hears prayer, for his own prayers were answered. He was assured of forgiveness for his sins, for the peace of God which passeth all understanding' was with him; and the speculative difficulties which had once seemed to hedge him round and hide God's face from him, fled away at the sound of prayer to that shadow-land which skirts the horizon of this life, and kept silence whilst he found answer to the great practical question, 'How shall man be just before God?'

Meanwhile his bodily ailment underwent no improvement. At intervals he visited Carlisle to obtain the opinion of his attached friend and fellow-anatomist, Dr Lonsdale; but as he was constrained in faithfulness to acknowledge that there was no amendment, Dr Reid fulfilled his intention of going to London and consulting the surgeons there.

The opinion of the doctors was neither very satisfactory nor cheering. They recommended simple medicines, seclusion, and silence, and hinted that, in the event of the disease progressing, an operation would be necessary. Shortly after returning from London, he retired for a season to the quiet village of Innerleithen, where he was for a time led to hope that a healing process had commenced. But, alas! the favourable symptoms soon disappeared, and it became evident to himself that the only hope of an extension of life rested in the removal of the diseased part of the tongue by surgical operation. The majority of his medical friends dissuaded him from submitting to such a perilous remedy, and he himself was far from being sanguine of its success. Professors Ferguson of London and Bennet of Edinburgh were, however, of a different opinion. It was done, and, for a time, all went well. His sufferings, which, before the operation, had been severe, were relieved, and hope once more dawned on his dark path. The wound inflicted by the surgeons had not healed, however, before omens of returning disease began to show themselves not in its original seat, but in the glands of the neck. After some delay, a second operation was undergone, and, finally, a third, on the first of January 1849. Now came a time of suspense to his friends and himself. Was the disease rooted out, or would it again return? This was a queswhich the future alone could determine.

To some men the suspense of such waiting would have been intolerable, but it was no tax on John Rein's unfaltering patience; and he had not long to wait. A week was all; before the first month of the new year had reached a close, all hope was at an end. The shadow, which it had been fondly hoped had gone back upon the dial in token of lengthened life, had

shewn but dimly and uncertainly amidst the clouds of his recent trials, but now in the clear light it was too plain that it was moving fast onward. The shades were! pointing eastward, and the night was at hand.

His sufferings from the return of the disease were not (at least in his own estimation), for some considerable time, severe; and he was slow to reveal to his relatives his true condition. For a brief season his anxious desire to spare their feelings warred in his heart with his scrupulous truthfulness, but before long the latter prevailed.

He now gave up all hope of recovery, and turned with absorbing interest to the Bible.

Through the long painful nights which he often spent alone in his study, it was his chief companion. He acquired in a short period an amazing mastery over its contents. His readings were chiefly in the New Testament and in the Psalms. The prophets were less read, and the historical books of the Old Testament least of all. It was natural that one circumstanced as he was should choose his reading thus, and God is very merciful, and has allowed his children a large liberty as to preferring one part to another of that Scripture, which is all given by inspiration.' The Psalms were to John Reid as to other Christian invalids, especially welcome. I wonder a little that he did not more frequently read the book of Job, that most remarkable of all diaries of the invalid. The twenty-third Psalm, a remembrance of which, though there were none other, will link thousands of the redeemed in a common sympathy, he never tired of reading, or hearing read.

Thus cheered and comforted, he saw the dark valley in which all our lifelong we walk, grow darker before him; and the black shadow of death become blacker as it drew nearer; whilst he could say, 'I will fear no evil; for thou art with me: thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.'

So the months of May and June went past, and it was plain to all that the end could not be far off. Like the forlorn Indian whose oarless canoe drifted slowly down the Niagara, and was inevitably moving towards the fatal Falls, John Reid saw each day separate him further from wife, and mother, and child, and friends; and the sound of the dark waters rose with increasing distinctness in the hearing of all. Neither could help the other, or stay the great River whose Sea is death. Every moment made more dim the mourning figures on the receeding shore, and the helpless mariner could hear, though no other could, the swelling murmur of the

waves that break upon the shore of Eternity. But he had no dread of shipwreck; nor had they. The anchor was within the veil, and was certain to prove true.

After the 7th of July he was not able to leave bed, and thereafter the disease made accelerated progress.

On the 14th, acute suffering came on; on the 16th, the cancer opened an artery, and the bleeding which followed seemed the swift precursor of death; but the strong body would not yet give way. On the 18th, violent hæmorrhage occurred, and all thought and all hoped that death was at hand: but still the Last Enemy was kept at bay. For several days no food or drink was taken. Every function but breathing seemed suspended. Yet, when sensitiveness to all else appeared extinct, the consciousness of agony returned, and before the final close, the suffering, but for chloroform, would have been extreme. To the last he was contented, trustful, and calm. They read the Scriptures and prayed with him so long as he could listen; and at length, on the 30th July 1849, the brave spirit passed to its eternal rest, and death was swallowed up in victory.

Thus lived and died this amiable and talented individual; but had his life wanted the Christian element, and closed only with the Stoical consolation of an earlier period, Better men than I have suffered this fate,' would have been like a serene summer day eclipsed at noon, and setting in dark electric clouds. Over his grave we could but have raised the Pagan emblem of the broken, uncompleted column. But for him, it pleased God, that at 'evening time it should be light.' The close of his life was like the setting of the Arctic sun, which but dips below the horizon, and then bounds up again into the bright heavens. His work is all done, and he awaits perfection. We can build him no befitting tomb; but we can think of him as a pillar in the house of God, which shall go out no more for ever.'

I close with the prayer for every reader and for myself which John Reid's predecessor in a Chair at St Andrews, Dr Chalmers, offered up when he left his mother's death-bed, 'May I be enabled to sit loose to a world, all whose cares, and pleasures, and triumphs, but guide every child of Adam to the bed of his last agonies.'

THE WAGES OF SIN IS DEATH.

MAN hath sinned, therefore man is mortal, and must die. Sin is that wretched womb where death lay. The wages of sin is death. All sorts and kinds of death, whether violent, natural, spiritual, or eter

nal, they are the stipend of sin. Sin is the most mischievous thing in the world, for it begins in turning the heart from God, and ends in turning God from the heart; now is not this man like to be turned into hell? Sin is that unhappy womb that hath been productive of all the penal judgments that have been in the world; the first and the second death; fire and famine; poverty and prison; plague and pestilence; the rack and the stake; binding and banishing; bleeding and burning, they are the products of sin. Oh my soul, all thy cares and crosses; all thy fears and frowns; all thy sorrows and sufferings; all thy tears and troubles; all thy trials and travels, they are the monstrous and prodigious births and effects of sin. Wonder not that one said, I fear nothing but sin Sin is the mother; death is the daughter. By one man sin entered into the world, and death by sin, and so death passed upon all men, in whom all have sinned.' Sin is like Pandora's box, which being opened was full of all evils; filling the earth with diseases, and all other calamities.

What is said of war, may be said of sin, it is a complex, and complicated evil. Sin is evil; only evil; all evil; alway evil; altogether evil. We cannot speak worse of sin than it is, nor of man (being a sinner) than he is. As God is that good, in whom is all good, and no evil; so sin is that evil, wherein is all evil, and no good. Death is the product of sin. Let the great doctor of the Gentiles speak, who had a great command of oratory. By man (Adam) came death:' that is, by the sin of man came death of man; by the sin of man came the first, and the second death upon man. By man came death; not only mortality, as one saith, but also eternal death. When the Jews are under a stroke, they say, this is a part of the golden calf, that is, this suffering is for our sin, and from our sin. Is it not pity, that any man should say of his sin, as she did of her son? Let me die, so he may live. Dost thou say, let my sin live, though I die and be damned? Then I say, thou seemest to me to be within a step of death; within a step of damnation. Dost thou say to thy sin, as God did to Joshua; 'I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.' Then I say, thou art in danger of hell fire, and it is mercy to a wonder; yea, mercy above wonder, that thou art out of hell. All men that live must die, and all that die are bound for the grave, that is the next stage. sin came into the world, and that came by eating, death came in with it. Well may we cry, Ah sin! sin! sin! thou hast digged all the graves, and made all the funerals, that have been in the world. It was once said of the goodly buildings of Rome, that

When

the sins of the Germans (meaning the money got by popes' factors, for sin-pardons granted the Germans) have built these. Thus when we see those goodly buildings the bodies of men, cast unto the ground, yea cast into the ground, we may truly say, the sins of men have unbuilt, have pulled down their bodies.

Man is formed out of the dust, therefore man is mortal and must die. As our bodies dwell in houses of clay, the foundations whereof are laid in the dust, so our bodies are but clay-builts, and they cannot stand long. We were reared at first out of the dust, and we are tending to our centre every moment. Bodies are but clay-builts, though some be painted, and decked, and beautiful more than others, yet all are dust, and that tends to its centre. Soul, as thy original was, so shall thy conclusion be; as thy beginning was, so shall thy ending be. Though man now seem to be somewhat better than dust, yet to dust shall he return; bodies alive are but living dust. Man is dust while he lives; returns to the dust when he dies, and is turned into dust after death. It was said to Adam, and in him to all mankind, not only as a curse, but also as a command-In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat thy bread, until thou returnest to to the ground;' that is, until thou diest; for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return. As thy Alpha was, so shall thy Omega be. Hence the body of man is called vile. Who shall change our vile body, and make it like his glorious body?' "The body of the first Adam was formed out of the earth, and is said to be of the earth, earthy.' And, as in the first body, so in the bodies of all men, earth is the predominant element; our bodies are vile, the chief ingredient of their mixture being the earth, which comparatively to those higher and nobler elements is but vile. Abraham writes himself dust and ashes. Dust is earth made by the heat of the sun; ashes, earth made by the heat of the fire. They who now lie upon beds of ivory must lie down in a bed of earth, and rest their heads upon a pillow of dust. Most sleep in the dust while they live, but all must sleep in the dust when they die. He only who hath laid up his heart in heaven can comfortably think of laying down his head in the dust. Then shall the dust (the body) return unto the earth as it was, and the spirit (the soul) unto God who gave it.' Man's body is dust materially while he lives, and dust formally when he is dead.

6

God hath appointed death, therefore man is mortal, and must die. It is once appointed for man to die, it is enough that it is appointed once. As the statute is past that man must die, so how long he

shall live, and when he shall die. My times are in thy hand. He who inhabits eternity is also the Lord of time. Some live as if they were masters of time, and could appoint out their own term; as if they had made a covenant with the grave, and an agreement with death; they speak as if their tongues and their time were their own. 'To-morrow shall be as this day, and much more abundant.' That rich caitiff, looked upon his time as his own; 'Soul, take thine ease, thou hast goods laid up for many years: but God said, Thou fool, this night shall thy soul be required of thee. The Psalmist doth not speak himself the master, but the servant of time. My times are in thy hand. That is, all my times; my times of health, or sickness; of joy, or sorrow of truth, or triumph; of light, or darkness; of life, or death; all my times are in thy hand. It is well that our times are in God's hands. Man is not wise enough to use the time that God sets him, much less is he wise enough to set his own time. God appoints death; all manner of deaths; four kinds of deaths, saith the prophet. Death is heaven's statute, and who can reverse that? Was not that to be reversed by man, that was sealed with the king's ring? who then can reverse death? the law of nature? the statute of mortals? the circumference of the universe? Death is the house appointed for all living. I know that thou wilt bring me to death, and to the house appointed for all living. I know that my Redeemer liveth, so I know that I shall die, and go to the grave of silence. Death brings us back to what we once were, and shows us what we are. It is true, as I have written, that some have lived, and not died, and some shall live, and not die; yet those few exceptions do not infirm, but rather confirm the truth of the general rule, which is, that all must die, because none escape, but upon some special exception. Death is called a change. 'If a man die, shall he live again? All the days of my appointed time will I wait until my change come. Death is natural, but we die by a law; we die by appointment; the house appointed for all living. Some say of malefactors who are put to death for crimes against the law, that they are slain by the law. We may say of every man, he is slain by a law; the house appointed for all living. Thou turnest man to destruction, that is to death; the destruction of all men as to their corporeal constitutions, and external enjoyments. But what then? And sayest Return, ye children of men. God, having turned man to death, saith presently, Return ye children of men: that is, go back unto what ye were; return to the dust.Mayhew.

As

THOUGHTS ON ANCIENT

LEBANON.

AMONG the mountains of the Bible,' Lebanon is, perhaps, the least directly spoken of, but, from the frequent allusions made to it, we are led to regret it with feelings of pleasure and delight. The poetry of David and Solomon has gathered around it images of beauty and fertility with which no other mountain is invested, and though these high-strained allusions are indefinite as to a true estimate of its character, we are constrained to consider it as an object calculated to inspire lofty and ennobling sentiments.

Lebanon is a mountain, or rather a range of hills, covered with the most stately trees, and exhibiting to the eye of a spectator, according to the station from which he contemplates it, an almost endless variety of grand and picturesque scenery. Beheld from one point, it presents one aspect; beheld from another point, it presents a different aspect. Whether he view it from the plain below, or as he ascends its side, the traveller is gratified, at almost every step, with a new and interesting prospect. Its height and magnitude inspire him with a sentiment of awe; its calm beauty and variety inspire him with a feeling of delight.

Picture to your imaginations a range of mountains shooting their lofty summits above the clouds, and stretching along to an immense distance. Suppose a traveller on the top of one of them, raised so high as to hear at times the thunder rolling beneath his feet, and to have such a vast prospect on every side, as to induce a momentary persuasion that he commands a view of nearly the whole earth. Such an elevation naturally fills his soul with solemn awe. From the station which he now occupies, how puny must men and all their works appear. The sight of the stupendous scene necessarily prompts him to meditate on the almighty power of its Author of that great Being who 'weigheth the mountains in scales, and the hills in a balance' who 'removeth the mountains and they know not; who overturneth them in his anger.' You can conceive, then, the impression which would be made upon you by the view of the height and magnitude of Lebanon.

But Lebanon also awakens veneration, by inspiring ideas of age and durableness. It is impossible for any one to stand upon the summit of a mountain raised far above the adjacent country, and view its craggy sides, which have braved the fury of so many tempests for so many ages, without feeling prompted to apply to it the epithet employed by Jacob on pronouncing the blessing on his son Joseph:-'The bless

ings of thy father hath prevailed above the blessings of my progenitors unto the utmost bound of the everlasting hills.' There is something in great age and stability fitted to inspire feelings of peculiar interest and veneration. And such was Lebanon. It overlooked a vast extent of country. No one could ever view it with an intelligent eye without meditating on the various tribes of men, savage and civilized, idolaters and devout worshippers of the true God, who have come into existence and passed into the eternal world, while itself remains the same; and without reflecting that it is destined to behold still more glorious scenes than it has ever yet witnessed, when the Jews shall be brought again into their own land. When looking at Mount Lebanon, we cast our thoughts backward to the patriarchial ages, and forward to the day when rejected and dispersed Israel shall be gathered in with the fulness of the Gentile nations; and we gladly reflect on the destination of the millions of our species, who are to be saved through the merit of the amazing decease which Jesus accomplished in the neighbourhood of this mountain.

The view of Lebanon delights the spectator by the calm beauty of its aspect. The appearance of this mountain is never that of a volcano. Its atmosphere is never darkened by clouds of smoke. The noise of thunder is never heard from within its bowels. It has no crater whence to send forth black vapours, and showers of ashes and stones. There are never to be seen rolling down its sides torrents of boiling lava, spreading consternation, and ruin all around. Such is often the terrific aspect presented by Etna or Vesuvius. But on Lebanon, the eye could repose with undisturbed tranquillity. On its verdant sides the cedars were to be seen waving their majestic tops in serene beauty; while the sun shed a mild and verdant glory on its lofty summit, white with eternal snow.

Lebanon delights the eye by the variety which it exhibits. Variety is an essential ingredient in the beauty of all natural scenery. Destitute of this quality, no assemblage of objects, however fine individually, can yield much pleasurable feeling to the mind. What is it that gives its charms to a landscape, which continues long to regale the eye? Is it not the contrast of hill and dale, the interposition of woods and rivers, of meadows and fields of corn? What is it that beguiles the length and weariness of his journeyings, and preserves the spirits of the traveller buoyant and lively? Is it a path, in which for many a mile there is not a single winding, and which lies through a country where nothing is presented to the view, but a scene of uniform flatness and steri

lity? No, it is the agreeable succession of prospect, of towns and villages, of cottages and mansions, of fields, now in a state of cultivation, and anon, in a state of nature. It is this diversity of objects rising continually before us, which relieves the tedium of life, and renders that a pleasing recreation which would otherwise be all source of pain and fatigue. To this law, of our nature, the Author of our being has most kindly adapted our situation. The unbounded variety of objects by which we are surrounded, the perpetual series of scenes and events, even the marked difference between every two individuals of the same species of beings, clearly evince that the love of variety has not been implanted in our nature without being intended to be gratified. And in Lebanon this desire was fully met. We can easily conceive a mountain of such a figure, that, from whatever point it be viewed, it will present an almost entire similarity of appearance; and the country around it may be of so uniform an aspect, that nothing will be gained by ascending it, but a wider extent of prospect. Such, however, when Solomon wrote his song, and for long after, was not the appearance of Lebanon; though, alas! its cedars, those trees of God which he had planted, are now no more. We are assured that nothing could surpass the rich variety of views which it furnished to regale the eye. The traveller, on ascending to its summit, was charmed, at every short interval, with a now and delightful prospect. He seemed to tread on enchanted ground, and felt that magic herself could not produce more rapid or wonderful changes of beautiful or romantic scenery.

A MEDIATOR between God and his people was necessary, because he had become an object of overwhelming dread to them. As sin renders those who are chargeable with it, unclean and abominable in the sight of the Most High, his fiery indignation denounced against them on account of it, renders him an object of terror to the guilty, as soon as they begin to reflect seriously on their offences. Hence, our first parents had no sooner transgressed his law, and discovered their nakedness, than they fled, and vainly attempted to hide themselves from his presence. For the same reason, the heathen did not like to retain the true God in their knowledge, but changed his glory into images of earthly objects, according to their depraved imagination; that they might combine the rites of their religion and the indulgence of their wicked lusts, without the restraint of conviction or fear. Under

the influence of the same pernicious principle, many who have access to the light of revealed truth contrive either to forget God, or to misrepresent his character; as if he were so far exalted above them, as to disregard their conduct, or so exclusively tender and merciful as to be incapable of inflicting punishment. While men continue either so blind as to deny, or so hardened as to despise his holiness and righteousness, they cannot possibly return to the enjoyment of his favour. They may indeed be pleased with a god of their own framing, they may worship the idol of their deceived imagination; but whether they adore the work of their hands, or the false representation of God which they have framed in their minds, they are still idolaters, and still without the true God in the world. Let such persons he instructed concerning the adorable perfections of JEHOVAH, as they are revealed in the Scriptures; inform them how righteous and holy he is; that he demands their supreme love and constant obedience, that he is their ever present witness, beholding the secrets of their hearts, and that he will render impartial judgment to every man according to his works:-let these things be explained, proved, and inculcated on their minds with perseverance; and, as soon as they begin to understand and believe that he observes, and hates, and punishes sin, their conscious sin will produce insupportable dread of him. They will perceive their inability to answer for their thoughts and ways, or stand in his awful presence. They will remember with how little reverence they formerly addressed him, and with what presumptuous self-complacency they uttered their formal prayers, in the days of their thoughtless ignorance; but in proportion as their attention is directed toward his infinite majesty and immaculate purity, they will find that they cannot lift up their eyes before his throne, that their mouth is shut, their heart overwhelmed with terror, and the interposition of a suitable mediator is indispensably requisite to bring them near his throne with acceptance, and embolden them to present their requests.

When the old covenant was proclaimed to the Israelites, they were deeply affected with their need of one to mediate them and God, and free their minds from the slavish fear of being consumed by the fire of his jealousy: All the people saw the thunderings, and the lightnings, and the noise of the trumpet, and the mountain smoking: and when the people saw it, they removed, and stood afar off. And they said unto Moses, Speak thou with us, and we will hear: but let not God speak with us, lest we die.' Exod. xx. 18, 19. Deut. v. 23-31.