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ON THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR.

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something in their favour, but it is delusive, and will be likely to be a transient quietude, and like that produced by opiates for the body, it will soon pass off, and leave the spirit more restless and wretched than ever.

8. Do not be satisfied with a conclusion that rests upon the lowest possible degree of evidence in your favour. Our faith is susceptible of various degrees of strength, and its fruits may be brought forth in greater or less abundance. It is a fearful problem for any man to attempt to solve, to try with how little religion he may be a real Christian, and go to heaven. Do not compose yourselves to sleep with the idea, that though you are not so eminent as some others, and even have many glaring defects and inconsistencies, you are right in the main. It may be so; for weak faith, is sincere faith; and little grace, real grace; but how difficult it is for us to determine, when faith is so weak, and grace is so feeble, that they exist at all! Christ hath said "Herein is my Father glorified that ye bear much fruit. So shall ye be my disciples." John xv. 8. If then the test of discipleship be much fruit, it is unsafe to rest our conclusion upon a little. The more we are conformed to the image of Christ, and the more we have of the mind that was in him, the more decisive is the evidence that we are in the faith. O who that is in any degree alive to the importance of salvation, and to the blessedness of an assured hope of it, will be content with those low degrees of evidence, which leave their possessors ever fluctuating between hope and fear.

9. Enter upon the work of examination with the double purpose of increasing both your joy, and your holiness. Religious comfort, joy and peace in believing, is of immense consequence, not only to your happiness, but your safety. "The joy of the Lord is your strength." Neh. viii. 10. "The peace of God which passeth all understanding keepeth your hearts and minds through Jesus Christ.” Phil .iv. 7. Religious joy makes duty cheerful, trials light, temptations powerless, and worldly amusements insipid. It is of importance therefore to increase it; and the self-examination of real Christians, by revealing the evidence of their sincere belief, produces this increase of the joy of faith. But where this end is not answered, and disclosures are made, calculated to produce an opposite effect, holiness may be promoted; for it is never to be forgotten that improvement is one great end of self-scrutiny. He that examines the state of his heart and life at the conclusion of one year, ought to do it with a view to correct what is wrong, and supply what is wanting during the next.

10. No one should be satisfied with his own self-inspection, but by earnest and believing prayer, should entreat of God to search him also, and to make known to him his real condition. That man knows not the deceitfulness of his heart, nor is he duly impressed with the danger and consequences of self-deception, who does not occasionally with intense solicitude, present the prayer of the Psalmist," Search me O God, and know my heart; try me and know my thoughts, and see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting." Psalm cxxxix. 23, 24.

Ask then afresh, and with deep solemnity at the close of the present year, the momentous question, “Am I a sincere Christian, or only a professor ?” Set apart an additional hour to enquire tnto this great subject. O what are all other questions compared with this, but as the small dust of the balance? By all the value you bear for your soul or your soul's salvation, I entreat you in the most solemn manner, to take up this matter, and spread it before the Lord in prayer.

The Useful Christian Happy.

To constitute the happy Christian, two departments of labour must be occupied. The one respects the duties which we owe to ourselves, and embraces the exercises of the closet, such as prayer, self-examination, and the study of the scriptures. These are of primary importance; and it is out of the question to expect pious joy where they are neglected or discharged in a superficial manner. But scarcely less important-especially in forming the character of the happy Christian-is the department of labour which respects the good of others; which aims to carry out our influence upon all whom it is possible to reach and to bless. The spirit of the gospel is not evinced, nor its joys experienced, without a faithful occupation of our talents, and a conformity, by self-denying labours, to Him who went' about doing good.' 'To do good unto all men aş we have opportunity,' is the grand rule; estimating the pressure of the obligation according to the nature of the good, and the ability and opportunity to bestow it. Now the Christian, who is faithful in one department, will be very likely to be faithful in the other. He who lives near the private altar, and gathers there his motives, and feeds there his zeal, will be ready to embrace every opening to be useful which the providence of God shall disclose. He will not be 'standing all the day idle,' and crying, with folded hands,' No man hath hired me.'

It has pleased Providence to place before his church in our day facilities for doing good, and for extending the cause of truth and righteousness, more numerous and in greater variety than perhaps were ever known before. There is hence no apology for indolence or inactivity. Not one in the spiritual community can say, "There is nothing for me to do." The work is graduated to the ability of every saint, not excepting the most indigent. Each may, if he think proper, select that department of benevolence which is best-suited to his circumstances. Such being the case, it is evident that no pious person can be happy if he withhold good from him that needeth, when God has put it in his power to do this good; for "to him that knoweth to do good, and doth it not, to him it is sin.'

This union is indispensable, we maintain, to a full and scriptural developement of true piety. Without it we cannot fulfil the commands of God, nor tread in the footsteps of our Redeemer. 'To do good and to communicate, forget not; for with such sacrifices God is well pleased.' It is a settled principle, therefore, that no Christian can be happy who is not useful; indeed it would admit of a question, whether any soul can be the subject of renewing grace, who is not, in some way, engaged in direct acts of benevolence. Yet it must be confessed, that many professors seem to find some apology for inaction in all that respects self-denying efforts to extend the influence of piety.

The facilities for putting forth this influence have been alluded to, and ought to be well-considered, by all who have enlisted as good soldiers of Jesus Christ.' It is needless to enumerate them, since they are familiar to all. They come to our very doors, and tender themselves to our acceptance. We can do good by our money, by our labour,-by our conversation, and by our prayers. We can do good in the family,-in the neighbourhood,-in the church,-and throughout the world. Nunerous channels are opened in the providence of God through which we can carry out Christian influence, not only over our own land, but to the most distant and degraded spot on earth. Our charities can take wing, and light upon the very place where we think them most needed.

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We may find the objects of our benevolent regard already arranged and classified: so that we have only to select where, and upon whom, that benevolence shall flow, and the work may commence. With such opportunities of influence, it is clear that none but he who avails himself of some of them, and endeavours to acquire and sustain the character of a faithful servant, can be a happy Christian. God has done all this, to invite us to become co-workers with Himself in accomplishing the grand designs of his mercy. If we hold back, or if we leave the work to others, whilst, under the influence of some futile apology, we seek the things of earth,—it is a very dark sign against us; and we may well tremble under the apprehension of being addressed at last as 'wicked and slothful servants.'

On this subject, however, there is room for many modifications of personal duty and responsibility. Christians are placed in very different circumstances as to their means of usefulness, and their opportunities for doing good. All these circumstances the eye of Heaven notices and considers. Some are poor; and their responsibilities are modified by their lowly condition. In them we look for the virtues of industry, frugality, and temperance; but cannot expect them to give their time or their money-except as they consider it a privilege to contribute their mite, which it undoubtedly is even to the poorest. But such can pray; can meekly reprove vice; can let the light of their example—not the less attractive for their poverty-shine upon their ungodly neighbours.

Some are mothers-deeply responsible and highly useful condition-with young immortals cast upon their care, whose moral training no circumstances, save those of dire necessity, should tempt them to neglect. There is no province on earth more important than this. We will excuse the Christian mother -under the pressure of maternal responsibility-from many if not all the conspicuous charities of the day. If she is, under God, moulding the character of her offspring, in order to qualify them for life's duties, and for Heaven's eternal joys, we will say to her: "Go on, and God be with you; and although some may stand forth more in the sun-light of observation, whilst you are labouring in the shade, the end will prove that your vocation was at least as important as theirs."

The invalid and the aged are exempted, by the providence of God, from some labours; but are under obligation to perform others, of which even their circumstances may admit. The great and all-important point is, to have the spirit of doing good,—an eye that watches for opportunities, and a hand ready to seize on them as they are unfolded. With this spirit in exercise, no Christian will be at a loss for occasions to let his light shine, nor for subjects on which to expend benevolent action.

Such

We are not opposed to a division of labour; but we do object to the method pursued by some Christians, of selecting a favourite department of benevolence, and aiming to carry it forward under the idea of its paramount claims. a course can seldom be pursued without prejudice to some other good cause; and if others, who prefer a different department, adopt the same course, the whole subject of public charities is placed before the world in a prejudice light.

Without then, assigning to a Christian the peculiar field which he shall cultivate, we would simply urge him to be useful in the circumstances in which God has placed him; to shrink from no labour which providence seems to impose, not to antiscipate happiness except in the diligent discharge of all his duties. 'Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with all thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest!'

Moral Sketch.

The Consumptive Family.

How affecting are the contrasts which our many-coloured life presents to us! He has not been long in the world who has failed to perceive that the picture has two sides, a bright one and a dark one, and that it is with all human existence as with the cloud that intervened between the Egyptians and the Israelites one view is radiant with light and beauty, whilst the other is shrouded in disaster and woe. And yet this is a truth which only experience teaches: it is not obvious at a first glance; youth and joy will not believe it; a superficial survey looks only to the brightness of the sunshine, and takes no notice of the clouds that are ranged in thick masses on the horizon as if mustering for the battle. It is but variety of happiness that meets the eye of the boy, as it revels in delight among the opening beauties of the glad universe; and even with the man, it is mirth and pleasure alone that are obtrusive,—that occur to him in his walks, and make the hills and valleys ring with their joyous music. When we go out into the world, it is not suffering and sorrow that force themselves upon our notice: they are things that shun the crowd; misery, like the stricken deer, leaves the herd, and plunges into the depths of the forest, till it reach some far retreat wherein to lay itself down and die. If we would speak of grief or pain, we have to think of the lazar-house, the asylum, or the dungeon, of the sequestered room where no stranger enters, but where pale and watchful friends whisper tremblingly their hopes and fears; or we must dive among the sad remembrances of our own bosoms and we shall find them there, intertwined with "thoughts that lie too deep for tears."

Such were the reflections that crowded upon my mind as I took a narrow by-path from our village that leads to a cottage in the moors a few miles distant. It was a holiday in the village: the great proprietor of the place was rejoicing for the return of his son and heir, after many years absence from his home; and, as is usual on such occasions, his liberality was profusely dispensed among the villagers and the surrounding peasantry. The joy was universal: nothing was to be seen but happy faces and gay dresses and joyous sports; and nothing was to be heard but

the sounds of rustic music, or the cheers of applause, or the bursts of irrepressible glee. Far other was the scene to which I was travelling. I was on a visit to the house of mourning: my heart was with its afflicted inmates; and the noise of mirth jarred upon my ear like a discord. It was a bright day in June, and the earth and sky were clothed in beauty. I could have borne with their silent happiness—I even felt it soothing; they had "no voice nor sound;" the still sultriness had in it something favourable to sad musings, and the hum of the forest bee was akin to melancholy. But ever and anon as the rude noise of boisterous mirth was borne along on the breeze benind me, I felt as if this world were an ill-tuned instrument, over which the master had lost control, among the strings of which there was no symphony, and in the music, no unison, no harmony. "And it is an illtuned instrument," said I, as that thought rose upon my mind; "and many of the chords are broken, and the music is sadly marred; but he who made it has not abandoned it, and his fingers shall yet refit it; and this shattered harp, so wildly and wofully discordant now, shall yet send forth hallelujahs of sweetest melody, like the harps of heaven."

The sun was sinking towards the horizon, as I approached the lonely dwelling-place of poverty and suffering. Here all was still. The little garden before the door, once so tastefully arranged by her fingers, was overgrown with weeds and choked with rubbish; the small flower-pot that had been her peculiar care had not escaped the general destruction; and no flower was to be seen but one unblown and yet fading rose, that struck me as a sad emblem of its mistress, who, like it, had been nipped in the bud by the cruel canker, and, like it, was fast sinking to decay. Her mother saw me approaching, and opened the door to me without speaking, for her heart was full. She led me to the bedside of her dying girl. The invalid's father, whose hair was grey, but not with years, was sitting at the window with a large Bible before him, but his hand was upon his forehead, and his eye was not upon the book; and it was plain that there was a mighty struggle going on in his heart between the strength of human agony and the power of divine consolation. He saw me not, and I sought not to interrupt his thoughts. Margaret was sitting in

TIME AND ETERNITY.

her bed propped up by pillows; and oh! sad, sad was the change which mortal disease had wrought upon that face, which but a few months ago had shone with the beauty of health and innocence, and had brightened the pew of the poor man as he sat in the house of God, and called up in his heart, as he looked at her, all the yearnings of a father's pride.

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Though born in the house of poverty, Margaret was "beautiful exceedingly". too beautiful; she was delicate, though born to toil. To use one of the saddest of all human phrases, it was a consumptive family." And oh! what do not these words suggest!-the young, the beautiful, the good, torn one after another from the convulsive embrace of agonised parents, just at the time when they become most interesting, when their beloved forms are twined around your heart-strings! Such had been the fate of this poor family. They had lost their eldest daughter about a year ago. Margaret, their second, in her sixteenth year, was dying before their eyes; and their only remaining child, a boy about twelve, had lately been seized with that cough, the sad sound of which makes the midnight couch of many a mother sleepless. But there was that about them, young and old, which converted the bitter waters of this Marah into sweetness. Margaret was beautiful, but it was the beauty of holiness that was her greatest charm; and the parents, while their hearts were breaking, had learned to bow beneath the mighty hand of God.

"Margaret," would you like the minister to pray?" said her mother. "Oh yes," she said; and we all knelt around her bedside, -the father, as if mechanically, for he did not raise his eyes, and his hand still pressed the grey hairs upon his forehead. I then prayed to Him who hears when the ravens and the young lions cry unto him, and who will not turn a deaf ear to the prayers of those whom he has formed in his own image; then rising from our knees, I asked the dying girl if she had heard, and if she could rest with confidence, in the hour of death, on him who died for her. I shall never forget the conversation that ensued. Engaged, as I had been for many years, in proclaiming the truths of the salvation to others, felt ashamed in the presence of that simple child as she talked, in feeble

Time and Eternity.

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voice but glowing terms, of the mysteries of redeeming love, of Christ her Saviour, of God her Father reconciled through him, and of the glorious place and the glorious company she was going to. Before departing, she requested me to sing the twenty- third psalm. I accordingly read that beautiful hymn, and, at her desire, likewise sung it to one of those simple, plaintive strains, which, in addition to their own touching sweetness, had been consecrated by the voices of our own martyrs. Every one in the room joined in the sacred melody,Margaret too, and her little brother, who was sitting by her bedside with her long thin fingers in his little hand. And, oh! it was affecting to hear God thus sweetly praised by the dying tongue,-to hear his praise perfected out of the mouths of babes. Every voice was steady till we came to the verse beginning, "Yea, though I walk in death's dark vale;" and then there was a faltering, and the mother's voice quivered, and the father hid his face in his hands and sobbed outright. I felt myself as if I was choking, and I could not utter a note; but then, when our voices were silent and hushed, did Margaret's become firmer and clearer, and her large blue eye grew unnaturally bright as she and her little brother, with their two sweet voices, continued the strain. I tried to join them, and thus we sung till we had concluded the psalm. Oh! it is sweet to hear the praises of God wherever they are sung,-whether they are echoed through the halls of affluence and grandeur, where the great man prostrates his greatness before the Almighty,-or whether they ascend from the temple of God, in the happy voices of adoring worshippers In all these cases, it is “a lovely thing;" but there is a scene where the voice of psalms is more melodious still, more touching, more truly sublime, and I cannot help thinking, more grateful to the ear of God himself, and that is when the voice arises from the squalid hovels of the poor and wretched, or when it ascends feebly to heaven from the lip which mortal sickness has made pale, or above all, when it is checked in its aspirations only by the grasp of death. So felt I as I listened to the small silvery tones of that voice which is now hushed in the grave, or rather which is now singing a higher strain in a better world.

Che Casket.

ALAS! how short-sighted is man! How blind to points of the first importance!

How eagerly are all his thoughts, his hopes, and fears, engaged in forming plans, and contriving schemes for the enjoyment of to-morrow, or of the next year, or of the

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