she drank it new in the kingdom of her Lord. With her faltering voice she told that heaven was near.

us,

Solemn were our thoughts; sweet and heavenly was the influence that pervaded every pious mind then present; and as one of the company sung the hymn,

"When for eternal worlds we steer," &c.,

we anticipated heaven, and longed to be there. Bidding adieu to the dying one, we felt that it was good to be at the house of mourning, and profitable for one drawing near the river of death, to bring to fresh remembrance the merit of the crucified, yet living Redeemer.

Sweet it is to thus commune,
Near the portals of the tomb,
When the Savior, drawing near,
Bids us banish every fear:
Sweet to catch the latest sigh
From the lips of those who die,
As they bid a last adieu

To the friends they leave below:

Sweet to hear their latest breath,
As its tones are hushed in death.
Testifying "all is well,"
Uttering forth their "last farewell!"

Sweeter yet to hear them say,
As they quit their house of clay:
"Happy spirits! pure and bright!
Guide me to the realms of light!
"Welcome, Savior, thee I love!
Welcome to the hosts above!
Let me mingle in your throng,
Let me learn your sweetest song."

WHEN life's last sand is gone, And dull life's current flows, May I, my labor done,

In heaven my soul repose.

BRIGHTLY it danced, to and fro, in the light,
And smiled on the morning and laugh'd,
But the sun-god arose in the east, in his might,
And smote the young rose with his shaft;
It fainted and sunk on its green thorny bed-
Deserted by all, it lay there-

None cheer'd the young rose, none rais'd up its head

All left it to droop in despair.

Now, a breeze had been gamboling over the sea;
And pushing the light bark along;

And sweeping o'er mountain, and valley, and lea;
And cheering the earth with his song;
Had been turning the sails of the old wind-mill;
And sporting about 'mid the trees;

Had been in the chamber, all silent and still,
There fanning the brow of disease.

When he saw the young rose, he kiss'd the sweet flower,

And bade it again be revived;

And bathed its forehead in a cool, gentle shower,
And the young rose cheer'd up, and lived;
It smiled on the breeze, so good and so kind,
And flung out its arms, to caress him,
But afar he had left the young rose behind,
Not waiting the rose e'en to bless him.

But he had his reward, for swift as he sped
Away, to make glad, other things

He perceiv'd, that the grateful young rose had

spread

A fragrance of balm on his wings;

And the sweet-scented breath of the health-given

rose,

Gladden'd the heart of the breeze,

Who, blithesome and merry, to seek his repose,
Went singing away through the trees.

So charity, thus, gathers every hour

From the humble ones whom she caresses, A fragrance as sweet as the grateful flower, Bestows on the breeze that refreshesTrue charity gathers the richest perfume, From deeds of pure kindness and love; Which steals through the heart, dispelling its gloom,

And cheering its pathway above.

FAREWELL.

'Tis time that thou and I should part, Companion of my youth and heart; 'Tis time from home and thee I go, And wander wide from all I know, Yet if through life our hope be riven, We shall our hearts unite in heaven.

LADIES' REPOSITORY.

AUGUST, 1847.

LITERARY SKETCHES.

THE VOICE OF HISTORY.

THERE is no study more useful than that of history. By comparing the present with the past we learn wisdom. The errors not less than the truths, the vices as well as the virtues of other ages, furnish us their lessons. A failure is frequently as profitable as a triumph; for it is often as necessary to know what cannot be as what can be accomplished. All history, therefore, has its uses, its bearings, its importance. That person, or that age, which has drawn the most largely from the world's experience, is the most enlightened, and is least likely to fall into the mistakes which have been recorded. Many a fruitless effort in philosophy, in politics, and in religion, would have been saved, had the prime movers in society at all times sufficiently understood and heeded the voice of history, as coming from other times and places.

There is something interesting in the nature of history. It is a record of the life and progress of any thing living or advancing. A plant, an insect, or an animal, possessed of its peculiar properties and manner of development, furnishes a subject for a history. These living beings can be described as individuals, or in classes. All the classes can be grouped into families; the families may then be regarded as one great mass of existences; and thus, by a very simple process, we get an idea of the natural history of the great world we inhabit.

History is sometimes spoken of as referring to objects without life, but having a growth or progress only. The earth we live on, and the sister planets around us, are supposed to have passed through successive periods of creation. There is said to have been a time when only the materials of the universe had existence. They were then, after ages of chaotic struggles, brought into harmonious combinations. The land and water of the world were formed as we now see them. Next came the period of revolutions. Change after change passed over the earth's surface. The fires confined within raged, burst forth, and upheaved whole continents. The waters covering the globe broke their barriers, and swept onward in their majesty and power. But by all these devastations, so terrible and overwhelming for the moment, was the earth brought to its present state of perfection; and the description of this progress, as given by men of science, is the physical history of our planet.

History passes into the world of ideas also. A thought, a truth, a principle, having an origin, an activity, and a consummation, is made the subject of historical narration. A combination of thoughts, truths, and principles, constitutes a system of either philosophy, religion, or science; and to this system there is always a birth and growth, if not a dissolution. It is in this way that ideas, whether taken singly, or in an organized collection, have their development, and consequently their history; and when the ideas, which have successively occupied the mind of the race, are brought together, arranged, classified, and historically described, we have before us the intellectual history of the world.

It is a singular fact, that, with all the light, knowledge,

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and enterprise of several of the more recent generations, neither the natural, the physical, nor the intellectual history of the world has been completely written. We have, in fact, only shreds and scraps on either of these great topics. Strange as it may seem, mankind have been, from the beginning, little interested in the wonders of the world around them. But they are less to be blamed than pitied for this fault. Before troubling their minds much about natural, and physical, and intellectual topics, they had first to fix upon some means of living, and the mode of social intercourse. Next to the building of houses for shelter, and the preparation of raiment for personal protection, the great principles of association, the necessary elements and arrangements of a state, had to be discovered. All other things-art, science, philosophy, and letters, were pursued only so far as they contributed to this end, or served the temporary convenience of the race. Even now, after so many ages, but little else has been done, than to provide men with the comforts of life, while they were working out the fundamental conditions of a free and happy state. The history of the past is, therefore, nothing more than a statement of this progressive work. The rise and fall of nations, including the constitutions they have formed, the battles they have fought, and the fortunes their various schemes and attempts have met, are all that we now read among the records of other times. The state is the central existence, in reference to which, as collateral powers, all other existences live and act. The state is the body, the trunk of society, and literature, philosophy, science, and art are looked upon as its limbs, guided by its genius, and operating for its good. The history of the past is the history of nations, and every thing is studied in its relations to their development and growth; and, since a man is of higher importance than any thing he can know, and yet society is of more consequence than any individual member of it, whatever be his dignity or renown, the study of the life and progress of a state comes to be the most grand and interesting of all worldly themes.

The state, then, being the centre of history, around which every thing revolves, and which carries all things with it in its onward course, the study of it, if properly pursued, will give us a complete knowledge of the past. But there is a choice in the methods by which this study may be pursued. It will not be necessary, certainly, to spend our time and strength in mastering the rise, progress, decline, and dissolution of every state, which has flourished in ancient and in modern times. That would be an endless task. Should a man attempt to read history in this manner, all other topics must be left unread; and, when his life had been exhausted in this slavish toil, his head would be as void of philosophy as it would be full of facts. If a stranger comes into our country, and desires to acquire a knowledge of our social state, he finds no need of visiting every town and city belonging to us, of seeing every thing, great and small, which we have done, of reading every book, pamphlet, and newspaper ever written in the land, or of forming a personal acquaintance with every individual citizen, from the green shores of New England to the fertile valleys of the south and west. He visits a few towns, which stand for all other towns. He examines those works which exhibit a specimen of our art. He reads the books, or it may be the book, in which the genius of our population is expressed. He seeks out the men,