66 aged! That child, indeed, looks forward to the time when it will likewise be old. Or he will say, May the Great Spirit, who looks upon him, grant this good child a long life." 66 THE DEATH-BED OF A CATHOLIC CHRISTIAN. ABOUT half an hour before he expired, he was heard to utter these remarkable words. Saviour, short as the time is, there is yet time for Thee to communicate a joy to the soul,-to take away all doubts and anxieties. O Lord, I approach Thee, knowing that in Christ dwelleth all things. And now, blessed Saviour, in Thy sight I call all present to bear witness, that I hold no ground of hope, or shadow of it, for salvation, but through the merit and blood-shedding of Jesus Christ! Son of God, Redeemer of the world, remember Thy whole church, which thou hast redeemed with Thy precious blood; and grant that we may all be numbered with Thy saints in glory everlasting." He then expressed an anxious desire for Union among the Lord's people, that they might regard themselves as one body in Christ their Head: and again, he solemnly prayed, "That every church not in communion with the Invisible Church might be rooted out of the land."-Appendix to Dr. Collyer's Sermon on the Death of ALFRED HARDCASTLE. A MOTHER'S COMFORT. THE presence of Christ can turn a dark night into a night much to be remembered. Perhaps it is time to be sleeping, but the November wind is out; it riots over the misty hills, and dashes the rain-drift on the rattling casement, and howls in the fireless chimney; it has awakened the young sleeper in the upper room. And when his mother enters, she finds him sobbing out his infant fears, or, with beating heart, hiding from the noisy danger in the depths of his downy pillow. But she puts the candle on the table, and sits down beside the bed, and she goes on to explain the mysterious sources of his terror. "That hoarse loud roaring is the brook tumbling over the stones, for the long pouring rains have filled it to the very brim. It is up on the green to-night, and had the cowslips been in blossom they would all have been drowned. Yes, and that thump at the window it is the old cedar at the corner of the house; and as the wind tosses his stiff branches, they bounce and scratch on the panes of glass, and if they were not very small, they would be broken to pieces." And then she goes on to tell how this very night there are people out in the pelting blast, whilst her little boy lies warm in his crib, inside of his curtains; and how ships may be upset on the deep sea, or dashed to pieces on rocks so steep that the drowning sailors cannot climb them. And then perhaps she ends with breathing a mother's prayer, or he drops asleep beneath the cradle hymn. As one whom his mother comforteth, the Lord comforteth his people, Isa.' Ixvi. 13. It is in the dark, and boisterous night of sorrow or apprehension, that the Saviour reveals himself nigh. And one of the first things he does is to explain the subject matter of grief, to show its real nature and amount. It is but a light affliction; it lasts but for a moment. Wait till morning, and you' will see the extent of it. And during those quiet hours, when the heart is soft, the Saviour's lessons sink deep. And, last of all, by this comforting visit, the Saviour unspeakably endears himself to that soul. Paul and Silas never knew Christ so well, nor loved him so much as after that night which they passed in the Macedonian prison.-Rev. James Hamilton. SOCIAL CONVERSATION MANY a man preaches well in the pulpit who does little but defeat preaching in the parlour; and many a man preaches well in the parlour, who could not utter one useful paragraph in the pulpit. Preaching and sermonizing are different matters: every man preaches who recommends to his fellow-man the work and character of Christ; and he may, in many an instance, do this more effectually when he has but two or three hearers, than when he has a multitude. Social conversation is quite as fit a medium of recommending Christ as public sermonizing; but, with many Christians, with many Christian ministers, it is practically treated as if fit chiefly for jesting and repartee, for fun and merriment, for counteracting rather than promoting the work of the pulpit, for any purpose, in short, except its legitimate and true one,-the ministering of grace to the hearers.' Cases beyond number will come to light, in the great day, of damage done to soulsof impenitence confirmed, and of weak faith made weaker-by means of the trifling table-talk of men eminent in Christian reputation; and cases not a few of an opposite kind will also, no doubt, come to light,-cases of solemn and saving enquiry having been awakened, or of the blessedness of believing having been deepened, by the influence of casual remark in the intercourse of friend with friend. A specimen of the good effects of preaching by conversation occurred in the experience of the late celebrated Mr. Walker of Truro : Mr. Walker, when he entered the Christian ministry, was a stranger to those evangelical and luminous views of divine truth which afterwards distinguished his discourses. About a year after he was settled in Truro, some friends with whom he was in company, turned their social conversation on the great subject of faith in the Redeemer. Mr. Walker followed their remarks, and attentively listened to a series of delighted and impassioned observations on the nature of believing, on the privileges connected with it, and on its powerful control over the heart and conduct. His mind, as he afterwards acknowledged, began to feel mystified, and rapidly came under conviction of being in utter ignorance as to this important topic of remark. He said nothing at the time of the concern which he felt, but began secretly to apply himself to searching self-consideration; and he was not long in concluding that he had hitherto been ignorant of the gospel salvation, inattentive to his own spiritual state, and incapable of doing good to the souls of his people, and that he had been a slave to the desire of man's applause, and, in short, as he himself expressed it, "all wrong both within and without." Having, through the divine grace, eventually obtained correct views of divine truth, and experienced the power of it on his own heart, he became one of the most distinguished and successful ministers of his age ;-owing all his personal well-being, all his Christian reputation, and all his eminence and extensive usefulness as a preacher, a pastor, and an author, to the instrumentality of a few casual sentences in a religious conversation of some sedate friends. TALES AND SKETCHES. THE ORPHAN BOY. ON one of the most lovely of the many beautiful spots which fringe the Tweed, there was a small cottage shaded behind with trees, and opening in front upon a garden, whose fruits and flowers reached down till they dipped in the silvery waters of the stream. The freshness of summer prevailed, and it might have been supposed that there would have been gladness in the cottage, that there would have been heard from it the sweet voices of the little ones who claimed it as their father's, and whose happy notes were often heard from it joyous as those of the feathered songsters; but in the very noon of summer it was silent, or, if sounds were heard, they were those of mourning. There was a stillness, chilling to joy, around the little home; not that it was abandoned; but every one trod gently as in the chamber of the dead, and death was there. The father of the little family was no more, and that was the day on which the dust was to be returned to the dust. He had long struggled with disease; but it had prevailed; yet not till he had obtained assurance of the favour of God; -nor is this only as regarded only himself; for there was confidence mingled in the last long look of love and sorrow with which he surveyed the helpless little ones who clung around his couch, and which he fixed on her who had, for a few short years, been dearer unto him than life, for he believed in the promises of God to the widow and the fatherless of his people. It was painful to behold the scene which was that day witnessed. The widow, attired in her weeds, each one of the sable ornaments of which seemed to her to be eloquent of her loss, sat by the uncovered coffin; for she would still look on the countenance of the dead, and kiss the cold lips, though that countenance had no expression, and those lips returned not her embrace. There she sat heedless of all around her, except when any of her little ones would prattle up to her knee,-who, unconscious of their bereavement, and pleased with their new attire, would ever and anon vent expressions of childish gladness, or when an infant, whom that day she clasped more firmly than she was wont to her bosom, wept. It was in vain that the kind-hearted endeavoured to soothe,-their words fell unheeded on her ear. But why should I fruitlessly endeavour to speak of that day,-of its unutterable sorrow to the widow's heart? The storm had come down upon her path, and all was desolate; nor even when she looked up, did she see one spot of light in the dark heavens. It was not till she and her children were left alone, and the full sense of her bereavement came upon her mind, that kneeling humbly at the throne of God, claiming him as her hus band, she felt her soul soothed by his consolations. It was not till then that she breathed peacefully, and, thinking that the spirit of her husband was glorified, could say, 'Blessed be the name of the Lord.' She felt the full power of the obligations which then devolved upon her, and soothed and elevated by religion, devoted herself with zeal to the providing for and tending of her little ones. But it was only for a short time that she required to care and labour for them. The rose which bloomed on her cheek was bright,-was too bright; the light that beamed in her eye was clear, -was too clear; they were symptomatic that she should soon be laid to sleep by the grave of her buried affections. man But Winter came and passed away; spring breathed and blossoms were created; songs of joy awoke; every sweet harbinger of summer came, and was welcomed; walked forth with more elastic step, his voice was more clear, every shadow having passed from the bosom of health with the last echo of the last blast of winter. the widow had no quickened pulse of joy; she walked with no firmer step; no increase of happy feeling or of expectation was in her soul;-no; enfeebled in frame and darkened in spirit, she sat in sadness, and often indulged in tears, for she was thinking of the grave. That "bed of peaceful rest" would have been welcome to her, but for her children. The little one whom, on the day when the grave received her husband, she had so fondly pressed to her smitten heart, played and gambolled around her; and others were helpless as he,-helpless as the young ravens" which seek their meat from God." Though she knew that God "heareth the young ravens when they cry," and that "he clothes the lilies of the field," there were moments and even hours, when the yearnings and fears of the mother prevailed over the faith of the Christian. The worm was in the flower; disease, increased by mental anxiety, did its work; and, again, when the rose was full blown around the cottage, friends gathered to bear away from it the unconscious dead. Among the orphans who wept-and they did not then know how much cause they had to weep-there was one who claimed and found especial sympathy. It was the youngest. He was all animated and happy from the kindness heaped upon him, and knowing not of his loss, though brought to look upon his mother in her shroud; and his joyous laughter caused among spectators the deepest feelings of sorrow. As he crowed and clapped his little hands, tears flowed plentifully from the eyes, and irrepressible sobbings burst forth from the hearts of the few females who, while the dead was carried forth, tarried with the orphans. The grave had closed, and a few of them who had stood by it returned. Matters were not as in those instances where, by a will determining the disposal of thousands of pounds, the gods of the covetous, to place which upon their shrine they have risen early and sat late, and eaten the bread of carefulness; matters were not as in such instances, when at once by a parchment, as if it were a magician's roll of mystery and power, as the mourner's tear is staid, the heart loses its pulsations of sorrow, and looks of rage prevail, the fire of stormy passions burns on the countenance, envy gives its withering accents to the voice, and vibrations to the bosom, and the dead is forgotten, or if remembered, cursed by the disappointed, or reckoned well away from life by those who inherit his bequests. Matters were not thus. The only legacy was a group of helpless orphans; and coldly did some bystanders look on them, and, struggling between conscience and selfishness, say that they could not, and they were sorry, give a shelter to any of them; while others who were least able to lend help, but who had learned sympathy from personal acquaintance with the ills of poverty, resolved to adopt one or other of the children. One of the orphans had wound himself so firmly around the affections of a female who had been long the companion of his his mother, that she claimed him as her own. It was the youngest, the little prattler who had laughed, in unconsciousness of evil, over his orphan condition. She had all day long, and with tears, fondled him. He hid his little face in her bosom, and put his little arms around her neck, when she said, "He shall be my boy," as if he had known he was to be hers. She was mar ried, but had no children; and she received the orphan as a gift from God;—and while some spoke of her kindness, and all expressed their assurance that he should lose nothing since she had called him her own, her mind was breathing a supplication that God would enable her to train him up in his fear. Her home was one of those cottages the piety of which was once the glory and security of our country. Its chief happiness; as its sure defence, was its religion. The avocations of the husband called him away frequently and for lengthened periods. At these times it was a sight upon which an angel might have paused to look,―the little boy, on whose infancy kind attentions had been lavished, seated by her side, while, in simple melody, she sung the songs of Zion, -or while, with a voice whose intonations proved that the heart was touched, she read from the book of God, and then, in lowly attitude and in humble worship pleaded, in the name of Christ,—or while, the child with lisping accents, breathed the name of God as of his father, or while with anxious diligence she taught the young heart to give its affections to the Saviour. The cottage was humble; all around it was lonely, but, within, there were those longings after God, and that experience of his love, which rendered it to the Christian more glorious than the palaces in which are the festivals of kings. God smiled on the Christian efforts made to train up the orphan, so that ere he was yet sent forth to mingle in the pursuits of the world, his kind guardian had blessed God over the evidences which he gave of having believed to the saving of his soul. Who shall describe the happiness which she thence enjoyed? She felt herself in the highest and noblest sense his mother. She was his spiritual parent; and her having become so was a reward more than sufficient for all her care, her instructions, and her prayers. We follow not his course. It is enough that he lived as a consistent follower of Jesus. He held fast his integrity; and though his circumstances were humble, he not only rejoiced in a consciousness of the love of God, but experienced the happiness of being honoured by the good. His worth was appreciated by Christians; and by them he was placed in an office in itself sacred, and in the exercise of whose functions we believe that he contributed much to the building up of saints. While in the prime of manhood-the father of a little family, for whose support he was diligent in business, he was chosen by the church of which he was a member, to take a part in NEVER CROSS A BRIDGE TILL YOU COME TO IT. its spiritual government. On that day when he was ordained to the office of an elder in the village where he was born, and near to which he was brought up, there were many who while they looked on him, remembered the little orphan boy, and thought of her of whose training the circumstance before them exhibited such happy fruit. But their feelings were few and feeble compared to hers; for she was there. To her, the services were deeply affecting. She covered her face, and wept, while her soul wrestled with God that the object of her care whom He had blessed might be enabled to do much for Christ. He would often tell, and never without emotion, how on that day she grasped his hand and looked-for she could not speak -as if she would have said, "God be gracious unto thee, my son." In that office, in which he continued till his death, he was useful. He was the faithful counsellor of the young; but the afflicted had his special sympathy and attention. He was skilled in the deceitfulness of the human heart, and in the joys and sorrows of the Christian, and therefore could speak a word in season to the soul that was weary, while he knew how to reprove or arouse the indifferent. He walked even to old age amidst the prayers and blessings of the good; and when at length, after having reached almost fourscore years, he passed into the "joy of his Lord," it was amidst their tears, though they blessed God on his behalf. I had the privilege of seeing him at the close of his long and useful though humble life. Its closing scenes were instructive. By the influence of disease, or perhaps the decay of age, his mind often wandered. Strange fancies regarding those he loved crowded upon his mind,-fancies which no persuasion could remove. There came before him, in unnatural groupings, scenes and friends and pursuits, the beautiful and the sombre, the joyful and the sad, all mingled and distorted. But on one subject he was always consistent, collected, and happy. He saw religion all beautiful as he had ever seen it, and he clasped it fondly to his heart as he had done on that day when first he learned to love and cherish it as a daughter of the sky. His mind directed to religion, every fancy which had disturbed it passed away; and it shone clear and calm as the surface of the summer lake on which full sunbeams are descending, after some transient ripplings which had disturbed its smoothness have ceased, and it presents, in its calm pure waters, a fair image of the glorious heavens. His 51 wan cheek burned with emotion; the gathering film was checked, and his eyes shone brightly, while his voice, becoming firm, poured forth expressions of joy and confidence which justified his emotions. How calm yet blessed was he, and how much in prayer! As now he returns to my fancy, the wish bursts from my soul, "Let my latter end be like his." He was watched over by loved ones, whose ears gathered up fondly the least of his dying words, and who garnered them in their hearts. Nature was exhausted; the hour was come; heaven was prepared for him: and was it delusion or was it a true perception of his soul that angels were around his couch? His head was pillowed on the bosom of an affectionate daughter, to whom in a voice of surprise, or rather delight, he said, "Do you see them?" "There is nobody here," said she, "but ourselves, father." "What!" cried he, "do you not see these shining ones?" And then with his whole soul seemingly enraptured, he exclaimed, "Glory, glory be unto the Lamb of God." With these words, his soul was set free; but still the look of joy remained, the smile lived on the faded lips. He slept in Jesus. Think of these things. Behold what God can perform by feeble instrumentality; and see how Christianity can dignify the poor, and make them no mean auxiliaries in accomplishing the purposes for which he was "manifested in the flesh." Think you that, in heaven, that good though poor woman, when she looks on her adopted son among the glorious around the throne, repents of her having sheltered and taught an orphan ? NEVER CROSS A BRIDGE TILL YOU COME TO IT. "NEVER cross a bridge until you come to it!" was the counsel usually given by a patriarch in the ministry to troubled and ever careful Christians. Are you troubled about the future? Do you see difficulties aising in Alpine range along your path? Are you alarmed at the state of your business-at the uncertainties hanging over your life at the dubious prospects in reserve for your children-at the gloomy contingencies which fancy sketches and invests with a sort of life-like reality-at the woes which hang over the cause of the Redeemer, or at any other earthly evil? Do not cross that bridge until you come to it. Perhaps you will never have occasion to cross it; and if you do, you may find that a timid imagination has overrated |