made requisite to the carrying out of his plans. It is thus that a mother's ceaseless cares and toils are sweetened; and thus is secured to her children the enjoyment of those succours for which, in the arrangements of Providence, they are made dependent on her. And not in that particular relation alone in every social character we sustain, those duties are most easily and most effectually performed, which are stimulated by love. But then, in the present imperfect state, it is no easy or common attainment to love ardently, without loving too much; to take delight in the relations of life, without placing an undue dependence on them; exalting them into the place of God, and imagining we cannot live without them.

Sometimes the loudest professions of fondness prove shallow and short-lived, and soon yield to indifference or forgetfulness. Sometimes, when the feelings are strong, and uncontrolled by the regulating influence of religious principle, when thwarted by circumstances, they break forth with turbulent and destructive violence. Sometimes the strongest and tenderest feelings are brought into lowly subjection to the power of Divine grace; and the saint of God, though keenly wounded in the tenderest part, is enabled meekly to submit, and say, "It is the Lord: let him do what seemeth him good," 1 Sam. iii. 18. I call to mind an instance of each.

The death-bed of a Christian mother was surrounded by seven grown-up children: the eighth was abroad. All felt deeply, for they were an affectionate family. But the agony of the youngest son was most violent and uncontrolled. All the others composed themselves to listen to the dying

counsels of their venerated parent, and to render every little attention that might alleviate her sufferings. Meanwhile, Henry paced the house like one distracted, and sometimes roared aloud. He refused to take either food or rest; reproached the composure of his brother and sisters, which he called apathy; and declared that he should never see another happy hour; he could not live without his mother. My uncle, being a friend of the family, and one of the executors, had occasion frequently to call at the house. They mentioned to him, with deep anxiety, the excessive grief of their brother, which they feared might endanger his life or his reason. My uncle assured them their fears were groundless, and expressed his firm persuasion that a very short period would elapse, before they would see their brother the same jovial, frivolous creature as ever; and the prediction was fully verified. His grief was like a summer flood, and his goodness, for he made many vows of becoming what he knew his mother anxiously wished him to be, his goodness was like the early cloud, and the morning dew.

There was a family left in indigent circumstances, to whom my uncle was in many ways a kind friend. He made arrangements with an excellent lady for placing one of the girls in her school as an articled pupil. The foolish mother could scarcely be brought to consent to so advantageous an offer; not that she had employment for her child at home, or the means of educating or maintaining her, but "it seemed so hard parting with her she could not live without her." At length she was induced to comply, and the girl was sent to school. She valued and improved the

advantages offered her, she obtained an excellent education, and was qualified to become a teacher of others, by which she has ever since honourably supported herself. But her mother, who could not endure to part with her, though she received from her child many a dutiful and affectionate letter, never answered one; until, at length, the poor girl, in the fulness of filial and sisterly affection and joy, wrote to say, that by employing her leisure hours in fancy work, for sale, she had saved money enough to bear the expense of a journey home, and had obtained of the governess leave of absence for a fortnight, during the summer recess. She then received an answer, that it would not be convenient to receive her!

A lady of my uncle's acquaintance was dotingly fond of all her children, particularly of one fine little boy. At six years of age, this child was taken from her by death. She was a stranger to the power of religion, and had no resource in trouble; nor were the efforts of Christian friends at all successful in directing her attention to the only true source of relief and comfort. She turned a deaf ear to all they could suggest, and yielded herself alternately to frantic grief and sullen gloom ; hanging over the remains of the lost object of her affections, and refusing to yield them up for interment. At length, it became necessary to separate her from the corpse. When this was effected, she seemed to lay aside her grief, and ordered a carriage to convey her to a toy warehouse, where she procured a very large doll, which she brought home, and dressed in the clothes of her departed child, and seemed to transfer to the inanimate thing all her fondness and attention. She

continued to do so for several months, and sunk into a state of hopeless derangement, which lasted as long as life.

I remember an affecting parting between a venerable Christian lady, and a beloved daughter, whose lives had been so bound up in each other, that it seemed as if nought but death could separate between them. But a train of circumstances led both to concur in the conclusion, that it was the will of God, that the daughter should leave her native land, and go among the heathen. There is no doubt that the sacrifice was conscientiously made, and that He who graciously accepted it, more than made up all privations by his own presence and communications. In company with my uncle, I visited the old lady, when her daughter had been gone from her ten or twelve years. She spoke of her with the most ardent affection, but yet with such cheerful serenity and freedom from anxiety, as is seldom experienced by a tender parent, when a beloved child is absent, though only at a few miles' distance, and for a few weeks. She spoke of their frequent meeting in spirit at the throne of grace, and of their next meeting being in heaven; "and," she observed, "there is a much shorter passage to heaven, from both India and England, than there is from the one to the other." Through that passage she was very soon afterwards called, and as she went, she recorded her experience of the truth of the promise, that no one shall resign the dearest earthly connexions for the sake of Christ and the gospel, but shall receive manifold more in this present time, as well as in the world to come life everlasting, Luke xviii. 29, 30.

"I could not live without it." Such is human caprice, that this has not unfrequently been asserted of a person or thing, concerning whom or which, at no very distant period, the same individual has declared, that they were the plague of his life, and that he could have no enjoyment of life until they were got rid of.

"I could not live without it." Ah! such is the deplorable tendency of human nature to degenerate, that we have known instances of persons, who once said and thought that they could not live without prayer, without reading and hearing the word of God, without seeking the salvation of their souls, but who can now live in as utter regardlessness, and indifference to these things, as if they had never had an idea of their importance.

"I cannot live without it." Growing experience of the insufficiency of the world, and the all-sufficiency of God, should teach us that the sentiment belongs not to any created enjoyment, however dear, and valuable, and lawful. Whatever we may possess, and however essential we may have deemed it to our comfort and well-being, we must give up at the command of God; and we may live, and live happily, without it, if we possess his favour, which is life, and his loving-kindness, which is better than life, Psa. xxx. 5; lxiii. 3. "My soul, wait thou only upon God; for my expectation is from him." "Lord, lift thou up the light of thy countenance upon us," and then, "although the fig-tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls: yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will