short years his home had become the abode only of poverty and wretchedness. The noble love of his once generous heart was changed to the gall of bitterness, and all the tender chords of his affections were snapped in sunder. At length he fled from his native village. That was eight years ago, and since then nothing has been heard of him. His poor mother will sleep here. His still poorer wife and children must, I fear, become inmates of the alms-house.'

The old man scraped off the dirt from the shovel, and set it against the wall; then he wiped the tear from his furrowed cheek, and, without another word, he passed out from the churchyard. For some time after the gray-haired sexton had gone, I stood and gazed into that deep grave, and I thought, if all the graves in our land could find tongues for speech, how many of them would pour forth a story similar to the one I had just heard!

Towards the close of the day, I saw the funeral procession wending its way into the place of burial, and I joined with those who went to pay the last tribute of respect to the remains of the departed. Silently we gathered around the grave. The coffin was placed upon its verge, and I saw a female, not much past the bloom of womanhood, sink down upon her knees and weep over the bier, and by her side knelt a boy and girl. I knew that that woman was Eliza Danforth, and that those were her children. There were deep grief-marks upon her brow; sorrow and suffering were stamped there in almost startling lines, and even the children looked wan and pale from long and acute misery.

The clergyman made a heart-touching prayer, the people stepped back from the grave, and the sexton was about to close the lid of the coffin, when those who stood toward the road gave way, and on the next instant a man came bursting into the centre of the assembled throng. He was poorly, roughly clad, and his features were wild and haggard. For an instant he gazed upon the coffin; then he started forward, and his eyes fell upon the face of her who slept there. A startling cry broke from his lips, and convulsively he sank down at the head of the bier.

'Mother! mother!' he cried, in accents that thrilled to the very souls of all present, O, speak to me! Speak, speak to your erring son! I am your son-your own son-your George! Only one word! O do, do speak to me-for Heaven's sake, speak!-Dead! O God! and you did not live to forgive me!'

The poor man's voice was lost in the most heart-rending sobs, and, throwing himself across the coffin, he cried like a child.

The gentle wife and mother for a moment

forgot the presence of the dead; she only knew that one in whom her proudest love was still centered was yet living. She sprang to the side of him who wept, and fondly she wound her arms about him.

'George-my husband,' she uttered, 'she did forgive you before she died. Her last words were of you, and the last breath that left her lips bore to God a prayer for blessings upon her son. Look up, look up, George; your wife and children still live to spread blessings in your path.'

George Danforth started to his feet, and strained his wife and children to his bosom. The tears rolled down his cheeks like rain, but his feelings were too big for utterance. Again the sexton laid his hand upon the lid of the coffin.

'Stop! stop!' exclaimed the returned son, as he started from the fond embrace of his wife, 'not yet not yet.'

Once more he sank upon his knees, and he pressed his lips upon the cold brow of his mother's form. Then he laid one hand upon the coffin, and raised his eyes towards heaven.

'Sainted mother,' he ejaculated, in a firm tone, if your spirit can still linger near the scenes of earth, look down upon your son, and listen to the solemn pledge his heart sends forth. I have been wicked, but I will be so no more; and if the remainder of my life can be passed so as to make any atonement for the wrongs I have done, then the good of the future shall wipe away much of the evil of the past. God help me in my resolution, and strengthen me in my work of virtue!'

From every lip present there burst forth a simultaneous "Amen,' and in every heart there was a love-place for the returned prodigal. The old clergyman stepped forward, took him by the hand, and led him from the spot; and in a few moments more I saw the husband and wife, together with their two children, enter the pastor's comfortable cottage. When they had passed from my sight, I turned towards the inn and wiped the warm tears from my eyes and cheeks. Many of those who had stood around the grave went with me, but no word was spoken upon the scene that had transpired.

It was nearly four years afterwards that I again passed through New York on my way to the lakes. It was some few miles out of the regular course, but still an irresistible desire led me to the village of B I inquired for George Danforth. He had gone to Albany; he was a representative to the State Legislature! I saw his wife and his children, and they looked the very embodiment of pure and unalloyed happiness. Their day of life seemed all the brighter for the dark and gloomy night that had preceded it.

GEOLOGY AND THE BIBLE.

No. II.

WHEN it became impossible longer to dispute the geological theory of a slow and gradual creation extending over many ages, theologians found it necessary to harmonize it with the Scripture narrative, and the result of their labours has been the enunciation of two distinct explanations.

That which we shall style the first, retains the old idea of literal time, viz., a period of six solar days, and accounts for those fossil existences in a very simple manner. The first sublime sentence of the Bible is made to occupy an isolated position. It announces to man a grand fact that 'In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.' Between that and the point of time referred to in the second verse stretches an immense period, containing within its bosom the history of an economy, the darkness and mystery of which, we are not permitted to penetrate.' These fossils, and remains of animals buried deep down in the bowels of the earth, belong entirely to this period, and are wholly unconnected with the present system of things. Dark and mysterious as this 'economy' confessedly is, several conjectures have been made regarding the then 'lords of the creation.' These silent animal mummies give some faint intimation of the character of that part of the old dynasty, but we search in vain for any object which could throw light upon the

nature of

Yet even here, conjecture has not been idle, though the conjecture itself may be idle enough. It is supposed that the former inhabitants of the earth were the angels, those great and mysterious beings, part of whom are now bowing and burning before the throne on high, while the rest " are reserved in chains under darkness till the judgment of the great day.' When their terrestial history was closed, and when it was said to them that time should be no longer,' they were called upon to quit the scene of their probation; and while each was sent to his own place,' a terrible commotion took place in their late abode the earth became without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep.' How long this dreary chaos remained, conjecture hinteth not; but at length 'the Spirit of God moved upon face of the waters,' and in six days more 'that fair form of creation which we at present behold' had issued bright and beautiful from the hands of its Maker.

the

The second explanation considers the 'six days' to be a figurative term, and not to be understood literally at all. They simply mean 'periods,' and may comprehend ages in their wide embrace. Numerous passages can be quoted in which the word day clearly means a very long period. For instance, we read of the day of the temptation in the wilderness,' which we know refers to a period of forty years. Again, the day of grace:' 'To-day, if ye will hear his voice, harden not your hearts.' In a commentary on this passage, Paul says, To-day, after so long time!' We never think of attaching any definite period to the day of the Lord,' 'the day of Christ,' 'the judgment day,' and many other similar phrases; and we have only to consider the six days of creation in the same light, to harmonize them perfectly with the discovery of the geologist.

In accordance with this view, then, the third day commenced many ages ago, when the lowest forms of animal and vegetable life were created, and continued throughout the long period indicated by the lowest strata of the earth. It was brought to an end by the creation of a higher order, on which event the fourth day began. The morning and the evening, means just the beginning and the ending of each dynastic period. Thus, between the third and sixth day, when man was formed, stretched an immense vista of years, during which were accumulated those 'vestiges of the creation,' the presence of which proclaims the antiquity of the earth, and the duration of the creation period.

Such are the two explanations that have been given, in an attempt to harmonize the Scripture account of the creation with the geological appearances of the crust of the earth. Both accomplish this satisfactorily enough, but it is certain that both cannot contain the truth. Each has gathered around it a company of believers, but one party at least must be adhering to a false idea. How, then, is the matter to be decided? We fear that in the present state, a final decision is impossible. It is very questionable whether science or Scripture can demonstrate the truth in this matter. Indeed, it may be safely affirmed that unless geology can enable its professors to determine unerringly whether the fossils and remains belong to the present or a preceding creation-to the creation described by Moses, or to another belonging to a previous dynasty-the question, 'How is the Bible account to be understood?' must remain unsettled. At present such a demonstration on the part of philosophers is entirely unhoped for.

But is it, after all, essential that we be put in possession of the truth as to the duration of the creation period? Surely

vately and silently, but the world around him soon understand it. They are quick to perceive hypocrisy, and to detect the true character of worldliness, however dexterously it may clothe itself in the garb of piety. The money getting disciple thinks, perhaps, that all is going on well. He performs his duties with punctilious formality, but his heart is not in the work, and the souls within his influence are only chilled by the coldness of the form. In a word, the cause committed to him is betrayed; is betrayed, too, for money; and if it is true that, in the sight of God, the heart and not the particular acts by which the heart may manifest itself, is the criterion of character, he must expect to stand with Judas when the time of reckoning shall come.

How many times has a man of business, professing to love the Saviour, betrayed his cause by violating his principles, and brought open disgrace upon it in the eyes of the world. He acts on principles which are entirely inconsistent with Christian character. Unjust, oppressive, and miserly, he disgraces the name which he has hypocritically assumed. But he accomplishes his object;-he acquires the money for which he is willing to sell his Master's cause. Even Judas was paid. He secures also his other object, of being called a Christian. He however betrays the cause. For the mass of mankind bring down their conceptions of religion to the rank of the lowest pretender to it whom they can find; so that he who serves the world and sin, while he pretends to be a Christian, does not generally disgrace himself, he degrades Christianity. Still he accomplishes his objects. He is called a Christian, and makes his money; but he must rank among the traitors at last.

Judas had no idea, probably, that any very serious consequences would have resulted from what he was about to do. He might have known, indeed, had he thought about it; but he, probably, thought of little but his thirty pieces of silver. If he did reflect at all, it was, probably, only to quiet himself with the excuses which, in similar circumstances, men always make; such as that it was his duty to increase his property by all honest means,-that there could be no great harm in merely introducing the soldiers to the Saviour, that if he did not give them the information they desired, somebody else certainly would. Such was the reasoning, and such the conduct of false professors at the time the Saviour of the world sojourned on earth; and human nature, alas! is not changed. Similar is the reasoning, and similar the conduct of thousands and tens of thousands of false professors in our Churches at the present day.

HARVEST-TIME.

It is one of the merciful arrangements of God, that memorials of his presence are everywhere discernible, and suited to the various temperaments of men. Some are influenced most by release from restraint. They love the dawn, because it chases away the damps of night. They love the elasticity of Spring, bounding athwart the coldness of Winter. Others again delight in the succession of calmness and beauty,—day merging from noon into a rosy twilight, never blackened by night clouds-Autumn, with its deep verdure and crowned hillocks, treading on the flowery paths of the Summer, that hastens to be gone.

Nature's variety was intended to teach us the wisdom and the goodness of Him who rules and overrules all. Spring preaches to us of Him, with its awakened life,-Summer also with its happy sunny hours, and Winter with its cold and cheerless prospects; but pre-eminently above all, as being more genial and heart-reaching than them all, stands Autumn, with its fruits, and shaking above us its ripe and bending corn-ears, seems to say, "Stand still, and behold the wondrous works of Him who is wonderful in counsel, and excellent in working.'

Let us briefly consider some of the lessons which Autumn is fitted to teach us. Let us learn the truth of the Divine goodness. There are many beautiful things, and fair sights in this world, at all times of the year. Who loves not to wander through the grassy hills, to feel the boisterous wind rushing against our faces, and to scent the fragrance of the wild and starry flowers? Who loves not to dive into the depths of forest shade, to hear the plaint of the wood-dove, to behold the glimmerings of daylight far off in the distance-to feel that we are alone-shut out? Who loves not to pass along with the river in its seaward progress-to walk beneath the shade of trees that love, like ourselves, a nearness to rushing life? But, amid all the sweet sounds that beguile us, amid all the pleasant sceneries that smile upon us, none is more delightful than the murmur of the corn as it bends so gracefully beneath the wind, or the sight of fields mellowed in the Autumn sun. God's goodness is visible in this. Sweet sounds and agreeable sensations-the ruby light that almost encrimsons the field on close of harvest day-the bending fruitage of the treesthe wind stirring among the branches, and singing hallelujah among the leaves-all are proofs to us that the Hand that is ever around us, is a hand of mercy; that love sweetens the cup even of the rebellious;