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HUESTIS • I^KEFACS t-Jt ,HE word Angel does not only apply to those intellec- tual and immaterial beings whom God employs as His ministers to execute the orders of His providence, but also signifies a messenger, or bearer of glad tidings Each of the seven churches in Asia had its angel or minister. Ihey were commanded to write to their respective churches. To the church at Laodicea, the angel writes : '« I know thy works, thou art neither hot nor cold." To the chuich at Ephesus, these words were sent : " I know thy works and tjjy labour and patience ; nevertheless, I have somewhat against thee, because thou hast forsaken thy first love " To the church at Sardis, the message reads : " Be watchful and strengthen the things which remain, that are ready to die, for I have not found thy works perfect before God; yet thou hast a few names which have not defiled their garments, and they shall walk w-^^ mo in white, for they are worthy." Wings are given t. taa angels, that the im- portant messages they receive may be carried swiftly. " Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation T Sometimes these messages ar-e sent to us in the visions of the night, at other times in holy whisperings, and by impressions on the mind The messages vary as much in their character, as do the colours of the bird plumage of this >>9autiful world. Some are sombre, others all aglow with brightness. As you take up these Feathers, do not be too critical in your philologi- cal analysis. You may not find that artistic finish in them vi PREFACE. you would like to have seen. Remember, thoy are only the feathers from the wing of an angel of this world, who has spent over thirty-tive years as message-bearer in the King's service. Thoy are given to cheer and strengthen you in your journey across life's wilderness, and to help you to travel fas- tei- heavenward, or assist you to tlee from the wrath to come. He who plucked these feathers, like yourself, is far from being perfect, and is waiting patiently for the time when he will be borne by other wings, into His presence, where there is fulness of joy and pleasure for evermore. Most of you, my dear readers, may never know, or even meet this side the valley of shadows — the writer; but I trust this book will be made a blessing to all who may read it, by inducing them to seek more earnestly the things which are above, which reach out into the grand everlasting future. May the Holy Spirit accompany these feathers in their flight. THE AUTHOR. ..1 aro only the rid, who has n the King's L you in your to travel fus- uth to come. , is far from I time when >enc-e, where 'e. Most of m meet this I trust this ' read it, hy 5s which are iting future, ers in their UTHOR. INTRODUCTION. BY THE REV. A. C. COURTICK, M.A., B.D. .>.o^o«:. jfm\ ANY of the V)eautiful, helpful, and inspiring thoughts ^ll^l- that come to us — for they seem to come unask<;d and unsought — now in our busy moments, and again in our quiet moments, are perhaps more often and truly trace- able to heavenly and angelic influences than we are disposed to think in this •* money and nmd " period of human expe- rience. Farrar's heart was touched with the necessary beauty of the home in Nazareth, guided and supported by Joseph, hallowed and sweetened by Mary, and illumined by the youthful Jesus ; and he spoke of it as " a home, for the sake of which all the earth would be dearer and more awful to the watchers and holy ones, and where, if the fancy be per- mitted us, they would love to stay their waving wings." There may be flight of imagination in tiiis to the dull, hum-drum, work-a-day mind of the world ; but to the true heart and enlightened spirit, there may be in reality more of angel's flight About it than of imagination's flight There are thoughts, there are places, there are struggles, there are sorrows, there are victories, there are joys for the sake of whicli earth is dearer to the watchers and holy ones who move and stay their wings in earthly ministrar tions. There is nothing far-fetched in the figure, if we conceive that these ministers of God to the earth now take a feather vii viu INTRODUCTIOX. from their wings, and with it give swiftness and accuracy o some dart of truth, that shall pierce a hardened heart^ or that they again take a feather from their wings and waf It on gentle breezes, to be used as a bright plume of victory in the cap of some struggling youth, whoffe motto is " Ex- celsior ; or again, that they pluck many feathers from their wings and put them quickly together, to fan coolness to some fevered brow and comfort to some suffering soul ^ings are v-^ried in structure -some are for sudden swiftness in fl,ght, and others are for steady continuance in fl ght. The feathers that compose them are varied in hue They are not all of bright colour; some are tinged more with blue and gold, to accord with the sky and sun, while others are tinged more with the sombre colours of earth It will not be out of place for us to think that these thin^^s hint at the variety of angels' ministrations. Some pais ^viftly to heaven with glad tidings of repentant sinners, while others watch long over struggling, prodigal souls. Some are ministers in joys which are very anticipations of heaven, while others are ministers amid the saddest expe- riences of earth. ^ Fiimlly, I think that we may feel assured that these winged, heavenly, and angelic ministrations, with the help and hope they bring to human hearts and homes, are -bid dmgs and ''enablings" of God, by which men rise from heing worms of earth to kinship with angels, by which they drop the s-pentine slough and put on seraphic wing, by which they get ^way from the mole-life-burrowing under firoundmthe dark-and gain the eagle^-eye and eagle's pinion, by whicJ; fhoy cjuit the gloom and night of earth and mount aloft with their eyes on the Sun of Glory We trust that these pages may minister in this direction No. J ess and accuracy hardened heart; r wings and waft plume of victory te motto is <«E.x- athers from tiicii- fan coolness to ffering soul, are for sudden y continuance in '6 varied in hue. ire tinged more ' and sun, while ;olour3 of earth, fiat these things IS. Some pass •entant sinners, prodigal souls, anticipations of 3 saddest expe- red that these , with the help )ines, are '< bid- men rise from hy which they iphic wing, by rrowing under ye and eagle's night of earth )f Glory. We irection. CONTENTS «» ^0- IfAdlt I. The Home-Nest 13 i II. A NiGiiT OF Festivity 22 III. A MouxTAiN- Scene 33 IV. Christ, the King 41 V. The Princes of Pulpit Oratory 46 VI. Charles Dickens' Gospel 4 . 92 VII. His List Battle ♦ . . 55 VIII. The Orphan 59 IX. "Our Willie" 62 X. Home and its Influences .65 XI. The Storm 74 Xn. Cranks . .78 XIII. The Power of Music 84 XIV. The Dual Existence 89 XV. Life's Evening IO2 XVI. The Voices of Nature and of Art lOG XVII. The World's Last Drama us XVIII. A Peep within the Gates 125 XIX. The Hakbouk I34 tl I longer I. THE HOME-NEST. <( ( H AVE you not forgotten some one ?" The child had risen from her knees, and lifted her soft hazel eyes to her mother's face. ' Have you not for- gotten some one ? A shade of thought fell over the child's countenance, as her mother, almost a child her- self, gravely repeated the question. ' Who, mamma ?" she asked ; then, before her mother could reply, she said, ' Oh, yes, I did forget,' and dropping on her knees clasped her dimpled hands, and with shut eyes and face upturned, spoke these words to our Father in heaven : ,' Bless dear papa, and make him good and happy' As the gentle young mother kissed her darling, she closed |her eyelids tightly, to keep the tears from falling over i her cheeks. ' You must never forget dear papa,' said the mother. It was only by an effort that she was able to speak with a steady voice, for her heart was moved by some strong feeling that she wished to hide. 'I won't again,' answered the child, and then added, ' I don't know what made me forget. I always do pray [for him. Oh, I wish lie were here to kiss me before I go to sleep. Tell him to kiss me when he comes home —won't you, mamma ? May be I'll know it in my [ dreams.' The mother's eyelids could hold the tears no .arge round drops fell on the child's forehead. u THE nOME-NEST. hi ' O, mother, dear !' the little one exclaimed, throwing her arms about her mother's neck, * what makes you cry ; is it because I forgot papa in my prayers ? Oh, I'll never forget him again, I can't tell what made me.' For a little while her arms were clasped tightly around the child, and her head held closely against her mother's breast. Then good-nights were said, and kisses were exchanged. Soon after, the only sound heard in the room was the soft breathing of a child asleep. For over an hour the young mother sat in the still cham- ber alone with her little one. Then she went to an adjoining room, and sat by an open window, listen- ing to the footsteps that came and went along the pavement, never catching the sound for which her quick ears hearkened. Often she sighed; but she spoke no words of weariness or complaint. Anothfer hour passed, when, returning to the room where the child slept, she undressed herself, and lying down with an arm under the head and her cheek against the face of the little one, was soon lost in slumber. All was not right with the young mother. Such tears as she held so closely beneath her eye-lids, that they might not fall, are not tears of joy. One loved by her, oh, so tenderly ! — the father of her sweet child — was absent ; and always when he was away her heart felt lonely. Wliere was he ? What held him away from his wife and little one, now that the day was over ? Why did the darling of his heart pi'ay for him at bed-time, instead of giving him her good-ni^'ht kiss ? Had business taken him to another city ? Was THE HOME-NEsr. 15 med, throwing liat makes you prayers ? Oh, vhat made me.' tightly around st her mother's nd kisses were d heard in the d asleep. For the still cham- 5he went to an vindow, listen- ;^ent alongr the for which her jhed; but she aint. Another lom where the d lying down cheek against )st in slumber, mother. Such r eye-lids, that y. One loved ler sweet child was away her Vhat held him V that the day heart pray for her good-ni^'ht her city ? Was he absent at the call of duty ? Across the great city, in a room miles away from that in which angels watched lovingly over the sleeping mother and child, half a dozen young men were gathered around a table on which supper had been served. They had eaten and drank, and now sat smoking. Waiters cleared off the table, and brought in bottles of wine, and glasses. More wine ! Had they not been drinking freely at supper? Yes, too freely. But they who 'tarry long at the wine' grow thirstier the more they drink, until sense and reason are too often drowned. ' Let me fill your glass,' said one of the company to a young man, w^hose noble mien gave no signs of an evil or depraved life. Looking at him, and then at his companions, any one would have seen that he was out of place, and in danger. ' Nothing mere at pre- sent,' answered the young man, who had already taken with his sunper as much wine as he felt it pru- dent to drink. Without heeding this reply, the one who had addressed him filled the young man's glass and also his own. ' To Ida in the home-nest !' he said, lifting his glass. , The young man thus challenged, raised the wine and held it between his eyes and the light. ' To Ida in the home-nest !' Ah, the tempter miscalculated the power of that sentence. He meant evil to the young man, but God had this thought put into his mind that he might use him as an agent of good. Just then, Ida in the home-nest was sayino-, ' Bless dear papa, and make him good and happy,' and Qod who is ever trying to lead his erring children into 16 T"K IIOML-NEST. t c ngl,t ™y^ ,,„„,,, j,,^ ^ ^^ 1^^ hat true hom-ts ortW- „,,, ,„,, „„,,,,„, j^ ;,, ^ '^^ >-t way. As th„ y„„„., ,„„„ J.^y °«^ too of a k„odn« child. The he, beautiful as th. «,, . f T i' '" '^"''' "'"^ f"'"' g''««' ■""•>' and thua say, as clearly as if the words had been spoken « randT ""^ t; """•'" ''^"^ P-^'*' -J -k" hh^ s bps. No drink to that !' exclaimed his ten.pter . surprise as he saw the untasted wine. 'Thank you L hi, ' ; T""'' "'" y™"^ "'™ - h« -^e nest • n I • ^ :""f '"""^ '» "'^ W'' ■" «>« home- nest and bowmg to the company, he liastily retired. One laughed, another sneered, and anotlier made a coarse jest; while a fourth said, with a gi-avity of manner that waa felt by the rest as a rebuke 'Oi^r young tnend is right: his place is at home with h" of ustt ""■ ""' ""' '"''■'■ ^"^ *•>- »- -- !n!r f ^ "'"'"' *°"°^<'<'- One looked at another; and crnnson spots burned on cheeks tliat had on them no sign of shame a little while before • No more wine for me,' said the last speaker, replying to an invitation to fill his glasa ■ I've no patience ^^itli this kind of stuff,' spoke out one of the company, al- most angrily -What has wine been ordered for, if THK HO.MK NEST. 17 10 hears all prayers ored it in liis own «i up the glass of ho saw in it the i, beautiful as the ^ory earnest; the ihado of sadness. » grew more and ■i move, and lieard had been spoken •a, and make liini le did not touch nied his tempter, ine. 'Thank you man as he rose fda in the home- e hastily retired, another made a th a gravity of t rebuke, ' Our ; home with his there are some I lesson from his One looked at cheeks that had le before. ' No ker, replying to o patience with he company, al- ordcred for, if not to drink ?' He who said this was a gambler, in the disguise of a friend. He wIsIkmI to steal away the reason and conscience of his young companions with wine, that he might rob them of their money at cards. As he spoke, ho filled one glass to the brim, and then ■pushed the })ottle toward liis neighbour, who filled liis glass in turn. But when it came to the third in the circle sitting around the table, he passed it on, leaving liis own empty glass. The fourth and fifth filled their glasses. Said the one who first passed the bottle, lift^ ing the glass as lie spoke : ' Here's to good fellow- ship.' And all but one repeated his toast, and drank as he drank. Tlien the third in the circle filled his glass with water, and rising, said in a clear ringing voice : ' Here's to Ida in the home-nest !' Frowns darkened on his companions' faces. Raising the water to his lips, he drank it slowly. As he set down the empty glass, he looked at the angry face of the gam- bier, whose real character he more than half suspected and bowing slightly, said : ' I also thank you for that toast; and I also will look to my Ida in the home-nest.' Then, bowing gracefully towards the ^ company, he left the room ; the sound of curses in his ears, as he shut the door. The young man whose refusal to drink any more .had first broken in that company the charmed circle . of danger, walked hurriedly away, turning his steps homeward. He was, as we have said, miles distant, . and at the opposite extremity of a great city Hur- I riedly he walked at first : then his steps grew slower. 18 TUE HOME N'KST. and his head was bent down ; for painful and self- condemning thoughts were in liis mind. A street car passed ; it would have taken him, in less than an hour, within a few yards of his home. Why did he let it go by unheeded ? Was thought so busy that he had for- gotten he could ride ? No, that was not the reason. He had drank too freely at the supper table, and he knew that his breath was tainted with liquor; and now that a new light had come into his mind, and he saw, as in a mirror, a true image of himself, he was shocked to discover that he was less a true man than in days past, and less worthy to bear the name of husband and father. This was the reason why his steps were slow and his head bowed down ; and the reason why he did not take the car, and pass quickly homewa7-d. He shrank from the thought of laying his tainted lips upon tlie pure brow and lips of his wife and child, and so revealing to them that weak and sensual side of his character which was holding him back from a nobler and purer life than the one he was living. Slowly he continued to walk, still with bowed head and busy thoughts and memories. Suddenly there came before him, even more clearly, if possible, than when he saw it in the amber wine, the image of his kneeling child ; and again the voice, so full of sweet music for his ears, was heard with strange distinct- ness, saying : ' Bless dear papa, and make him good and happy.' Could God have answered the petition of that lov ing child for her father in any better or more effectual Oiand; excla " pure I 'whos( ■fell u jwalkc Itraste this w: THE IIOME-XEST. 19 painful and solf- nd, A street car less than an hour, y did he let it go ■ that ho had for- } not the reason, per table, and he kvith liquor; and his mind, and he himself, he was a true man than ear the name of reason why his i down ; and the and pass quickly ght of laying his lips of his wife that weak and vas holding him 1 the one he was still with bowed ries. Suddenly arly, if possible, lie, the image of i, so full of sweet trange distinct- make him good ion of that lov •r more effectual way than by sending the words of her prayer to his mward ears by the voice of an angel ? He could not make him good and happy, except through repentance and a better life ; but He could make the prayer a means of conviction and repentance. So the good Lord is ever using us, whether we ai-e children or grown-up men and women, and using us by thousands of differ- ent ways, in the work of leading others from evil courses into paths of virtue and peace. And we are always better instruments in His hands, if we are pure and good, than if we are selfish and evil ; for, in some way that we do not clearly understand, our loving de- sires actually pass to others, and move their hearts. And so if we are pure and true, our influence over those we love, even when they are away from us will be for good. We shall be as magnets, continually drawmg them back from evil. Our love and our prayers will go after them as angels of mercy. The image of his kneeling child seen again so dis- tmctly, and her sweet voice lifted heaven-ward in prayer for him, heard again with such startling clear- mess, so touched the father's heart, that he clasped his fliands passionately together, and looking upward iexclaimed, ' O Lord, I am not worthy of anything s J •pure and precious as this child !— one of the little ones Hvhose angels are ever before thy face.' A deep quiet jlell upon his soul as he bowed his head once more and .walked, still moving slowly, onwaid. And now, con- jtrasted with the innocence, sweetness, and purity of ^his wife and child, stood out before him an image of 20 THE HOME- NEST. liif himself that inado shMine-spots hurn (m liis check ns if tiro Jiad touchi'd them. Tliey so h)vin^r a»,l unsol- fisli ; so truo to him in all things ; so free from earthly taint, and he so selfish and worldly, yielding to gross appetites, and giving his thoughts to what was mean and sensual, instead of to things good and noble ! ' Give me strength to lead a new and better life,' he prayed, as lie moved along the street. ' This night I have turned my back upon the evil that w ^s oponin.r its jaws to devour me. This night I set my feet in a new way. Let thy power, O Lord, pass into my poor resolutions, and I shall be saved.' Home at last. It had taken him nearly two hours from the time he turned so resolutely away from his dissolute companions. Entering very quietly, he first ' went to the bath-room, wheie he washed his hands and face, and carofuKy cleansed his mouth, to remove, if possible, all smell of liquor or tobacco smoke. How silent it was ! How strangely he felt ! Softly he opened the chamber-door, and stood in the presence • of his wife and cliild. How peacefully they slept ' ' Their faces laid close together, both so young an.I ' fresh,— so tender and sweet that they looked like sis- J ters, instead of mother and child. A little while h- remained bending over them. Great waves of tender^ * ness came sweeping over his heart. They had never ^ seemed so lovely and precious. Stooping, at length. for he could no longer restrain himself, he touched his hps to the fair forehead of his wife. She moved shghtl} , but did not awaken. Then he kissed the lit^ ?ss pi jvver : )ve." ■ ■■ ^Hj gj a THE nOMK-NEST. 21 rti (m his cheek ns l<)vin<,^ and unsel- > t're(3 from earthly ', yieldiii<^r to gross what was mean good and noble! lid better life/ he et. ' Tliis night I that w \s opening 1 set my feet in a pass into my poor nearly two hours ly awMy from his y quietly, he first leashed his hands nouth, to remove, ceo smoke. How felt ! Softly he I in the presence tully they slept! h so young and Y looked like sis- i little while he waves of tender- They had never oping, at length, iself, he touched ife. She moved le kissed the lit- ilo one who had s,iid ere she went to sleep 'Tell hin. to kiss nie when he comes home, nuunn.a. won't you ? Jlay be II know it in n.y drenuKs.' An angel inust Bnve told It to her now, for, while yet the touch of his tps was warm on her lips, a gla.l light flooded her eountenance. As the light faded slowly off, her lips foved,and she said, still sleeping, yet speakinr out jlearly-< Bless dear papa, and n.ake him good and Wpy. The fathers heart was too strongly moved J^ready to bear this without losing his self-control. A lob heaved his breast. Then, clasping his ar-ms about feissleepnrg treasures, hd pressed them passionately to Bis heart. God bless you and keep you fi'om all evil and make me worthy of you. my darlings !' This was Jhe sentence, spoken in fervour, that met the 'ears of nis waking wife and child. _ We cannot picture, in M'ords, the joy that filled that |oung wifes heart, when the full meaning of all this tome like a great light into her soul. She never sat |ne ly m the night-watenes again, waiting, with a ^ado,ved spint for the loved but absent one, in fear ^ the very thoughts that went out after him. And f-w and far between were the times that the litHe «jgo of their home asked that a kiss might be given finch she could feel only in her dreams ^ Lrttle ones, pray for those who are dear to your |earts. The angels are nearer to you, because of your fnocence, than they are to those who are older and f ss pure, and they can often c^ive to your pvavers a ^wer tor good that will fall in "blessings on tho^e you n. A NIGHT OF FESTIVITY. % :l|i rPHE evening sun throws his gorgeous colouring on -L the towers, and t(>niples and pnhices of Babylon. Deeper grandeur still ! Crimson as of blood, and gold as of Ophir, and diamond as of the Orient. Then the magnificent glory fades, and the moon shines clear in the vast expanse. Silence Ifrcathing over Babylon ! The colossal city risis towards the starry sky — mas- sive, ponderous, immense. Far off the voice of a soli- tary lion comes at times. Then the cry of a lonely night-bird winging overhead, with slow, dull clang, A million lamps, with oil scented, light up the joyou.s capital. They spread their splendour on the dark and silent plain, which stretches far away from the huge walls. There is the sound of timbrel and lute, and dulcimer and song. The noise of merriment increases, Thousands of gay and glittering furms crowd the street. The royal palace sparkles r.'ith iiv'.;g gems. The great hall is filled with guests, robed in garments of azure, scarlet and gold. The brilliant lights turn into living glow the emerald, and sapphire, and topaz Belsliazzar is surrounded by a thousand of his lord.*^ h'.n V Ives and his concubines. Seldom does night look l:>xva upon "'ch a scene of splendour. From the gilded roof of the gorgeous hall a thousand golden lamp> 22 A NKillT UK KKSTIVITY. 23 IVITY. oous colouring on daces of Babylon, of blood, and gold Orient. Then the on shines clear in Iff over Babvlon ! starry sky — nias- he voice of a soli- e cry of a lonely slow, dull clang, ght up the joyou.s r on the dark and ly from the huge )rel and lute, ami rriment increases i'onufi crowd the ,vith li^'^'g gems, •obed in garment? illiant lights turn pphire, and topaz, isand of his lord.'* n does night look , From the efilded md golden lamp: Jieir lustre iling, and on the walls and on th(. thn.ii.' :em-lH..s^ed,t),.-)t high on sc.'ps uprai.sed like one sobM .jdiamond, quiverijig .stand, .sun .spjcndoni-s fla.sh around, n rob( > of purple fringed with gold, the .sensual king i ^ clad, and with him sits his beauteous wives and con" Jcubines. They sing and shoot the spai-kling glance, ftud laugh and sigh and feed his ears with horn yed flatteries and laud him as a god. The rarest flowers, bright-hued and fragrant in the brilliant light, bloom' tts in sunshine, like a mountain stream amid the silence of the dewy eve. Sweet dream-like melodies, like xliamcmd showers of a crystal fountain fall. Delicious fruits of every clime, beauteous to sight and odorifer- ous, invite the taste, and wines of sunny light, rose- *lmed for feasting gods, blush in the golden goblets. rSylph-like girls and blooming boys, flower-crowned and in apparel bright as spring, attend upon their bid- tlmg. At the sign, fi-om hands unseen, voluptuous music br(>athcs, Iiarp, dulcimer, and sweeter far than 'all, woman's melodious voice. As the eve grows on, the damsels o£ the city come abroad. Their gai^ments of every delicate- Inic, linen like snow and silk like gos.samer. Their anklets of silver and of gold, with ^golden chains and strings of pearls and gems encircling itheir necks. Their ear-rings pure gold and jeweK ;and their zones of Tyrian dye round their slim waists! jwith buckles of fine gold and gems claisped. Adown |tlieir shoulders some let fall the ambrosial ringlets, wav- ^ing loose, others the rich tresses into graceful knots gv/ovea and in golden network bound. Through 11 L'4 A Nir.HT OF FESTIVITY. I tlie city sounds tlie voice of joy and reckless merri- ment. On the spacious walls, that, like huge sea-cliffs, gird the city in, myriads of wanton feet go to and fro Gay garments rustle in the scented breeze— crimson and azure, purple, green and gold. Laugh, jest anantinie, news of the sti-an^ro occurrence has spread throuoh tlie palace ; haviii^r reach(>d tho eai-s of tho Qiie(>u Dowapu", she hastens to tho hancpu^tino- room, and being infoi-med that tho wise men cannot explain the writing, and that the agony of the king is caused by their inability to read it, she approaches'tlh knig and says: "O king, live for over: let not tliv thoughts trouble thee, nor let thy countenance ll: changed : there is a man in thy kingdom in whom is the spirit of the holy gods; and in the days of thy father light and understanding and wisdom, like the wisdom of the gods, was found in him: whom the King Nebuchadnezzar, thy father, made master of the Magicians, Astrologers. Chaldeans, and Soothsayers. Forasmuch as an excellent spirit and knowledge, and understanding, interpreting of dreams, and showing of hard sentences, and dissolving of doubts, were found in the same Daniel, whom the king named Belteshaz- zar: now let Daniel be called, and he will shew tho interpretation." Daniel is summoned. The grand old prophet enters. He walks into the banquet hall with tho calm and dignified bearing of a prince. Every eye is turned upon Iiim. Though nearly ninety years of age, he still preserves the traces of his once majestic beauty. His grey hair is flung back from liis 'fore- head, and rests promiscuously upon his shoulders. He manifests no alarm, but fixes his dark Ttiercin^r eye« ri'v. A MdllT (IK Ji'.SIIVirv, 27 '. No uncircuincisc' ■ ever: h't not thy \y countenance In ingdoin in wlioin i.s in tlie days of thy d wisdom, like the n Iiim: whom the uade master of the , and Soothsayers. id knowledge, and !iis, and showing of oubts, were found named Beltcshaz- lie will shew the d. The grand old banquet hall with prince. Every eye ly ninety years of his once majestic 3k from his fore- his shoulders. He ark Ttiercincf pvpe i — o ~^ ^- upon tiie agitated monarch and waits in solcuin silenc(^ the king's command. And the king spake and .said tmto Daniel, "Art thou that Daniel which ai't of the ichildren of the captivity of Judah, whom thy look en the dial of life, then at the deathless spirit, whose eternal destiny trembles in thr balance. The hand of time points to the eleventh hour, and no apparent effort is ir.a Ic to save him But that Omniscient eye, that never slumbers, watches the internal struggles of the dying culprit, whose every effort brings him nearer to the Saviour. The heart of Emmanuel begins to heave ; there is a power welling up, and now comes the promise from the lips of the Redeemer: "Verily, I say unto thee, to-day shalt thou be with me in Paradise." How sweet was the repose of that poor man as i those precious words smote his ear ! No prince that i ever slept his last on couch of gold and velvet, whilst J on liis ears fell the softened strains of music, felt ^ so profound a peace as did this malefactor on the 1 cross. What a change came over him in those few t brief moments ! As he was nailed to the tree, he fell h back before the black eternity appalled ! Now he feels I< the fascination of the future, which fills his soul with k an ( iH A MOUNTAIN SCENE. 3A iininistakoablo evi- i-'s lips ruviled not 1 the populace had 2 beheld glory, nm,- ald H(,'e only shanic, g his dying eyes or, lie when chou coin- moment., appalling -rtii. Angels haw issue of that dying if life, then at tlu' iny trembles in the ts to the eleventh Ic to save him But slumbers, watches Ing culprit, whose the Saviour. The ! ; there is a power niise from the lips unto thee, to-day that poor man as ! No prince that and velvet, whilst ins of music, felt ualefactor on the him in those few to the tree, he fell led ! Now he feels fills his soul with ^poetation. Ghastly death had haunted and terrified ^n. ; now to .lie is to be most happy. He had clung to hie with the grasp of a master passion ; now its Jarms ar. no more, and he waits with l,ated breath ^v the silver cord to be loosened ; fur above him the ^rps o the angels are being tune of every seraph, and become the song of choral angels, as they travel to their thrones of lirrht. Hark 1 how it reverberates through all the temples and pavilions of eternity. Raise it, every voice ; sound it, every harp ; ye thrones and dominions, principali- ties and powers, pass along the rapturous acclaim ; ye archangels, seraphim and cherubim— loud as the sound of many waters and mighty thunderings — raise, raise the overpowering sympnony, until every dwellino'- place of universal being shall vibrate with the trium- phant acclamation ! Ye martyrs of tlie crucififMJ spirits of the just and mighty, as you wave your : palms, shout, shout, for the Lord of Hosts has gotten i the victory ! Ye orbs of light which people immensity, J as you revolve in your primeval glory, take up the ' theme, and launch it onward to the distant worlds • scattered through illimitable space. Ye winds that ^ howl in the storm-blast, and gently whisper in the « breeze of summer, rehearse the matchless chorus. Ye I waves of the ocean, as ye roll in and lash the beach, r^r 811 oil iE. A MOUNTAIN' SCKNE. ho silent dew-drops ^ditly repose, gorgni ir, amid jasper walls lere archaiiifels ke<'|' n's resplendent sane- ortalitv, the asvlnin lis repose on golden they know the full jvering angels catcli renible on the lips )ng of choral angels, ight. )ugh all the temples , every voice ; sound minions, principal!- )turous acclaim ; ve I — loud as the sound lerings — raise, raiso jl every dwelling- ate with the triuni- 3 of the crucified is you wave your )f Hosts has gotten b people immensity, ylory, take up the the distant worlds ?. Ye winds that tly whisper in the }chless chorus. Ye 1 lash the beach, or »ghmg k.ss the coral strarids „f distant lands, make hown to al" that God so loved the world, that He ffive His only-begotton Son, that whosoever believeth Oil Him should not perish, but have everlasting life." '"It is finished!' lot the joyful sound Be heard the spacious caitli around. .. ' It ia finished ! ' lot the echo fly Through lieaven and hell, through earth and sky." I "No fiat Of the Godhead ever equalled this. It in- cluded m It all others, whether in the realm of matter ^ of mind, in the range of visible or invisible thin.vs & went surging back to the morn of creation r'>d «iward to the last judgment, proclaiming a full and free Jlvation to Adam and liis posterity. It was a voice %ving to the high priest, " Go ! thy work is ended t fo longer need animal sacrifices bleed; no longer In If ^r' r^'^"'"' ^" ^°"^^'^' "«^J he army ^inselfm the splendour of the pontifical robes ; no %>ger ,s the glory of the visible Shekinah needed lie time appointed for that system to exist is ovr.' Ihe true Victim has been presented, the grand sacri- If he true tabernacle which the Lord hath pitched f d not man. Christ hath abolished the law of com- iandments, contained in ordinances ; the pomp of the Sk^Msh ntual has for ever passed awav.'" When mst died the W of ceremonies died. It had a loner |d solemn burial. Then what mean the Church of |me and the Pu.eyites to dig these ceremonies up «w m the grave ? We still have altars, priests, sacri- 38 A MOUNTAIN SCENE. :!i!il i f 1 1 ! 1 ■ t 111! |i| ililiilll ficcs, washings, unctions, sprinkling, shaving, an'; purifyings. Let them hear Augustine^ censure :- " Whosoever sliall now use them, as it were rakiiii them out of their graves, is an impious and sacrile gious wretch." What may we learn from the scene we have ji.>- reviewed ? In the cross of the Redeemer we have tli. embodiment of all that is sublime and blessed. I forms the fullest manifestation of the perfections <<: Deity. It exhibits the foundation of reconciliatioi between God and man, and the source of eternal lit'i to all who believe. The cross is the grand theme d: the gospel ministry. To it the believer can ever lool with confidence and joy, and his increasing acquaint ance with its designs inspires him with increasing thankfulness and hope. Through all his conflicts li. hears the words of the crucified One, dispelling everi fear from his mind, " Be of good cheer ; I have over come the world." The cross of the Redeemer has beei the means of salvation to millions, and millions moi shall yet come under its influence. Sinner, the battl of life is not yet lost. Hope points to Calv-iry. A one of Napoleon's marshals once said to him, as tli day was well nigh spent, " Sire, there's time endtigh t^ win a victory." You are not yet before the judgment seat, nor is your probation ended. Rise at once an^ hasten to Christ. Come to Him with an honest con fession of your guilt. There is a terrible score agains you on God's book of remembrance. Go down on youi knees, and abk Jesus to lift off that mountain-load o life con owi sak har a st floo Wei him you tlie the »g fear I/' ^ier ipen f^hc iou f t»u: el at mn !JE. A MOUN'TAIX SCEN'E. 39 :]ing, shaving, aii' justineis censure :- , as it were rakiii; mpious and sacrilc scene we have juv deemer we have tlit ne and blessed. L f the perfections n: on of rcconciliatidi lurce of eternal lit'. bhe grand theme v. liever can ever looli ncreasing acquaint im with increasini I all his conflicts Ii. ne, dispelling ever} sheer ; I have over Redeemer has beei , and millions mor Sinner, the battl its to Calvo.rv. A said to him, as tli ire's time enoligh t sfore the judgment Rise at once an *"ith an honest coi. rrible score agaiib . Go down on yoi; ,t mountain-load ( life -long transgressions. You have a great deal to confess. Let other people's sins alone and look at your |wn. Implore Jesus to pardon them for His love's »ike and the sorrow of His bitter cross. " It was a hard trial to my pride to make my first prayer," said a stout- willed man, "but when my knees touched the floor my heart burst." His sins were heavy, but the height of God's love was Heavier still, and it broke fiim down. As you have lost so much time already, you must be in quick earnest to come to Jesus. Treat the sin that stands in your way as you would treat the person who stood in your way if you were rush- icg into your burning house to save your child. Does ^ar of man hinder ? Face it down. Let no one laugh you out of heaven. Does business hinder ? MaJe I your first business to seek God. Do pleasure-loving Iriends flood you with invitations to their entertain- ments ? So is God inviting you to the place of prayer. Whoso invitation Mill you decline, man's or God's ? If 2fou would be saved, you must be in earnest. From f burning ship a crowd of passengers leaped out mto fie boats and cut them loose. One boat was so filled fiat it settled to the water's edge. One drowninc^ yan clung frantically to the boat's side. " Throw him fi'!" was the cry in the boat ; " he will sink us." Some |ie, seizing a knife, cut off the fingers that clutched the gunwale ; but the poor man flung his bleeding arm around the rudder and clung to that ! " His life is as precious to him as any of ours, let him hold on if he can, ' was the tender cry that ran through the boat. 40 A MOUNTAIN SCENE, '■li itniil That man was in earnest. Ho felt a thousand fathoms of cold ocean beneath him, saw death glaring at him in every wave. Shall a man bo more earnest to save his natural life than you are to save your immortal soul > Come, then, my sin-smitten brother, to Christ. " The Spirit and the Bride say, Come." Young man, conu to God, and satisfy thy heart-thirstings with the liv- ing stream that flows in one unbroken current from the side of Him who bled on Calvary. If age haj pressed its freezing fingers on thy pulse, come ; rest thy trembling spirit on the arms that alone can bear thee up. Draw nigh, and grasp the robe of thy Sa- viour. He will never shako off thy feeble hold, but clasp thy hand tenderly in His own, and thou shah lean on His eternal strength all through the vale of death's cold shadow. ( or so le; th fe] as] H( au th( « V bet fat the one the did a el int( aadl «T1 Iati( \cin\i i ;ne. t a thousand fathoms death glaring at him )re earnest to save his your immortal soul ( ther, to Christ. " Tho Young man, conn rstings with the liv- )roken current from /alvary. If age h&i by pulse, come ; rest that alone can bear the robe of thy Sa- thy feeble hold, but 3wn, and thou shah through the vale of IV. CHRIST, THE KING. r|NE writer says, Pilato never fcn-got tho pale face of V/ the prisoner that looked on him when that pris- oner stood before him. His hands were bound, but K)mehow they have been made the shrines of bounds ^^ss power. He spoke in a soft whisper ; somehow the undertone of His words made his omnipotence a felt power. It was a strange scene. Why did Pilate ^k, " Are you a king ?" Did He look like one ? Nay f e looked like a weak and fettered man, not the' futhor of divine law. He was still as a star, still a.s fie sun. His voice was low when He said to Pilate ^My kmgdom is not of this world." There may havj feen a lofty look, he was probably dreaming of His ^.ther and His father's kingdom and the angels' songs ere, all of which He left to become what ? A pris- er before an earthly judge. « For this came I into ie world," said He. How humbly He spoke. He d not say, " I am the Messiah." He said, simply as child, " For this was I born, and this is why I ckme ito this world." Pilate said, " What is truth ? " half fdly, half sarcastically. It was the old, old question. |The truth in its fullness is God." God in Hisreve- |tion IS Christ. People moved beneath shadows looking for truth to the sun. It looked so bright but *1 ill! 111!'! i^ i : ! i j i 1 1 i i i il $--' i ^-v-^ •i ' ^^^i"!! ,i-.!l IHr-lH^Hl I :! i^l ~^\^m m :\i 42 CHRIST, THE KI.VG. it was still and the stars were still. Tho.y went t the seas. They appealed to the waters and the sa. waters were unable to make reply. And the oLI Egyptians picked up little stones. The stones thej took to be God. They were searching for God ani some people there are that scorn them. They ^v^n'■, right in their search but wrong in their object.' ^ It is humanity's misfortune, weakness," and some- times crime, not V) see truth when it is so near. Theiv was a ci-oss in Galilee, and on each side of it anotho! cross. There were three malefactors, the central on* the Redeemer. He was nailed to the cro.ss, and He died The crowd shrugged their shoulders and said : " Ht will only live in memory." They never dreamed tliir they nailed Him to human hearts, that the ciowi of thorns they put upon His head would nevei fade. They never dreamed that the shadow of th. crucifixion would be the sunshine of their history, thai He was going to walk the ages king of all men, anc that the man who died was the very King of Ao-es They put Him in a grave. He rose, and w!'nt home. He has never spoken a word since with Hi^ lip;^ , but He has spoken through others. He left words whispers then, now suns, stars, lights that will never pass away. Men have attempted to shadow them but somehow they stay. Philosophers of modem times have found this out. The world wants hop. because hope is happiness. This earth is a place tc dig graves in, but, my brethren, these words of His- are they not like the sea-shell whi-h you take away frc tht wa mu sta Bu Th Soi bro wh' but the pro eve the ;^e for and *hut SJre UD(l axe Etei darl aero If %-^' ,^k( #in3 XG. CHUIST, THE KIVG. 43 still. Thoy went t e waters and the sai •eply. And the ol. es. The stones thf\ ■arching for God ain 1 them. They wcr- n their object, kveakness, and some- n it is so near. Theiv ;h side of it anothei itors, the central oiit le cross, and He died ders and said : " Ht never dreamed tha' rts, that the ci^wi. liead would nevei the shadow of ih )f their history, that dng of all men, ant: very King of Ages [e rose, and went ord since with Hi> hers. He left words bts that will never 1 to shadow them sophers of modem world wants hope earth is a place t( ese words of His- "h you take awav from the shore, millions of leagues, and still it contains the murmurs of the ocean that cradled it ? We WAnt a Christ ; that Christ must be man ; that man must be God. The world wants love, and love is the standard, too. What standard ? Men and women. Bot there must be something back of them— Christ. This, then, is the sornnv land, yonder is joy land. Some one is wanted who can look into the heart- broken and put the smile of grace there, some one who sorrowed himself. Some philosophers deny Him, but He lives in spite of them ; He works in spite of them ; He is in the heavens. He is the Key to every problem that troubles the life of man, the key tu heal e^ery sorrow, to lay unto the sorrowing heart a joy, 1§e key that touches every human question. Philoso- ^ers have their theories, but what have they done % the world ? Have they met many tears ? Have ^ey wiped these away from the eyes of the widow ^d orphan ? How many monuments have they built ^at mean mercy, beauty, virtue, and grace ? What ^e their monuments ? Words ! Ah, words are simply 'u^*itions of the air. Those who are in the Kingdom te Kings, heirs to His Kingdom, and co-heirs of the ,emal. What is this thing called infidelity ? It is ,rkness, and some are trying to cast its .hadows Toss the light of faith and to eclipse souls. If you take Christ's name away His history remains, ke the sun out of the skies— night, hideous, ghastly. ^ -ke Christ out of the hearts of those that believe in ^im— a verdict will come after the boundary line of ■ -1 > .1 i: ! 44 CHRIST, THE KINO, m \\<\m 1;! i i ! life is past. Allow me to tell you philosophers, thati you say you came from animals such is your taste Live like animals. We came from God. We believe i' We know it, we hope it, and we will die it. You sa you move in matter, and you think there is nothiii, like spirit. You would crucify all these hopes, leav nothing here to love except the body, nothing to hoj for. Jesus has written His name on every page of In; man history and on the noblest hearts that ever bea; " On the lips of law send a prayer to God." Why i He king ? Did not He say, " I give testimony of tli truth as a very simple matter." He is King becaus He is true— because He is more than true. He : even more than that : He is all that is involved i: truth, faith, hope, love, virtue— even comfort for sor row, sunshine for darkness. Such is the Lord Chris: Philosophers, you have graves ; no altars. You hav monuments and graveyards ; no temples. We hav monuments, temples, songs, hymns, sacrifices, bettt. than all we have the living golden eloquence of life When I say I believe, I reiterate eternities. M' object is eternity. Churches differ, but in one thing ai agree, that Christ is God and King. Finally, if true religion is to be had, worship ! B- daring, hopeful, trustful. Are we such ? The que^ tion can be answered in our own conscience. Tl> best arguments against those who disbelieve Christ ' who wish to make him abdicate his sovereignty, is ou' lives. Let us live according to the right. The worL; may laugh. Who cares ? " Christ never laughed." Ht wej teU the in 1 goh on reat ful oft INO. CHRIST, THE KIXQ, 46 u philosophers, that i lis such is your tasti n God, We believe i' will die it. You sa ;hink there is nothiii. all these hopes, leav 3ody, nothing to hop on every page of hi; hearts that ever bea; er to God." Why i ^ive testimony of tli He is King becaui< •e than true. He : 1 that is involved i: even comfort for sor !h is the Lord Chris; Qo altars. You hav temples. We hav ms, sacrifices, bette: 3n eloquence of life •ate eternities. Mi ', but in one things &l 3 had, worship ! Br r^e such ? The ques vn conscience. Tht lo disbelieve Christ. is sovereignty, is oui e right. The world never laughed." He wept, and tears are deeper than laughter. The eyes tell more than the lips. Let the name of Christ live by the key which we carry in our hands, in our hearts, in this valley of tears. It is not a heavy key, it is golden. Being true to the key of life, let us go down on our knees. Our faith is Godlike, and when we reAch the wonderful land, the rapture-land, the peace- ful land, tlie joyland, that key will open the treasures of the Kingdom of Christ. '1 ! i Ml ! I N If:! ,'M mi iiifiiijiiiii^ V. THE PRINCES OF PULPIT ORATOR rTHEY were men of rare qualifications, " the unriv; 1 led masters of sacred eloquence." I have hoi some of the most popular ministers who adorn t English pulpit— men of lofty scholarship and comp, hensive knowledge, all of whom any nation would proud to raidc among its ecclesiastical hierarchy; I while cordially acknowledging their eminent meri- m my opinion they do not even approach the men refer to in their power to move, and thrill, a,nd su due a mixed and popular audience. They had in f eminent degree that first requisite of all great oratoi cal success, especially in the pulpit— intense earnes ness. Their life was so laborious, self-denying, ai; devoted, that not a moment's doubt could rest on tl minds of their hearers of the lofty impulse by whie they were moved, and the perfect simplicity of pu- pose by which they were seeking not theirs, but then But they had, moreover, rare natural advantages f their office. Many of them were men of stately ai commanding personal appearance, anc were endowt with voices of great compass and melody, which I constant use they had learnt so to rule as to expres^ with the nicest modulation, all the varying moods c an orator's mind. It is true that they claimed ar. 46 exer hibi resti decc it al fqpti swa; used that gory imp; The: thosi dfct? used the ries, cont Uki^ thef strca thet for 11 II able not 1! the s :fik>m THE T'RIKCES OF PULPIT ORATORY. 47 ^PIT ORATOR ications, " the iinriv; lence." I have ha: isters who adorn t lolarship and com pi any nation would tstical hierarchy ; 1 their eminent merii approach the men , and thrill, and sii ice. They Iiad in a e of all great orator pit — intense earnes' us, self-denying, an abt could rest on t); by impulse by wliic it simplicity of pu: not theirs, but thee bural advantages f( men of stately an !, anc were endowt d inelody, which I o rule as to expres- e varying moods c ,t they claimed ."■!! exercised nnlle gatherings. Sometimes the platform Avas pitched H^t far from the sea-shore, the softened murmur of t|e sea mingling with the sound of sacred song that m the assembled multitude, '• Rose like a Btream of rich distilled perfume, And stole upon the air." 48 THK PRINCE3 OF PULPIT ORATORY. Ki IJliililllW Sometimes it ^vas in on open glade amid rieh wcx> , land scenery, a «pot being usually chosen ^vhere tl T green sward sloped up gradually from the sta ,*? * on which the ministers stood, forming a sort of ascn^ ing natural gallery. And as the surrounding tr. , gen ly swayed by the wind, bent an.^ rustled ^' might almost seem, amid the solemn associations of tl scene, to the excited feelings of the people, *^' ' • As if the forest leaves were stirred with prayer " S^f ' A preacher of known eloquence standing up , mr those occasions, when all impulse of soul and L ul combined to render every heart accessible to impi; ZZ sion, found his work already half done. Re J^" a dense mass of human beings in serried array h t^; fore him, each upturned countenance flushed wit ^ ! . that eager and friendly expectation so favorable to L'i speaker. As he proceeded with his discourse a dee 3 hum of approval-probably inherited from Purita.i ^ i times-indicated to him the quick appreciation of hi w hearers for any skill in argument dr felicity of illu. Zt tration which he might display. But when tl,: j^ preacher became more animated, his delivery wou! Zll often pass into a kind of wild recitative, -which had a: «! inexpressive charm to the ear. while at the same ti.. 'f L It wa. so free and elastic as to adapt its musical und. exhil lations to all forms of solemn warning, awful denn. ^ j ciation, or pathetic appeal, which an impassione Sn oratory requires. As the excitement gathered a. Xm grew, the eflfect was indescribable. Wave after wav- £„, ot emotion would pass over and thrill through th. ^pl IT ORATORY. THE PRINCES OF PULPIT ORATORY. 49 glade amid rich wcx> lly chosen where tl lally from tlie stfi. •ming a sort of asceii he surrounding ti-ii bent anc' rustled, mn associations of tl the people, irred with prayer. " 2nce standing up c Ise of soul and sen? accessible to imprt.- half done. He sat in serried array h snance flushed wit: on so favorable to his discourse a dee; )rited from Puritani k: appreciation of hi ' 6r felicity of illus ^y. But when tli his delivery woul itative,-whichhada: iile at the same tiui ipt its musical undu rning, awful denun ch an iinpassione ment gathered an Wave after wav- thriii through ih vast congi-egation, until it was seen to move and sway toaiul fro. as the trees of the forest arc moved with the wind. Of the thousands of eyes rivetted upon him tlie preacher would now see numy swinmiing in tears, while loud sobs and passionate responses from hundreds of voices echoed liack his appeals. This again would re-act upon himself, rousing him to yet grater fc-vour of eloquence. It was .such preaching as tlas that roused England from its spiritual toi-por. "W^io can measure the grand results of their work ? li'Hvould require the eloquence of an archangel to pay t]||bute to memories so sacred and careers so glorious. T!||ey wrestled not with flesh and blood, but with principalities and powers, whose swords once flashed Bi|Jbattle with those of the Seraphim on the plains of ^ht. Many of them were " born to blush unseen " spend their strength on rough and dreary roads, eir great fight of affliction, their hard work, hard fe, severe warfare, nightly journeys, and weary etchings when well nigh worn out by the bedside of ed ones and the faithful but fading helpmate, ire patiently endured. The ensign which once ■earned in the vision of the most rapt of all the seers Israel, they unfurled wherever they went. They Shibited Christ in the raiment of His suffering, which duced an effect which no reason and philosophy The trophies' which they won, bear no resem- nce to those found in the repositories of earthly _tigdoms, but imperishable trophies, which shall be ||Bplayed at the " grand review," when time shall be 60 TRR PRIVCES OP PULPtT OHATOnY. ijlii! > t . no n)ore. Though tlio Wesloy.s. Whitfiehl, Edwnr, abo^ Davis. Asbuiy, Clark, Clrnhnc-rs, Welsh. Guthrie J', colo sons au.l Hill are no longer seen upon the towers T Zion, and llyerson, Harland, Sanderson and Punsh, of p with tlieir mantles wrapped around tlieni, liave fall, men in the assault, they have left hehind then, inonuni,,, istrx more beautiful than nuirl.le and more en.lurin.r tl, HoJl brass, and whieh will stand unhurt when the worl, need last sob is hushed. Those stars of other days hv seek disappeared, retired from the firmament with r.- v^hui splendour. It ^,•as a passing away sueh as the wor the c seldom beholds, so beautiful and serene that the 1„ tion vens were filled with chariots and horsemen of fire t life. witness the glory of their departure. " Our fathers in Israel have answered to the ciV / [?Tn ^^ "P ^"^^''' ' ' ^"^^ ^'^''^ ^^^t ^° ^""^Pty place i the Church. O, that God would induce some one to lir up the banner wliich they have dropped, and step int the place which their death has left vacant. ' Anothe man to take the c<.lours !' was the cry in one of o„ regiments on the battle-field . they lay on thu groun^i and the gallant young ensign bleeding beside then: It was answered, bravely answered. Throuo-h tk m ^noke of battle the sun glanced again on the levelled I line of muskets, and another volley rang. Again that 1 cry, ' Another man to take the colours !' Steppin I forth, one bent over the dead, loosed the staff froii 1 he dead man's fingers, and flung the flag on hio-h ir the face of the foe. Yet another volley rancr ; he'' to, ■ goes down; and a tkird time the cry ros^ terrible | ill ill IT ORATOnV. TlIK PIUNCKM OF I'LLHir OKAlOUV. 61 s, WliitfioM, Eilvvar ', Welsh, Giithriu, ]';i '11 uiK)ii tlio towers txleivsoii and PuhsIk unil tlieni, have fall lind them nionumcn more eiKhiriiifr tli„ nrt wlien the worLi i of other days hai irmament with ro" ay such as tlie wor serene tliat the lie:. d liorsemen of fire t ure. answered to the ca! eft an empty place i: duce some one to lit ri'pped, and step int 3ft vacant. ' Anotlw: le cry in r)ne of on Y lay on tho groumi ceding beside them 2red. Through tli- gain on the levellet V' rang. Again tha- colours !' Steppiii. osed the staff froi. the flag on hiofli i: volley rang ; he, ta 3 cry rose, tembM above the roar of battle, 'Another man to take the colours!'" Tho Church stands in need of men of niioht, men of prayer, men that can wield the sword of the si)irit ; men who are fully consecrated to tho Christian min- istry, and are willing to do battle for tho Lord of ^ts, under all circumstances. Such men are greatly n§clod in this age, who will frown down the self- 8a|king spirit which so prominently exists in the C|urch to-day. May God raise up an army, like unto til old warriors of former days, whose highest ambi- fci#i was to save souls from death and win immortal I Ni I iWi mi' i^ll i il YI. CHARLES DICKENS' GOSPEL. DICKENS preached, not in a church, nor from pulpit, but a gospel which the people understood- the gospel of kindliness, sympathy, in a word, humar ity. His theology may be found in the following beai tiful extracts from his works on the subject of deatl " Even when golden hair lay in a halo on a pillo? round the worn face of a little boy, he said with , radiant smile: 'Dear papa and mamma, I am very sorr to leave you both and to leave my pretty sister, but am called and I must go.' Thus the rustling of & angel's wings got blended with other echoes, and ha in them the breath of Heaven." " There is no time there and no trouble there. TIi spare hand does not tremble ; nothing worse than sweet, bright constancy is in her face. She goes nei before him — is gone.*' " The dying boy made answer, ' I shall soon I there.' He spoke of beautiful gardens stretched oi before him, which were filled with figures of men, an many -children, all with light upon their faces ;' an whispered that ' it was Eden ' and so died." "Its turned very dark, sir. Is there any ligl a-coming ? The cart is shaken all to pieces, and tL rugged road is very near its end. I'm a gropin'-l 52 |o frc i»t'oni( CJIAKLKS DICKKNs' GOSHia. 53 ropin' — let me catch hold of hand. g ^ „ Hallowed %o Thy name." I " Dead ! my lords and gentlemen. Dead ; men and ^omon, born with heavenly compassion in your hearts. **nd dying thus around us, every day." " He slowly laid his face down upon her bosom, :rew his arm closer around her neck, and with one' larting sob began the world. Not this world. Oh, ot this ! The world that sets this right." ' If this be sleep, sit by me while I sleep. Turn le to you for your face is going far off, and I want be near.' And she died like a child that had gone So sleep." "Time and the world M^ere slipping from beneath nm. He's going out with the tide, and it being low •ater he went out with the tide." "'Don't cry! Is my chair there ? In its old place ? _ 'he face, so full of pity and gi-ief, that would appeal to me, that solemn liand upraised towards heaven ! ft is over.' " J " One new mound was there, which had not been there last night. Time, burrowing like a mole below the ground, had marked his track by throwing up another heap of earth." " She was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, So free from trace of pain, so fair to look upon. She' Snined a creature fresh from the hand of God, and 11 to pieces, and ^^£^^2/"''^" ^^t"^ ^'^'' "'* ""' ^^^^" ^"^ ^^'^ 1 m a giopin-^. y^.^ ^.jjj ^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^^,, S' GOSPEL. church, nor from people understood- y, in a word, humar ti the following beat :he subject of deatl n a halo on a pillow 3oy, he said with nma, I am very son /■ pretty sister, but the rustling of a: her echoes, and ha trouble there. Th thing worse than ace. She goes nei r, 'I shall soon 1 trdens stretched oi I figures of men, ai m their faces ; ai so died." Is there any lie:! \ a' ' ' ' ■ii in lil ! j •!! ■^'' % 1 :| li'i' ^iiiiiilil 54 CHAKLES dickens' GOSPEL. " The hand soon stopped in the midst of them ; tl light that had ahvays been feeble and dim beliii the weak transparency, went out." " For a moment the closed eyelids trembled, a. the faintest shadow of a smile was seen. Thus cliu. ing to that slight spar within her arms, the motli drifted out upon the dark and unknown sea that ro, round all the world." " It's very near the sea ; I hear the waves ! Tl light about the head is shining on me as I go 1 Tl old, old fardiion, that came in with our first garmer and will last unchanged until our race has run i; course, and the wide firmament is rolled up like scroll, Ohl thank God for that old fashion yet, immortality I And ^ look upca us angels of youi children, when the swift river bears us to the oceai " In this round of many circles within circles, do w, make a weary journey from the high grade to the lo? to find at last that they lie close together, that the tv extremes touch, and that our journey's end is but o; starting place." " A cricket sings upon the hearth ; a broken chile toy lies upon the ground, and nothing else remains' " I am going to heaven ! The sunset is very nea: And the child who went to heaven rose into the goldt air and vanished." c io itne bus tire |fro [a r sir al ilo^^ Ise ( we ( ligu od, (nn"£ tl of sr I the pRiyin iBi)rtal Si^iaii GOSPEL. e midst of them ; tl L'ble and dim behiij L" yelids trembled, ar. as seen. Thus cliu/ er arms, the motb ptknown sea that roi sar the waves ! Tl Dn me as I go ! Tl th our lirst garmei Dur race has run i; I is rolled up like | t old fashion yet,' | us angels of youi 2ars us to the oceai within circles, do v, igh grade to the lo? Dgether, that the tv rney's end is but oi 'th ; a broken chlit! I ihing else remains.' sunset is very nea: . rose into the goldt c 'il VTL HIS LAST BATTLE. jURING the Peninsular war, a British regiment embarked in transports for Lisbon, Portugal. In : of the companies were a few Christian soldiers iio loved and feared +he Lord. There was one whose ane was Willir . -ho generally conducted the reli- E)us services. ;i^ ,je Christian soldiers would often lire from the murderous trenches of a besieged city, Ifrom the ramparts of a conquered town to the banks la river, and there, by the light of the moon, hold >ir prayer-meetings and praise God that they were ' alive and permitted to meet together in Christian bwship. William would often address them at the |se of the meeting, thus : " Comrades, we shall soon ve done with marching and counter-marching, with ligue-parties and trenches, with camps and fields of |od, and then, oh ! then, to depart and be with Christ. Imrades, look up, your redemption draweth nigh." 'At length they were hurried pell-mell into the bat- of Barossa ; it was a day of slaughter that will pr be remembered by the survivors. At the close I the battle a soldier ran up to Briery, one of the lying company, and told him that their leader was ktally wounded. He at once obtained permission ^ali out ind get him into some hospital waggon, 55 'i' :t m If li I. i ' ' -4 56 HIS LAST BATTLE. and as he was trcadiTig his way between dead ar dying soldiers, a dragoon, who knew the prayin breast and with tl, 3. Kneeling tender! and said, " William pened his eyes, ai, aimed faintly, "^\1. you found me out Briery afFectionatA, omrade and broth 3d down his chcd; nded ?" He repli. 1 my left breast, a! my soul will Icm ig fast, and stinglt . is drawing: nii;! L ?" He pressed 1, , " Oh ! comrade, t; khan I can possil ver his breath, whi 'illiam, tell me," s;i ur soul ? Is Clir; fought in many h derness, held nia: u have often told np, in the trench, lard and on the march. Is Christ with you now ?" the great surprise of his conu-ade, he raised himself so as to occupy a sitting posture, leaning partly on s comrade's shoulder, and taking his hand from the ound from which the blood flowed freely, he raised s eyes to heaven and said, " Oh ! comrade, the joys my soul are greater than the pains of my body ; s. indeed, Jesus is precious. Farewell ! I am w going to be witii Jesus," and then waving his nd and gazing around, he said, " Farewell ! marches A trenches and fatigue-parties. Farewell ! battle- |(lds, sun, moon and stars." He then paused, ex- lausted, but turning to his companion, he said, " Yes, rewell ! beloved cona-ade in Christ Jesus ; meet me heaven, for in a few moments my soul must depart, id then ' I'll march up the heavenly street, And ground my arms at Jesus' feet ;' " pis head sank back upon his friend's shoulder, and ^^iddenly the bugle sounded to call in stragglers from |ie field on some special duty. With a heart stricken |ith sorrow, he laid him gently down to die alone. ), not alone ! Beings whose feet leave no footprints re near him, whispering words of heavenly conso- -tion to his departing spirit. The chariot of the King §f Kings stood waiting, the fiery steeds pawing the ^arth with impatience. And suddenly there was heard |11 around a sound like the passage of swift wings, And then m I I in Willi III '■ ill! ! * t iiiii mi :,, ijlj jil j 58 niS LAST BATTLE. " His spirit with a bound Left its encumb'ring clay ; His tent at sunrise on the ground A darisen'd ruin lay." And away sped chariot and horses to the palace J the Great King, and as they drew near the CelestiJ City, a shout was heard, " Lift up your heads, oh J gates, and be ye lifted up ye everlasting doors, tbi the heir of glory may enter in." As the flaming equ' I page entered the pearly portals, the welcome plaudi:! was given, " Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." " Who would not like to die like those Whom God as friends delights to blesa T To sink into a night's repose, Then wake to perfect happiness." — ^v L,E. nd g clay ; I the ground ^" Drses to the palace o| w near the Celestial ip your heads, oh v erlasting doors, tha; As the flaming equi the welcome plaudi; \oy of thy Lord." like those lights to bless ? je, jpiness." VIII THE ORPHAN. OT long ago, as the cars stopped at Saratoga, among the passengers from the west was a mid^ le-aged man. He held in his arms an infant, and loth he and the child were poorly clad. Around his lat was tied a piece of soiled crape. It Avas evidently .11 the mourning his scanty means could afford, for /he mother of the child, who was dead. This man 'as rough in the exterior, but his face was an honest ^ne. Unaccustomed to nursery life, he handled the iDaby roughly ; yet there was a tenderness in his f ook, which showed the purity of a father's love. |rhe child lay asleep, unconscious of the loss it had lustained, on his coarsely clad knee. Thev were :)oth tired, for they had come from the far west. |As he raised his broad, hard, toil-worn hand to |hield it from the scorching rays of the sun, there ■as blended in his looks a mixture of sadness and :are, as if his pent-up feelings had been so crowded lack into the inner recesses of his heart, that even .ears could not have been any relief to the hidden -nguish that was making his life a misery. The poor :hild wept; perhaps it missed itc mother. The father ^viped away the tears and tried to feed it. He was io awkward with the bottle, that he could not give .59 ■ I I !l I ! ■Ill ilil&ii i ! ill II I 60 THE OUPIIAN. I it the nourishment it required. Again and ao-air he tried to hush the cries and check the tears of hi; motherless child, and all who saw him pitied him At length a lady, richly costumed, with an infan: resting on the lap of its nurse, said, in a soft, geii tie tone, " Give me the child." The poor man glancoc at her with a look of gratitude, for there was a mother- tenderness in her voice. With humble resignation, a if it were pain to part with him, even for a moment he gave her his boy. She placed the child on her lap its soiled clothes resting on her costly silk ; and it; heavy head was soon beneath her shawl, and in t moment it was asleep. Like the Grecian daughter who, through the iron bars of a prison cell, fed her starving father, so did this lady nurse the child ; am, when, on her gentle bosom, the little one lay in calu. and unvexed sleep, she put aside her shawl. Tin father's heart was filled with gratitude, and with teai> in his eyes and his voice thick with emotion, he said " Thank you, madam, I'll take him now." Then tli^ woman's nature spoke : " Not yet ; you will wak. him " ; and for mile after mile that noble-heartetll woman held that poor man's child, and it was not til her own little one required such nourishment as onl} a mother can give, she gently rose and placed tht stranger boy in his father's arms. How mysteriou- are the >vays of Providence ! How difficult it is a: all times to say, " Thy will be done." How few thery are who can submit, without a murmur, to such sterrj discipline. Nothing but the sustaining power of God s| THE ORPHAN-. 61 jrace can make us say, under such trying circum- kances, "Just and true are Thy ways O Kino- of saints." But is it not written, " My grace is sufficient tor thee." Are the promises of God less inspiring than kliey were when the martyrs perished at the stake ? The passenger in an Atlantic storm remains tranquil ^vhile he sees the commander unmoved. And on the Llpine wilds, while the grand hills are shaken to jtheir very foundations by the rolling thunder, and 3ath after path lighted up by the flashing lightnings, md the receding glens that run up among the hills ire tui-ncd into as many trumpets, giving back the Bcho of the thunder, the mountaineer bounds like a lart along the dangerous pathway, nerved by the fearless visage of his guide. Then why are ye, the Deloved of the Lord, so distracted with fears ? Is le not a hiding-place from the wind, and a covert from the tempest ? The name of the Lord is a strong tower, the righteous run into it and are safe. Here |s a shelter for your fainting spirits, where you can abide till the storms pass over. Then, however rug- ^^ed and dangerous be your journey through life, fear ye not ; the Lord of Hosts is with you, and the 'xod of Jacob is your refuge. , i m mm mm '■II.! <( IX. OUR WILLIE/' AN aged woman was seen walking among the tomKs of an old churchyard, picking off the moss from the decayed headstones, and trying to decipher the quaint characters carved upon them, but failing to discover the spot she desired so much to find, she sat down and wept bitterly. The people as they passed stopped to enquire the cause of her trouble, but they could get no answer; her sorrow was too deep to find expression in words. At length she told her story. " I have come," said she, " hundreds of miles to take a last look at a grave which I know is in this place, but I cannot find it. More than fifty years ago, I buried a child here, and all through those long years, thoufi-h moving liere and there, I could not forget him. Though old and feeble, I felt as if I could not die without having another look at his grave. I was sure I could have gone right to t!ie spot." But the gravej^ard and its surroundings had so changed, that the mother sought in vain in that wilderness of ■ ,o-raves for the headstone which bore the lovin;: words, " Our Willie." Half a century ago her dear '-^ boy was buried there, and a small stone placed at J his head to mark the spot. Cr2 OfU WILLIE. C3 .•> y among the tomKs off the moss from g to decipher the .'m, but failinor to ich to find, she sat pie as they passed ' trouble, but they as too deep to fiiii 16 told her storv. of miles to take a 3 in this place, but sars ago, I buried a ong years, though not forofet him. f I could not die is grave. was e spot." But the i so changed, that lat wilderness of bore the lovimi; ury ago her dear 1 stone placed at ^(1^ Time and decay had done their work, and " — lost each luiinan trace, surrendering up His inilividuiil l)cing, lie has gone To be a brother to the insensil)Ie rock And to tlie sluggish clod, which tlie rude swain Turns with his share and treads upon." I Though kind words were spoken to her, no Iniinan I sympathy could quiet her troubled heart. She 'k would every now and then raise her head and look J through her tears on the headstones nnd briars, and J .as her heart expanded with the weight of her grief, '^ she sobbed out : " I'm afraid I can't find him in M heaven, it is so large." The poor aged mother knew 5 not the words she uttered. Though heaven is so ; large, she will experience no difficulty in finding her " Willie " there. He who took him from her in I the pride of her womanhood, will find him for her, . and it may be that the glorificjd spirit of her dead boy was then waiting her arrival at the gates of the celes- tial city, and w^ould be the first to greet her when the bitterness of death was passed. Though our hearts are riven with grief and life's shadows like a funeral pall settle down upon us at times, we must not forget that He who makes the widow's heart to rejoice, can change the blackest cloud into a pavillion of light. His sweet words come to us in our grief, sorrow, and loneliness, " Lo I am with you alway." Yea, when flesh and heart shall fail and the spirit flickers in the dying flame, He has promised to be the strength of our hearts and our portion for ever V>licn strong men shall have borne us to the grave and left us in the house \ii 64 "Ol'K WILLI K. ill appointed for all living, tho angels of the Lord shal keep vigil over our dust through the long night ( time, and when our Lord shall coino again the seeon, time He will not forget to awaken us out of our slet'] so that we may be present at the man-iage feast. L not such a faith worth living for v To ''die withoii; Christ, and to go down to the grave without the hop. of a joyful resurrection, is a thought too awful t contemplate. How many there are whose hopes an confined to the narrow limits of this present life ; tho} live as though there was no hereafter. O ! that 'some" thing could be done to force upon their attentiui, those great and infinite realities that link time h eternity ! Lord, speak to them, and if the thunder d" Thy truth does not awaken them, let the lightuhi- of Thy awful presence flash upon their mhids. L those agencies of Thy power do not move thum, sho\^ them Thy wounds which their sins have made, and ii they do not melt their hearts, appeal to them with al the tenderness and pathos Thy love can command, an. should they still resist the entreaties of Thy Spirit (. Father, for Thy Son's sake, spare them yet anothei year. ) 'i ^ of the Lord shal the Ion IT nii,Mit < e firrahi the secnii us out of our sk'c; narrifige feast. ] ? To die withoi, ) without the lio) iyht too awful t 'e whose hopes nr present life ; tlui !r. O ! that some >n their attentioLj that link time tJ I if the thunder cf| let the li<^htninoj their minds. Ill move tlium, show'^ have made, and if^i 1 to them with allj| can command, and 3 of Thy Spirit, 1 ;hem yet another X. HOME AND ITS INFLUENCES. HOME ! There is a never-fai" in,; inter st connected with tl 3 mention of the natMo. The tenderest, the holiest and the purest f(;elings ,re associated with it. The thought, or the sound of the word, raises emo- ^,ions in the mind like to sweet simple music, that [Lrings back to us the scenes and events that have gone into the shadow land. The varied, and vet united interests of the family bond, form in our minds |a chord of the sweetest harmony that acts upon our Ibetter nature with a softening and refining influence. [All this is well expressed by the primitive idea con- nected with the word ; for is not " ham," or lujme, that which " hems" us in ? To one who has gone from the nest, or may be wandering far from his fatherlo.d, longing once more to be encircled by the "hem" of domestic life, the utterance of the word has a pathetic beauty about it akin to that of the pleading of Bar- zillai the aged : " Let thy servant, I pray thee, turn back again, tliat I may die in mine own city, and be buried by the grave of my father and mother." Home! There are but few words in our language that have so much intenseness of meaning attached to them. The name comprises everything connected with tenderness and care and love. " Home," says 5 65 H 'I i 66 HOME A\D ITS IN'FLUEXCKS. ilii one writer, " is lieaven's fallen sister." It is one of^ the blessing-s that has survived the ruins of the fall, a relic of man's primeval state, which infinite beneti-^ cence guarded from the lightning of His indignation.' It is an oasis in the wilderness of life, where humairi spirits meet in fraternal greetings. It is the morniui:- star of our existence, and the evening star of ouri declining years. It is the rainbow upon the thunder-! cloud, that tells us of a quiet retreat from the tempest ■ of misfortune and calamity. Home is the asylum of" a mother's love. What ties are so imperishable as' those which bind her to her offspring! With what I interest does she watch the opening faculties and I dawning intelligence of her child. His education,' moral culture, and prospects for life absorb her I thoughts ! Is he sick ? — night after night she! watches by his side and ministers to his necessities, Should he become unfortunate, and clouds of sorrow i darken his path, and those who were his friends in I prosperity leave Wm, there is one retreat to which he can always go, the asylum of a mother's love! He may forget her, disregard her warning voice, and be unmoved by her .ears; but she cannot forget him. He may violate the laws of his country, and be I thrown into prison; yet, however serious the crime he has perpetrated, there is one heart which ever beat^ true to the prodigal. Home is a school for the| culture of the strongest religious feelings and princi- ples The impressions made by a parent's religious I teachings, prayers &r i example, are the ieepest and Sest, j ! t, HOME AXD ITS IXFLUEN'CES. 67 [lost abiding that the min<.l receives. They linger f ong after impressions from other sources liave faded feway. No son can wander so far from a Christian home a.s to be beyond the reach of its religious influ- Jeuces. He may leave the laughing streams'knd wood- tlauds of his home, and take up his residence in a fistant city, where new scenes and duties engage his Attention, and let go the reins of passion, and revel in Ihe whirlpool of dissipation, but, in the midst of all bis^ revelry, whispering voices will tell him of home, |nd a pious father's anxiety, and a mother's solicitude |or him.^ Wherever he may be, these influences will lollow him as so many "angel messengers" thronging bis pathway, and pointing back to his home. If°the Jon of pious parents is out upon the broad ocean, he /ill carry with him the remembrance of his Christian fcome. The Bible in his chest, placed there by a aether's hand, will remind liim or her tender care and lounsel. In the storm, when the tempest rages, and leath is rushing on the gale, the sailor-boy will think |f home, and the warm influence that is felt there in MS welfare. I remember reading of a storm at sea, which came |n suddenly, and with such violence as to make the Iravest heart on board the ship quail. The infuriated hnds, the foam-crested waves, the forked lightning, llie bending masts, and the wild melancholy music of Ihe shrouds, all seemed as so many harbingers of Jpproaching death. At the moment when tlfe tem- pest, in terrific grandeur, was sweeping around the 68 HOMfi AXD ITS IN'PLUEyCES. iji stout ship, the cabin-boy hastened to the captain anj assured him that they would outride the storm /" What reason have you for thinking so ?" asked tJ captain. " Sir," said he, " this is the time for eveninJ prayer at home, and I know father and mother J praymg for me." Nor was he disappointed. Thtlj storm ceased, the dark clouds fled, and the beautifiJ stars shone down upon the waters, and it was ascerf tamed afterwards that at that hour the family were engaged in earnest devotion, and that the absent sor was commended to Him who controls the waves and can hush the fury of the storm. You may have read ot the orphan sailor who left his home at an earlv age, and after years spent in vice, returned to hiJ native village in search of liis widowed mother Api proaching tlie old homestead, he knocked at the door Imt no one came to admit him; he called aloud, but received ao reply ; all was silent as the tomb. At length a ndghbour, seeing his anxiety and distress, inquired of him whom he was seeking. Scarcely able to give utterance to his words, for he feared the worst, he stammered out the name of his mother and little brother. The neighbour, in tones of tenderness, and 7utt i ''\ ^T^'''^ ""'^^ sympathy, informed hin, tha,t the boy had been dead a year ago, and that severe affliction, together with the mother's distress and anx- lety tor a son long absent at sea, had hurried her to buried '"Tb"'"!,r''"'''^ ''^ ^""^ ^^^^^^^^ -' buried. The intelligence went like an arrow to the young man's heart ; he could not find words to expres^i :5fCES. to the captain and outride the storml ing so ?" asked tbi le time for evening or and mother aiti disappointed. The , and the beautiful 1, and it was asceri ir the family were! hat the absent son! ■ols the waves and| 'ou may have read home at an earlv s, returned to hisi wed mother. Ap- ocked at the door ! called aloud, but as the tomb. Atj iety and distress ng. Scarcely able } feared the worst, mother and littlei 'f tenderness, and hy, informed him o, and that severe distress and anx- d hurried her to :)od woman was 3 an arrow to the words to express HOME AND ITS IN'FLUEN'CKS. 69 'lis bitter anguish in being the cause of so much grief ;o a pious and devoted mother. Could ho ha\o seen lier but for an hour— could he have mingled one drop jof consolation in her cup of sorrow ! Br' yesterday |slie was lowered into the cold grave, the fresh sods narked her resting-place, whither the yoilng man [would have gladly gone, that he might have died with lier. The neighbour, on learning that he was the Iwidow's eldest son, said she had a letter for him which liis poor mother wrote a fev/ days before she died, and \.'sired the neighbour, should he ever return, to give o him. The following is a copy : — "My dearest only Son.— Wh'in this reaches you I shall be no more f your little brother has gone before me, and I cannot but liope and believe that he was prepared. I had fondly hoped that 1 iliould cnce more have seen you on the shore of mortality, but this liope is now relinquished. I have followed you by my prayers ilirongu all your wandering ; often while you have little suspected it; even m the dark cold night of winter I have prayed for my l„st son. There is but one thing tliat gives me pain at dying, and that IS, my dear William, that I must leave you in this wickeu world as fear, unreconciled to your xAlaker. I am too feeble to sav mo're. ny glass is run. As you visit the sod that covers my dust,"o ' re- member that you must follow. Farewell ! Tlie last breath of your mother will be spent in praying for you, that we may meet above. ' How sublime and touching were the thoughts and 'oelings of that dying mother. How strong mnst !uive been her love for her son as to enable her to rise piiperior to death, and leave behind her an appeal, by H\ Inch though dead, she might speak to the heart of ler prodiiral. The love of home is universal. It is the twin feel- 70 HOMi; AND ITS INKLUEN'CKS. ill ing to tliat of life. Tlic rude savage loves the in-l meval forests of liis native land better than all the refined associations of civilized life. The Jews as I they sat hy Babel's stream, with their harps Imng iJ the willows, mournfully exclaim, as memory recalled the haltowed scenes of home: "If I forget thee, Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning'; if I do not remember thee let my tongue cleave to tlioj roof of my mouth; if I prefer .0 Jerusalem abovol my chief joy." The thoughts of Zion drew tears from I their ^yes. Even Joseph, though surrounded by tlici glittering pomp and proud magnificence of an Egyptian 1 palace, could not forget the white tents of Jacob, The exile, torn by the rude hand of tyranny from his home and kindred, dreams of the land that gave him birtli, A gentleman gives the following touching incident 1 which came under his notice at the close of "the battle of Fort Donelson. " A dark-haired man of apparently twenty-two or three years of age, I found leaning against a tree, his breast pierced by a bavonet. He said he lived in Alabama ; that he joined the rebels in op position to his parents' wishes ; that his mother, when she found that he would go into the armv, had given him her blessing, a Bible, and a lock of her hair. Tin; Bible lay half-opened on the ground, and the hair— a dark lock tinged with grey-that liad been within ih' leaves, was in his hand, and tears were in his eyes /is he thought of his anxious mother, pausing, porhap>^ amid her prayers, to listen for the long-expected foot- steps of her son who would nevermore return. In nOME AXQ ITS IXFLUEKCES. that lock of liair, even more than in the sacred volume, I religion Avas revealed to the dying man ; and I saw him lift the tress again and again to his lips and kiss it, as his eyes looked dimly across the misty s^a that bound the shore of life from death, as if he saw his mother reaching out tt him the arms that had nursed him in his infancy ! " You may travel in search of beauty, variety, or pleasure, cast, west, north and south ; — go to iVrabia, and sec the waving palm tree spreading its feathery leaves beneath the scorching sun ; — go to Greenland, Avhero the firmament spangles the unclouded sky and where the moon sleeps in full-orbed radiance on the crystal iceberg ; — go to Italy, with its vineyards ripen- ing and gushing under the ever mellowing sunshine ; —go to the Alpine glen, where the glaciers gleam and the avalanches thunder ; — go to the mountain torrent, or the dimpling lake ; still your thoughts will some- times wander to a distant shore ; perhaps to a distant graveyard, where a wife and child are sleeping ; or to a distant cottage, where that wife and child took wing for heaven, and you will say — " There is one land, of every land the pride, Beloved of Heaven o'er all the world beside ; There ia one spot of earth — supremely blest, A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest. Say, would'st thou ask, where shall that spot be found? Art thou a man — a patriot — look round ; sun shalt thou find, where'er thy footsteps roam. That land thy Country, and that spot thy home t" Our home here may be one of privation and suffer- 72 "OMn AM) ITS IXFLUEXCES, '■ HI!S!;M5 ■ or make it desolate. Eomember, tl.is wo.i! is no. o J astmg home, and tl>at there is a h,„.,. prepared forC I: ^vc love Jesus,vvhero we si,all all be e.Llsior wes Ui .0 k,ngs and pnests to God. Sooner o... ia,er „-e ..at nl. of us leave our present abodes: and w. shall hav, . i.o need to t.-,ke our furniture with us-for if f Thri.t 'f our nenc^ ,ve .hall find that He has prepared a pla J thehe TT "'■',*^'"-»'J biting winds shall lip' the beau y ft,,,,,. a,e cheeks of our beloved one.. Thd I healtn ,ke ti>.,,u. a^o. lations, will be perfect and abi, mg. Here^ our choicest pleasures are transient. The I charms of beauty fade, the trophies of ambition mou der „^o dust, and all the pomp and splendour of We vamsh away; but the happiness of the glorified J perfect ! consummate ! There will be nothing to a.i: ' tate and disturb their peace and enjoyment Let us anticipate the hour wl>e„ our tent will be struck for the last tin,e. The distance between u and our Father-s home shortens every moment V liave but a ew more hills to climb and rivers to ford and we shall enter the rest that remains for the poo pie of God. Dr. Rowland Taylor, when drawing near the towers of Hadleigh, in Suffolk, where he had been a nnn,ster and was then going to be a martyr, be ™ asked how he was, answered, " Never better, for n.,w i. know that I am almost home " ; and lookin., ove • ' e meadow between him and the place where he immediately to be ': ,mt, he said, ■■ Only ,.,-0 • ,fes more to get over a . I am at mv t,-., , - ' „ = 1. am ax m J iatuers .musu ; HOME AND ITS INFLUENCES. 73 and when the venerable Mede, then dying, was asked how he was, replied, " I am going home as fast as I can, as every honest man ought to do -when his day's I work is over, and bless God I have a good home to go fi)." With some of you the night is far spent, and the morning that know^s no darkening is appearing. You arc nearing the frontiers of inexpressible felicity. Hark ! hear you not that seraphic harmony and those v^oices, saying, " Come Home " ? " Hail ! happy day ! that breaks our chain ! That manumits, that calls from exile home ; That leads to nature's grand metropolis, And re-admits us thro' the guardian hand Of elder brothers, to our Father's house." iier,s i'«.>ui)0 XI. THE STORM. A REVERIE. rilHE last fires of sunset whicli lingered on the di's- 1 tant horizon of Lake Ontario have faded awav and the evening shadows have gathered within the folds of their dusky vails the beauties of earth. The queen of heaven has ascended her azure throne and the stars do homage to their august sovereign. As she travels in regal splendour through her immeasurable domains, the grim shadows of night fly away, and her silvery beams light up the earth with a calm quiet beauty. The tall pines which skirt the shore look sombre and full of gloom, and the rugged cliffs face with stern defiance their slumbering foe, though bat- tered and torn in many a fierce conflict. The flowers and grasses sparkle with dew-pearls, and the bosom of the lake shines like a mirror. The lazy waves are singing a lullaby, and the very lake itself seems im- pressed with the stillness and loveliness of the night. Hark ! What means that low, deep, murmuring sound ? It is ominous ! it is a signal which the mariner never fails to recognize. The herd in the field make for the forest, and the roosting birds fold their wings closer and grip their perches tighter. Look ! yonder in the western sky the clouds are gathering in appalling gran- 74 THE STOnM. 75 deur, charged with tho elements of destruction. They nuicken their pace as they advance. Onward th(-v' come as if borne on the winces of the angels of dark- ness. The lurid lightnings shoot out, leap and hW/A\ as if maddened by some unseen power. Now, roll in deep diapason tones the pealing thunder. Nature stands awe-stricken ! The earth trembles as if smit- ten by an earthquake. The frowning clouds discharge their fiery rockets, the hills smoke and the trees are riven and fall with an awful crash. The winds arc let loose and upheave the waters to their depths, and tho crested billows, wild with fury, are hurled with terrific force on the shore, and top the highest cliff. Tho gale increases and lashes the Avaves till they hiss and rage and roar like the furies of the infernal regions. Men stand aghast as they watch the storm forces in tho majesty of their power. What is that ? A crash ! A shriek ! A ship on the rocks, swept clean from stem to stern ; not a living soul on board. Her crew have been swallowed up by the greedy waters. They were brave men, but no human power could resist the force of such a sea ! The storm passed over as suddenly as it came. What is that thrown high on the shore ? It is the body of a once fair and beautiful boy, not more than sixteen summers old. Kneeling beside him I gently pushed back the tangled locks from his noble forehead. His look was calm an.i placid. No breath moved his lips, no pulse stirred ; no sight • sound will ever enter those eyes and ears m_ore. i lie death' pang was short ; he felt it was vain to struggle with such a war of ele- I'l '^msF'i 76 TTIE STApji, mcnts. I th,„yht, 03 I bent over him, with thee th, ituchca that peaco.ul slioro whi-ro - -Ig «,„„,, „,, a.aJo„K.,l, with ha..ps in hand, t. i,ai, the .1, ^i nmnn.r to the land „f ,,erfeet bliss. . l,„w he w eon,e ,.l„,,dits rolle,, in strains seraphic rtly Z ouclK,! the happy shore of Canaan In his peek tound a letter, soiled by the wash of the vaves op....,ytcarefully and rea,! it by the li.ht of he^L,, It was from h,s nmther, an,l co„n.,eneed with these kv mg words, " My dear darlin.. b„v '■ T ' ! ' further; n,y eye. grew din, .Wth 'Larsi T „ri' ^'f' my own dear n.other long sine, gone to the g '^'"1,^ only can. Aite- awlnle, how long I cannot say as holv nemones erowde.l upon n,e. I took np again'^Jl't^ 2L ]Vr^ *'■* ^'"P -'.otion r^xd o, ■ .Tie Uf* 1 """"°" J">> ly my pray i-s ever since voii let home, and ha-,v ,ong,.d, onl, as a „,oth ^ ong.for your return Do not forget to read the Bill that I gave you when we parted; treasure i. you ;:"::fj::;r?irtirt7on'Ttrtf- -^rwrbe^Si^;:—^^-^^^^^^^^ Heaven. Fron/your ev-tXin ,„t r""^ '"^''' " 10., r that It would be the last that her dear bov would over rec.jive frrar, !,«- . ti, .. 1. • <-ive trom her ; that he would carry it i . if-l TOE STORM. with him to his death, and the very waters would re- fuse to retain it. I carefully folded the letter again, iiiid put it in his pocket, for I could not bear the thought of keeping such a sacred memento. In the siiinll churchyard in the village of , not a league from the lake, I huried the hoy under the shady branches of a weeping willow, and placed at his head a stone, wliich bears these words : Wrecked on the lake aid cast on the shoi-e, the only sou of a widowed mother. A stranger's tribute to her who still mourns her loss." Wimi else could I ha\ o done ? When I looked for the first time . n his boyish face, so calm and beautiful in death, I fei as if I could not leave him on the beach uncared tor. As I took his cold liand in mine and caressed it, a , his mother used to do in the days of his childhood, it seen d as if I felt an unseen pre- sence near me, and I Ik , I as it were a voice, saying : " Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." I ( IM- XIL CRANKS. 11 OV the word "Crank" ca:ne to be applied to I-l individuals, it is net necesaaiy to inquire. In Its present relationship it is of recent date, and was perhaps brought into voealadurv existence by our most ingenious and word-coiniug American cousins, i hero , . neither force nor beauty in it, but, like many other phrases, it has forced its way into public noto- riety and is popular, with a certain class of writers and speakers. It had an accidental birth, and will only have a transient existence. The languao-e of a nation cannot be too refined, and the more we culti- vate purity of speech, the bettor it will be for us as a people. The character of a man is known by the company ho keeps, and tiiey who are pure in thought have no need to guard their lips. " It is out of the heart the mouth spoaketh." The word "crank" as used now-a-days, is applied more to the mental than the physical peculiarities of men and women. What a mental oddity was Diogenes ! He lived in a tub and on one occasion he told Alexander the Great to g;et out of his ight. he having come too near the domi- cile of the old philosopher. Many of the leaders of thought are " cranky" on some subject. Darwin was crooked on the orio-in of th" '^nopi— K-^ i. • t ■ «= — '- !-'!• -ptcico, Dui, v,aa aa straitrht 78 ^ CRAN'KS. 7» as a lightning-rod when dealing with the earth-worm. Carlyle waa eccentric, yet, with all liis peculiarities, the world is all the better for his havinir lived. Tlu-re is a vein of originality ruiniing through nil his works, vhich commands our admiration. Where can you lind a greater craidc than Henry Ward Boeeher ? you do not know in what part of the theological world to Ihul him. He belongs to the ever-changing fraternity, whose theological basis has no particular location ; ho is confined to time, but not to space. What a peculiar cleric was old Bishop Berkeley. He wrote a book to prove that there was no such thing as matter — that we live in a world of idealism ; and so ingenious and forcible are his arguments, that you arc half inclined to accept his theory. Men do not like to be called cranks ; it is a mortal offence to hint at such a thing, — yet cranks they are. If there are so many cranks in the higher grades of society, need we wonder to find a few in the lower strata ? Cranks may be annoying at times, but it is no use to worry about them. Paul had a thorn in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to " buffet him," a kind of physical crank, which he prayed to have removed ; h it his prayer was not granted, for what reason I do nut know, neither do I care to know. Cranks seem to belong to the constitutionality of things, a kind of i*/(t>i he. If people would only let them alone and not whistle at, or tease them, they would not be so troublesome ; it is when brought into public observa- tion, that they begin to play their pranks. They 80 CRAXKS. 1 1 ) ill II 'f sooner or later come to grief; but do not be in t„„ pat a hurry to got them out of tho «-ay. Talo nto a bavrel of water, in a few minutes it wou ave drowned ; but a man who was watehi„r thought l.at it did not die soon enouo-h and sei -8 a st,ck. made a dash at the animal to killTt T ! .•creature was so frightened, that, in its d sp« tion, 2t leaped out of tho barrel and got awav TI f the n.xn had waited, but his impatience gave ^ .at ano her chance to do n.ore mischief ,„. ^'•'"'f"™ f "<=t"'««^ very amusing. They are a increase T *,' f ™ """^ *° *'.^' '« °° *'■» ncicase-I n can the tramp crank. Many of th.,„ l.e ong to the lowest grade of society and a, e a J'vs k" o' n!l :; T 1 r^' ''"'■ "^y ™-f»-'™e and Knowing that they could never rise to the position hey once occupied, have t.,k„„ to ti.e road T r rnSf "."•"^;"'""' "■'"> '^>— Ja flnTrfed „ . V "g^l't "" "" '"""^ ^^""''^ »'' .1 "^ ^numn nature, are wraDDcd np in cost y twoerlq niwl l>.. i i xi '"'^^ vMcippca ragged coat tlicro nro lu>.i,.fa . -^ '^ 1, 1 ^ ^iwirts as true as ever k-if i,. o:r:^a;::cri.rirr!''^^^^^^^^^ ti..emenfee,thepaugsof™e ::~^^^^ of human sympathy is often swept by „„ unseen ha:' A few city on t] into one c A rcportc one of the the poor r it, but toll here, said is married does not ' am alive, j net going He replie( life so pu: troubles ? beautiful ; of my life. liis face in dripped. . M'ith his ci day, as I d when it's n: up to the \ Then I lea' How lor of his daiio to say, that it, lie woul oxperiencpf loneliness, 6 CRAVKS. 81 A few years ago, a tramp stole a ride to a great city on the buffer of a railway car. He staggered into one of the huts at the depot to warm liTmself. A reporter of a city paper found him, took him to one of the hotels, and paid for his supper. He asked the poor man his name, but he politely refused to give it, but told him the object of his visit : " I have ctmo hero, said he, " to see my dear child before I die. She is married in this city and has a splendid home. She does not know the life I am leading, or even that I am alive, and she will never know." « Why, are you not going to call upon her ?" inquired the reporter. He replied, " By no means ; why should I disturb a hfe so pure and uni;« the nervous system, and the man died because tlu it iter contained some fearful tidinos. Some friend calls upon another and informs him ef some great calaniiiy that has happened to liis nearest relative, and the man instantly loses his sight or his hearing, or is paralyzed. This Wfis a moral fact that stinick the man with physical effect ; the mind or men- tal power acted on the brain, that acted on the nerves, and they acted on the senses; thus while material- ists trace all to the brain, we go a step further, and say that the brain is merely the agent of the organ that dwells in the material sanctuary. Mr. Thomas Cooper tells a somewhat funny story of an old mate- rialist who occasionally visited the Hall of Science in London, England. On one occasion, he suddcnlj,' jumped upon the platform and said, " I am going to tell you all about it," meaning the soul or thinking THE DUAL EXISTENCR. 91 principle in niftii. " It is true," said lie, " tlir 1>min is coinposod of certain substances and phosphorus is one tit' them, and phosphorus is tlie think inj,' pi-incipk', and Mr. Ryan lias found it out." Mr. Cbopei*, addressing the old man, said: "My friend, do not be in such a hurry to come to that conclusion ; let me ask you two (lUestions : — " 1st. Did Mr. Ryan discover this by operating on a human skull, while the man was alive, inspecting the living brain ?" " Certainly not," he replied, " do you \\ ish to insult me ?" " 2nd. Was it a dead brain upon which the examin- ation was made ?" " Yes," he replied. " So Mr. Ryan found out that phosphorus was the thinking principle in the man's brain when the man had done thinking altogether ?" responded Mr. Cooper. The old man stared with open mouth and bewildered look. Physiologists say. If there be a soul, how is it that we cannot detect it ? This seems to me a most extra- ordinary question. The very definition we give of the soul — that it is immaterial — is sufficient reason why , we should not detect it. The physiologist is so accus- tomed to material anatomy, that he almost imagines a thing does not exist without he can show it on the point of his lancet ; but if t is be his criterion of ex- istence, he must, be very sceptical in many things. Can he show an idea on the point of his lancet, or a thought on the poii t of his scalpel ? therefore it can bo no good reason that the soul does not exist, because we cannot detect it. I assert, we have clearer evidence IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) /. // /. V ^:> ^ < ^V w Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 4^ (V 4^ <^ '% V ^ ^\ ^\ •^ r^^ C^ f// <^ 1^ 92 THE DUAL EXISTENCE. I '» ^4 of the existence of mind than we have of matter. This may seem strange, but it is nevertheless true. Aiv you av-^re that Bishop B rkeley maintained that there v is no such thing as matter, that we live in a world of idealism ? and, as one writer remarks, " Ab- surd as this statement may appear, you would be surprised at the ingenious arguments brought forward by that learned divine in favour of the non-existence of matter, but he could not reason himself out of the existence of mind ; for the very fact that man doubts and reasons, is proof that there is a doubting and rea- sonmg faculty in man." _ "How is it," say the materialists, " when the brain IS diseased, or a person is suffering from mania or madness, that the mind is impaired ?" Now suppose I were asked to select a first-class musician Ind take him to a piano or organ out of tune and bid him play, what would be the result? Would the accustomJd melody pour forth ? No. Why? Not because the musician s mind -has lost its power, or the musicians hngers their skill, but because the instrument on which he ads is out of tune. In fact, the soul is the master musician and the brain is but the instrument throu^Ji which the master musician acts, in tones, in looks In sympathies, and by the senses, upon the world A favourite theory of materialists is, that mind is attribu able to the action of galvanism or electricitN- on the brain or nervous system. If mind is attrib- utable to galvanism, the angels must be indebted to galvanism for their mental power, as there i« no di^^r- THE DUAL EXISTENCE 98 re is no differ- ence in the nature of the hiinmn and angelic mind. It must be the same in essence, but may differ in quahty, as the human mind differs in refinement and power. I am aware that electricity is an essential and constituent element of this world, but in the higher life — the -abode of angels — we have no proof of its existence. Neither is it required ; for whatever relation it may sustain to animal life, it is neither the cause, nor does it form any constituent part of im- ni6rtal life. It is an axiom universally acknowledged, that " Like produces like." Then, mind must have produced mirid. We are told that the great Originator of our being breathed into man the breath of life and he became a livinff soul. Another striking evidence of the immortality of the soul is its transcendent powers of intellect. What is the greatest of all productions of Deity ? Not light, the first created and most beautiful of mgiterial ele- ments ; not the mountains, rearing their majestic heads above the clouds ; not the ocean, in the vastness of its swell lifting up its waves on high ; not the orbs of heaven, shining in peerless grandeur ; nor ani- mal life in any of its boundless varieties ; but viiiid —intellectual, immortal mind. This is the distinctive glory of man, and it is this which gives him dominion over everything that dwells upon the face of the earth. The min I of man is capable of illimitable expansion, ever seeking after knowledge and never satisfied. Can we suppose that a being so progressive in his nature and so noble in his aspirations, shall so soon ij * fil 94 THE DUAL EXISTENCE. ll I J.B»: cease to exist ? No, there is another and more splendid sphere for the development of such grand intellectual and moral powers. The instinctive and universal desire for life is an- other proof of the immortality of the soul. This longing after life is cherished by barbaric as well as civilized nations. The very thought of immortality has made " the courage of the warrior burn high in the day of battle " ; and the untutored savage go down to the grave as tranquilly as to a night's repose. Whence comes this inherent desire, this faith so inter- woven with our very being ? It is not self-creative, but a gift from God. There are facts daily coming under our observation which are inexplicable upon any other principle than a life to come. There, reposing upon its mof.^-^'s bosom, is a lovely child ; as she plays with his >■ a curls and. anticipates for him a glorious future, iwr hopes are crushed by the appearance of death, as if envious of the child's existence, dashes the cup of anticipated joy from the parent's lips and slays the child in its mother's arms. Here is a youth who has passed through the dangers of the cradle, has plodded over the fields of classic lore, and has stored his mind with useful knowledge, and bids fair to be useful to the world and an oi-nament to the church of God ; but, alas ! the sun which rose with such overwhelminfj splendour, and bade so fair to shine with unrivalled brightness, soon becomes overcast, and sinks into the darkness of death. These are but specimens of many ^* THK DUAL liXISTEXCE. 99 n its mo^^^^'s events of a similar nature, and if there were no here- after we should be inclined to say of such persons — they lived in vain. They, however, point to a life to come. From the unequal distribution of good and evil in the present state, an immortal life is inferred. This has perplexed and agitated the wisest and best of men. David says, " Verily, I have cleansed my heart in vain and washed my hands in innocency ; until I went into the sanctuary of the Lord, then understood I their end." Jeremiah also remarks, ' Righteous art thou. O Lord, when I pleau with Thee, yet let me talk with Thee of Thy judgments ; wherefore doth the wicked prosper, wherefore are they happy that deal very treacherously ?" Why is error so triumphant over truth, and vice over virtue ? Why is Dives arrayed in purple and fine linen, and Lazarus afflicted with poverty ? As a certain writer remarks, " Why do the righteous pine in adversity, while the wncked occupy stations of dignity and live in the sunshine of pros- perity ?" Events from time to time occur which (Icnionstrato that there " is a retributive Providence, but they are far from universal. In numerous in- stances we see injustice prevail and wrong triumph. Tlie only way by M'hich we can reconcile these diffi- culcies is that they arc. local, temporary or transitional. The soul's immortality is placed beyond doubt by the positive evidences of divdne revelation. The pas- sages of Scripture which relate to the immortality of tlie soul are so numerous, that we can only make a 96 THE DUAL EXISTENCE. PI— ., - linntc.l s..]octK,n. Tho Hebrew historians, wl.en spen;.- |ng c, the^ Old Testament saints, say, " Thoy gave up th.3 ghost, or spirit ; wliidi indicates their faith in sonietJung distinct from the body, and which survi^•,.s Its dissohition. David said, " Into Thy hands I com- mit iny spirit " ; and Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, coi.- T" ^^^i^^'y ^^^^'^ " strangers and pilgrims on the earth. What does this confession intimate ? Does It merely describe the pastoral and migratory life in general? What saith the Apostle ? " They that sav such things declare plainly that they seek a countr^ And truly if they had been mindful of that counti-y trom whence they came out, they might have had an opportunity to have returned. But now they desire a better coun^r^/, that is a heavenly; wherefore God IS not ashamed to be called their God, for he hath prepared for them a city." It is unnecessary to multi- ply quotations to prove that the New Testament saints >^re cheered with the blessed hope of immor- tality. Paul vvritingto Timothy, says,-" Our Saviour Jesus Christ who hath brought life and immortality to ight through the Gospel." Not that Christ re- vealed the existence of what was before unknown, but tha He has brought to light that which was previously veiled m comparative obscurity. Christ after his resurrection said to his disciples, " Handle n.e and see for a spirit hath not flesh and bones as ve ee me have." What did Christ mean by the tei^i disembodied state, which mortal hands could not THE DUAL KXISTENCE. 97 feel, but was still vested with an organization peculi- arly adapted to its disembodied condition. If the spirit is not immortal what mean those grand apoca- lyptic visions which the apostle saw while an exile at Patmos ? Are they the productions of a disordered imagination, or grand realities ? There we read of an immortal state of existence far too sublime for liuman conception, where millions of glorified saints enjoy perfect happiness, and in which we hope to participate when the earthly liouse of this tabernacle is dissolved. There are phenomena which cannot be explained, only on the supposition of an individual conscious existence after death. Take the following :— In the list of the officers of the 23rd Regiment, when serving under Lord Cornwallis in America, and then called the 1st West York, will be found the names Captain (afterwards Sir John Coape) Sherbrooke and Lieuten- ant George Wynward. The former had recently joined the 23rd from the 4th or King's Own Regiment. Those young men, being similar in tastes and very attached friends, spent much of their time in each others society, and when olf duty were seldom apart. One evening Sherbrook was in Wynward's quarters. Tlie room in which they were seated had two doors, one that led into the common passage of the officers' barracks, the other into Wynward's bedroom, from which there was no other mode of egi-ess. Both offi- cers were engaged in study, till Sherbrooke on raising his eyes from a book, suddenly saw a young man about twenty years of age. open the entrance door and !l 08 THK DUAL KXISTENOB. m advance into tlie room. The lad looked pale, ghastlv and thin, as if in the last stage of a mortal malaar John, break to your friend Wynward the death of his favourite brother." He had di(,«d the very moment the apparition had appeared in that remote Canadian barracks. One of the latest testimonies of the existence of a spiritual world is that given in the " Life and Times nf Henry Lord Brouoiee and preferenee and degrees of affinity th i. Each intellect will keep its natural bliss; each heart nd unkn ■ ,?' ""' '"■ '"^ ^'^^'- ■' f^-^ known and unknown will pass us ; acquaintance will thrive on intercourse, and love deepen with knowledge, and te great underlying laws of mind and henrt ;i;vaU an utr r, *'''^ do here, save in th„. that sin andalltherepellanceand antagonism which it breeds. i.uie the opportunity and bond of brotherhood." XV. LIFE'S EVENING. rilHE evening of life draws on apace. The heads of J. the family feel that they are swiftly floating down the str(!aui of time. The " olive branches" that sprant^ up around their table are becoming men and women, The youths are entering upon the busy scenes of lifi; ; and round the daughters suitors are gathering. It is a season of deep parental anxiety. A thousand doubts and fears fill the mind. The need is felt, or oucfht tu be felt, of that counsel and guidance which God olone can give. Like vessels, our sons are launched upon the sea of life, and fearfully we realize the rocks and shoals which will endanger their voyage. We give them solemn counsel. We bid them take on board the triie chart, the Word of God. AVe remind them that the only breeze which can prosperously fill their sails must proceed from the Spirit's influences ; and we urge them to secure as their pilot at the helm, the Lord Jesus Christ. We warn them against snares and tempta- tions ; we exhort them to rectitude and purity of life. And then away they go, north, south, east, and west ! But they are not forgotten. We remember them at the throne of grace ; and our greatest joy is to hear tidings of their safety and success. 102 The heads of loating down ' that spraiiL,^ and women, cones of Ht'c ; lering. It is isand doubts , or ought to ;h God alone m the sea of and shoals ^ give them ard the truf em that the sir sails must -'6 urofe them Lord Jesus md tempta- urity of life. t, and west I ber them at )y is to hear tlFES EVEXIVO. 103 Then our daugliters leave ua. One after another we give them to tliose they love, and they form the centres of other circles. We hail their happiness with t,n'atitude, nor once repent the eare we spent upon them. The fireside becomes hmely. The liappy faces and merry voices that gave it life, are now departed to ca.^ft their lustre elsewhere. Some, too, have been number(;d with the dead, and their cheerful tones are silent for ever. We cherish no longer the sweet anti- cipation of seeing them in their familiar places, yet we look forward to another and a happier meeting, where death hath no office, and the grave no place. The evening shadows grow deeper and deeper. Othcx years have fled. Age and decrepitude have advanced with equal step. In the same old house where childhood's hours sped so joyfully, the aged pair are sitting by the familiar hearth, around which loved children clustered in bygone years. They are unfolding the scroll of memory, and they readmit every line. One page lights up their faces with a smile, another moistens them with the big heavy tears. Now they are on the hil]-top, bathed in the beams of brilliant sunshine ; now in the deep shadowy valley of sorrowful remembrance. Now the marriage bell rings its merry chimes in their ear, and now the solemn toll speaks to them of death. But one recol- lection of all others irradiates each countenance as if with sunset glory — they are remembering* how lov- ingly they have journeyed together on life's pilgrim- acre, and gfratefully acknowl ^dgii e-oof of Him who has so long spared them to each ot/ er. i*'*.-1 XSi J 104 life's evemng. Sons and daughters! reverence the relics of tlic past ; guard the drooping flower from the winter blast of cold adversity and Avithering neglect. Venerate the aged, around whom the sunset is closing, oxn^ whose watery eyes the dust of evening is thickenin-, and on whose understanding the shadows of twilight are growing liroader and deeper. Prop up the old oak under whose branches you have so often enjoyed the shade ; and act the part of the ivy to the old tower Trace the furrows on the brow, and count the wrin- kles on the check; then think how many, througli folly and thoughtlessness, you laid there, and seek "to smooth them down. And what thou doest, do quickly. You will not be required long, for the sun is fast sinking. Tlie chill breeze of evening is blowing, the silver ''cord is loosnig, the golden bowl is being broken, the pitcher IS being shattered at the fountain, and the wheel is nearly worn at the cistern. The sound of the giin-l- ing is low, and the windows are being darkened ; the voice of the grasshopper is becoming a burden' an.l the daughters of music are being silenced ; the puls- ings are feeble, and the words are indistinctly uttered ; the h .nd is trembling and the step is tottering ; the' memory is failing and the mind is waning; the film fis thickening, and dust to dust is hastening. Life's closing hour is at hand. Tread gently, speak kindlv watch lovingly, pray fervently. Mark that smile that plays upon the features. It is Heaven's sunbeam ! Hear the faint words,—" Jesus ! Jesus I" They are LIFES EVENING. 105 m: the film hope's watchwords, and faith's assurance. Hush ! a moment more, and all is still. The spirit is gone to the God that gave it. Night has dropped upon the old home. The fire has gone out, cold ashes lie in the <,frate, the chairs are empty, the fireside of early days is no more I Thanks be to God for the gospel of his grace, which "brings light and immortality to life"! Else, when the sun of earthly life sinks behind the hori' ^, spec- tral night would indeed wrap all in gloom. s5ut it is not so. Beyond the darkness of the present we see the daylight of the future. We follow the departed spirit of the triumphant Christian, and far away from broken homes and scattered families, from graves and funerals, from sighs and tears, we see the region of eternal sunshine. The final home is reached, our hea- venly Father welcomes the pilgrim, the elder Brother joins the rapture of the angels, the festive-board is spread, the heavenly minstrels sing, and the banner of love waves over the scene ! Glorious prospect ! Rich consolation ! Blessed beams of hope ! Should not the anticipation illume the darkness of the present ; and may not the thought of a home in heaven reconcile us to the breaking up of the home on earth ? Pit XYl. 'CS THE VOICES OF NATURE AND OF ART. ly E all know the meaning of the worj music, tho,,.-^, ' vve „,ay not be able to give a technical dcHnitioi, of the term. It includes both vocal and instrun.en The tjrst concert ever given, of which we have tin- knowledge (if we may be allowed to speak of it ^ ™ch). was at the creation of the worW, when t mus.e o the spheres broke on the stilln;s „f "i and the harp ,yn,phonies of the angels and the voi ' of the sons of God swept along the star shores eft . umverse increasing in majesty and power tiU h aven of heavens became an ocean of ecstatic prai.' That was the grandest oratorio ever rendered • t ww pcfeet m all its parts ; it wo. God's own con er ' i Jucted by Hi„,self, in celebration of the "re a ^ ." ot creafon He had just completed. The Ctrim f he n.ns,c of the spheres was made a subject of 1 soph:ca enq„,ry by many ancient writers' PythaC the soul of the planets m our system, and the disciple, ot those celebrated philosophers supposed the univ r. e to be formed on the principles of harmony. Tl " ZZrr T"'""^' » opinion, which many of the poets have adopted, that music is produced bv the 100 THE VOICES OF NATURE AND OF ART. 107 AND OF music, thoui;:'] ical definition instrumental, we have anv >eak of it as d, when tlic ness of time, id tlic voices hores of tin- rt'er till the static praise. !red ; it was concert, con- great work onies Acxm makes me musical," said the Stream \\T.at makes things musical ? " .Suflbrin.. <" said tie Harp-strmgs. "We were dull lumps oVsi v and copper-ore m the mines; and no silence on h I.v ng sunny earth is like the blank of voiceless a^e m these dead and sunless depths. But, since henT have parsed through many fires. Th^ h ddeleart firesunde^eath the mountains Hrst n.oulded us m lenmums s.nce, to ore; and then, in these 1^1^ human hands have finished the training which mak,' us what we are. We have been smelted in fu nac heated seven t.mes, till all our dross was gone ; and RT, THE VOICES OF NATURE AND 01' ART. 1)1 ing to teinpfc er-bells bent ■s and gray 3 quiet ereu- monotonous 3 wake tlic ', had I not to bless thi my rockv rains came, s on everv ose beyond n I danced till all the 1 I tinkled my cresses id plunged is Action ing!" said of silver ce on the :eless aofes > then, we en earth- d us, mil- ist years, eh makes furnaces one ; and then wo have been drawn out on the rack, and hani- mered and fused, and at last stretched on tliese wooden frames, and drawn tighter ami tighter, until we won- der at ourselves, and at thc^ gentle Jiand which strikes such rich and wondrous chords and melodies from us —from us, who Avero once silent lumps of ore in the silent mines. Fires and blows have done it for us. Suffering has made us musical," say the Harp- strings. What makes things musical ? " Union !" said the rocks. " What could be less musical than we, as we r^s built in the lunth century for Bisliop Elfeg, at Winchester. En-.- Jand. The very earliest organs were not built for enurcli purposes, and it was not until the tenth cen- tury that they were considered clmrcli instruments tp to about tliis time, the compass of tJie key- board liad only one octave, and each key was neai-- Jy a 3-ard long, from three to four inches broad and one and a-lialf inclies tliick, and ^u^s shaped like' our modern piano keys, with i-ounded ends The action was such, that the keys had to be " strickon - a f(3ot deep witli tlie fist. It would have taken a re- markably smart organist to have plaved— we will not •» say the Hallelujah chorus— but a less dif:^cult piece on sucli an organ. In tlie middle ages, monks and priests employed themselves, not only in organ playing but organ building. In the year 1350, a monk is^reporte.l to have built an organ of twenty-two keys' compass, at I horn, in Germany. In the fourteenth century a German friar, named Nicholas Faber, built an oro-an of four key-boards, and pedals for the fist and feet" in the dome of Halberstadt Cathedral. The organ mania seemed to have increased to such a degree, that, in the middle of the seventeenth century, there were one THE VOIC-S UK N.vnrnK ANO OK AKT. 115 hnn.lrcHl arwl forty pairs of or^anTaT^^^T of two convex ninf ^ 1 , ' ''^''"^**'^ consisted togetiL ski Lh f """''^' ^^'"^^^' ^^'^^^^ «^ruck ,.«, . sKUtullj, made an am-oeable snnnrl tk were carried into captivity ti.ev t.,,,1 « tl.e., to alleviate tlfe lo,^ol^Z^'^*'l iione capable ot approachinir it in cxtvnnv.iir. power and variety of oxmvssion \ " "'^^'^^^^^^^ry smooth sliding. irn'passionTZJo:^ "°^^^>^' tremola, pensive Wato lilli ^ '^'''P' ^^"'^ chords mdlow vnv f ^ hai'monics, wailing upper ; " rjhfch "'' '1 ''^ '""^^--^ «f ^^« FP e^ister, .vhich can scarcely be excelled by the m ^1 t Pff &,ff'i m \M «. * 116 TUB voirm OF natuuk and ok AIU human vmce. It ,s the ino.t perfect instrument thnt has ever been made, and in the hands of an artist like Joachim, Its superiority is at once acknowledged As to vocal music, it is the voice of nature, and is no doubt coeval with mankind. Who gave the binls the power of song ? Nature ! That nn'stress of music who taught from the beginning all who have th. power of sweet sounds. God has given to every ma„ and woman, as well as to the warblers of the sky and woodland, an instrument by which His praise may be celebrated. Of course, it requires cultivation, in order to bG melodious. It differs in power and quality, as men differ ni their mental type. We hear people sav we cannot sing. Can you read music ? No Whv ' Because we have never been taught. Just so. Now' if you would spend half the time in learning to sine, as you spend over matters of little or no prorit to you.'you would be able to join in the psalmody of God's sanc- tuary, and be made a blessing to His service. On the charms of music, I need not dwell. During the rendering of some of the grand Oratorios in the Crystal Palace, London, England, men have beon known to go into ecstacies, which no other powc could have produced. The magic influence of mus-. ; acknowledge; it has held spell-bound the beast and the untutored savage. As a British war-vessel was parsing the island of Ceylon, the captain, seeing the beach cr. d.d with natives, ordered the band to play As the &:.v. . .., nr: sic fell upon the ears of the poor savages, they oU upon thHv faces as if in worship If pijlj U". THK VOICES OF VATUKK AM. ok AlCT. rumont that II artist liko Iccjged. ture, and is ^■u the l)ii-(ls 'ss of music :> have the every man ho sky and iise may be )n, in order quality, as people sav, \o. Why ! 0. Now, if to sing, tw » you, you Sod's sftnc- ii: '"yo h«s such an effect „p„„ „» 1,,,,.,, „|,„t ,,,.„ ,,„ <■ .• fee „g.s „, ti,„ ,j|„,i„u3 h..,™ft,.,, „,,..„, lik., M m d ot m«ny waf,., and n,i«l,ty tln.ndwings, tl.cro all sweep ..round u., the g,,u,d l,„nno„i,: ,f th, ™ m ;' '■''"'•'^'^■■•«-f'™" ■'I' -"".- ? I trust that "0 m„y .Jl fo„„ a part in those iu.n.ortal songs. 1. Durir.jr rios in the ave beon ler powt mus?" ; beast and essel was eeing the d to play. the poor Tship. If XVII. ^^-1 THE WORLD'S LAST DRAMA. pRECEDING the destruction of Jerusalem by Titus, 1 Joseplius tells us that many strange and startlin-' events took place. A star— resembling a sword— hunr^ over the city, and a great light was seen on the sacri! fieial altar, which was supposed by some, as a sign of the approval of the Ahnighty, but was explained by the learned Scribes as a forerunner of those events which nnmediately followed. The officiating priests as they burned incense before the altar, heard the' sounds of footsteps and strange voices, sayino- • " L.t us depart hence." " These things may appear "o some tabuk)us, ' says that learned historian. '^Lut they were related to^me by those who saw and heard for them- selves." 2ut, behold a greater wonder: a profligate and unbelieving race, like that before the flood, go on to fill up the measure of their iniquity without the least regard to the voice of warning. They buy, they sell, they marry and are given in marriage, planning for long life and still sinning on, till the awful hai- bniger of the Son of Man appears in the heavens. How solenm and striking his appearance! He is clothed with a cloud, a rainbow encircles His head, and His face is like the sun. He sets one foot on the' sea and the other on the land, and, after a solemn 118 THE world's last DRAMA. 119 pause, swears by Him that livoth forever, Time i<^ no more. Awful moment ! Time ends ! Eternity begins ! The sun stands still— as once above Gideon, and grows dark— as formerly at Calvary. The earth trembles, stars glare and fall lawless through the air. Earth- quakes shake the globe within and flames cover it without, while thunders rend with their incessant peals the skies, and lightning— fold on fold— flashes from all the lowering clouds. The stately monuments of art, the cloud-capped towers and gorgeous palaces, vanish like the l)aseless fabric of a vision. Now descends in awful pomp, on a greac white throne, the man Christ Jesus. On either side of Him are serai^hic legions. Thrones, Dominions, Principali- ties and Powers, clothed in Mdiite and crowned with everlasting life. They are followed by the patriarchs, irophets, apostles, martyrs, and a great multitude which no man can number, who w-ve their palms and unite their voices in praise of F .a who sitteth upon the throne. Is this He who once came from Bozrah with dyed garments, and who trod the winepress alone ? Yes, it is the once despised and rejected Nazarene, returning to take vengeance on them that will not have Him to reign and rule over them. Oh f how unlike the Man of Sorrow that died on Cal- vary. Lambent glories now shine in pointed radiance around those temples whicli were once wreathed with thorns ; light ineflable flows from the visage which was marred with sweat and blood; the side that was pierced and the hands and feet that were transfixed, still retain conspicuous the marks of the steel ; the 120 THE WOKLD's last DRAMA. reed has now become a sceptre, and the robe— behold It, ye scoffers! is converted from being an ensign of mockery, to denote tlie majesty of the Godhead'' It streams in folds of living light, and is the great stand- ard around which the saints gather. The awakii,.- trumpet sounds, and the slumbering millions who have for ages found a resting-place beneath the vaulted marble, in the mountain cave, the solitary glen, and the crowded churchyards, come forth. What myriads ' surpassing even the computation of an ano-el. " Thr sea giv^s up its dead." « The sea," where the fate of empires in bloody contests has been decided ; where the Persian, the Greek, the Roman, the Ottoman and the Spaniard sleep their last sleep. " The sea," where myriads of our race lie concealed in its coral tombs, oi- scattered amongst its shining pearls, "gives up 'its dead:' It renders back the youthful Lowrie who was hurled by the Chinese pirates into the waves,— throwing back upon the junk's deck the Bible which he had devoted his life to teach to the nation of his murderers; at the same time casting a glance heaven- ward, as if he would say, in the words of his dyino- Lord, " Father, forgive them." It gives up the heroic and toilworn Judson, who spent all his physical strength for the cause of Jesus ; Samuel Mills, the friend of Africa; the young labourers from Corisca, husband and wife ; the clergyman Cowles, on the deck of the " Home," shattered in health, but unshaken in faith amid the perils of the deep ; the eloquent Cook- nian, who shared in the mysterious fate of the "Pre- sident"; and the holy Draper and wife, who stood ""-"-'-aii-rrrnii iri THE world's last DRAMA. 121 unmoved amid the terrific hurricane that swept tlie Bay of Biscay, burying in its troubled waters the "London" and her living freight. They hear the trumpet call, and come forth. Hell or Hades gives up its dead. The place where the disembodied soul of man is to be found, whether in happiness or in woe, has listened to a voice till then unknown to it. The gates of the shadow of death are unbarred, and its portals ^y open. And now, there come— there come —clouds of spirits rolling upon clouds, in s-;ift suc- cession, with impetuous rush; numberless, unmixed, individualized : the consciousness of each distinct, the character of each defined, the memory of each unob- literated, and the sentence of each foredoomed. Hades sends back its spirits to those bodies which the sea and the grave can no longer retain. Far as the eye can reach, the heavens are filled with a vast promiscuous multitude, exceeding in number the sands upon the sea-shore, or the stars of heaven. Hark! how the saints shout to David's Son and to David's King, " Hosannah !" while the wicked hide in the burning dens and red-hot rocks, and cry for the mountains to fall on them and hide them from the face of Him who sits upon the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb. " And I saw the dead," says John, " small and great, stand before God, and the books were opened : and another book was opened, which is the book of life, and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books, according to their works." " Whenever I think of the tribunal seat of Christ i-2-:i THE World's last miAitA. :< ■ * li!i V! and the purposes for which it is fixed, „,y thoughts wander to a scene which tool, place in one of C courts of human judicature. There sits the iudce whose appearance, whose character, and whose oflfce' al conspn-e to fill n,e with veneration and awe. On either hand are the office.^ of justice, whose part it is v. h .ron grasp te seize and retain their victin, ; deaf ahke to h.s threats and his pro-nises, his entreaties and his tears. There stands the prisoner. Oh ! how he trembles and tui-ns pale as witness after witness give .„ the.r evidence against him, and the advocates of the prosccu Km produce their arguments in confirma- tion of what the witnesses have cited. The awful crisis con,es ; the judge now delivers, in solemn accents, his charge to the jury, which seems to bear upon the hangs the fate of the prisoner. The suspense is awfu' evcy moment is like an hour. The jury returns and the Clerk of the Court rises and says, •■ Gentlemen of the Jury, are you agreed on your verdict, do you iind the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty ?" "Guiltv » responds the foreman. Every eye" is now rested "on Uie prisoner ; his crime may be heinous and aggravat- ing, and of such a nature that the monarch's clemency should not be extended ; but he is a man, and no con- sideration can destroy the feelings of humanity, which the sight of a fellow-creature at such an awM crisi o":: ic'rr T'" ^"""'' ^'"^ «^^"'^ "'-°"'--" «- the eZ; TZ »"■"""»'«=« «'» >*«ntence of death on the enrnmal ; the poor culprit falls upon his knees and THE WOHLU'S LAST DfiAMA. 123 implores for mercy. At this awful juncture a wild shriek is heard in the court, \vhich causes a death-like shudder to pass through every heart, arresting for a moment the judge in his solemn performance. Whence conies that sound ? It is wrung from a mother's heart, but even that scene does not stop the course of justice' —her son is sentenced to an ignominious death. He is dragged from the bar to the prison to wait the time appointed for the dreadful sentence to be executed. But it is to a higher tribunal we desire to call your attention, a tribunal at which not merely you and I, but all the world must stand— not as idle spectators' to listen to the doom of others, but to hear our own irrevocable doom ; a tribunal at which not the actions merely but tlie thoughts of men are judged ; a tribunal at which not a fellow mortal like ourselves, but the searcher of hearts, presides ; a tribunal from whose judicial process there is no escape—in whose proceed- ings there is no partiality, and from whose decisions there is no appeal." Behold the Judge seated on his great white throne, radiated with divine glory ; sunrise and sunset never imprinted that stately purple— that glowing Vermil- lion— that molten gold ! No rainbow of the^covenant girdles it ! No suppliant or penitent sues before it No pardons are issued from it ! It is a tribunal throne —He has prepared his throne for judgment. The judgment is set and the books are open: The book of God's law, the book of God's remembrance, and the book of life, which coniains the names of all those who have been faithful unto death. The ju.lge now I li ^r I 124 THE world's last DUAMA. 1R| r: turns to the righteous and says, " Conio ye blessed of my Father and inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world." The angelic hosts now sweep their golden harps in tones of sweetest harmony, and lead the righteous from a scene of ter- ror that remains, to the paradise of God. The Judge now turns to the wicked and with still one lingering look of pity, lost, however, amidst the terrors of jus- tice, says, " Depart from me ye cursed into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels." As the sentence falls upon their ears a shriek of agony rends the heavens, and they are driven from the presence of the Lord and consigned to everlasting punishment. The dispensation of grace has closed with them for ever. No more sermons, no more warnings, no more pressing invitations or urgent solicitations to repent and believe in Christ. As the gates of the Holy City are being closed, the great archway of the universe becomes palled in sack- cloth. The ocean veils itself in the garb of widow- hood, and gathering all its waves together, utters a wail, loud, deep, piercing, dolorous, immense, and while nature is in the last throes of dissolution, the angels come to lay her in her grave. " When Thou, my righteous Judge, shall come To call Thy ransomed people home, May I among them stand, May such a worthless worm as I, Who sometimes am afraid to die, Be found at Thy right hand ?" XVIII. A PEEP WITtllN THE GATES. EARTH liath its scenes of Leauty. We have sat amid the wild pomp of its mountains, the sublime silence of its forests, and the loveliness of its vales. We have watched the majestic sweep of its ocean surges and the wavelets as they rippled along the shore. We have been rocked on the bosom of its rivers and lakes, those highways of commerce and reservoirs of life, and have almost worshipped the stars of heaven ; l>ut the glories of earth fade before the infinite grandeur of the City of our God. St. John tells us that " this city is pure gold, like unto glass," meaning the material of which it is com- posed looks like glass reflecting the sunbeams. " Con- ceive a city, if you can, composed of pure glass : its gates, its walls, its streets, its mansions, all glass. Let a spectator behold it from some neighbouring hill. At noon, when the sun is at meridian, it will resemble an edifice of molten silver. At eventide, w^hen the golden beams of the setting sun fall upon it, it will present to the eye a sight of overwhelming grandeur. At the calm hour of night, with the pale beams of the moon upon it, it will look like a crystal lake reposing on the bosom of the earth." Such, in a higher sense, is the glory of the celestial City. Poets have sung of it 125 f^.'''^ 126 A PKEP WITIIIX TflK GATES. n> t 1 m a „,ost scrap „c .stmin,. Payson, as I,b was crossing the a^t nver, l.heM its stany i„„,als, a„,l l.oar,! i*: angel bands m joyful concert. " It is a city, not lan'lt V human han-ls, or hoary with the yea,^ of tin.e- whose nihalatants no census has numhered, through' whose streets rush no tides of business, nor noddin,. hearse creeps slowly to the tomb. It is without jn-iefs or graves, sms or sorrows, births or burials, niarria-res or mourmngs, which glories in having Jesus for Us King and angels for its guards." What an inheritance Jesus has prepared for us I A mansion ! The mansions of heaven will be suitable to the cn^eumstances. character and taste of all God's fh7l°' 7'p "r™'? '*'^'™«""" does not destrov the mental features of the man, We shall no doubt recognize there the temperament, or talent which jrave each on earth his identity, or his peculiar inteLt David has nri l.id aside his harp, a„d there is still a film which Isaac can meditate. Solomon may have still the eagle-eye that penetrates nature's nooks a„,l ans the infinitude of things. Moses may still retain the meek aspect which distinguished his whole life on earth. Peter^ ,tep may .still .spring elastic on t golden payemen , while Paul triumphs in a loftier theme and John s love-curtained eye creates for hiui- ,-ff ^ ^'t M T- '^''"^ ""^y '^o ■"t"-^ "' glory liffer The world of nature, intellect and grace seem donel I'uf ^" '■'"''"■^^"^ ''<=»'<''"? t° ">» deeds Clone m the body. A PEEP WITHIN THE (iATES. 1: This doctrine is beautifully illustrated by the para- ble of the ten talents. Each were rewarded in pro- portion as they improved their talents, and rightly used the means that were placed in their hands. In the midst of this Holy City 'is the temple of God, the glory of which the heart of man cannot con- ceive. Its columns are lofty, clear as crystal, and everlasting in duration. They are richly carved with flowers of gold, and wreathed with precious stones. The massive dome is of pearl. It has no rctof, a can- opy of light is drawn over it. The interior is vast, outreaching the scan of an angel's eye. The heavenly hierarchy stand in the midst of it, and conduct the songs of praise. Hark! How grand! What harmony! The courts of God on earth are delightful, but how much more the services of the upper sanctuary ? There seems to be no fatigue, no weariness ; but it is heaven to be thus engaged. In this temple worship the redeemed from all nations. And I heard them sing as it were a new song, which was like Beethoven's immortal chorus in his Mount of Olives, if we may be allowed an earthly comparison. There was a subtle harmony of dulcet instruments, and silver stir of strings ; then out-swelled the glorious chorus, rolling onward with the ocean dash of everlasting waters. Before the presence of Divinity, enthroned, the wor- shippers fell prostrate, after which the voices and instruments grew faint, and sank into an awful hush. How much more refined will o::r senses have to be before we can appreciate all the delicacies of heavenly harmony. ,ir 128 A PEEP WITH IK TIIK GATES. I, ^ Among tlie worshippers were Stephen.the firstChris- tian martyr ; Lazarus, the ber^gar ; Ignatius, Sym- phorsa and lier sons ; Polyearp, Justin Martyn, Julian oi Cihcia, Cyprian of Carthago, Jolni Huss, Jerome of Prague, Henry ^utphen ; Schuch, the hermit of Livry Jolm Lambert. Anno Askew, Adam Wallace, Hu(di Lavenck, John Aprice, Bishops Ridley and Latimer Archbishop Cranmer. John Rogers, John Hooper' Rowland Taylor, Thomas Tompkins, Thomas Hawks' Christopher Waid, Dorick Carver, Robert Glover John Philpat, Hugh McKail, Payson, Baxter, Dod- dridge, the Wesleys, Whitfield, Fletcher, Watts, Cecil Hall, Toplady. Elliot, Hervey, Newton, Moffat, Liv- ingston, Carey, Morrison, Williams, Bourne, Clowes Hannah More, Charlotte Elizabeth, Elizabeth I'ry' Elizabeth Mortimer, Hannah Houseman, Elizabeth Rowe, Jane Ratcliffe, the Countess of Huiitino-don Hester Ann Rogers, the pious Blumhardt, who, as he' expired, exclaimed, " Light breaks in ; hallelujah ! " and Dr. McLaren, who said, when dying, " I can now contemplate clearly the grand scone to which I am going"; and Sargeant, who, with his countenance kindled into holy fervour, fixed his gaze upon a de- finite object, and said, " That bright light ! " and when asked, " What light ? " answered, " The light of the Sun of Righteousness"; Lady Elizabeth Hastings who, just before she expired, cried out with an en- raptured voice, "Lord, what is that I see?" and Olympia Morta, an exile for her faith, who, as she sank in death, said, " I distinctly behold a place of A PERP WnillN THE UATif.a. 129 infinite delight"; and the somphic Cookinan. who, as the wings of his spirit hrolvo the inortai .sfioii, shouted, " I am sweeping through the gates, wasiieci in the blood of the Lamb." Among the shining ones, " was the spirit of a heroic Christian boy, wlio was ch-agged from one of the jungles of India, pale with loss of blood, and wasted i a shadow with famine and liardship. Far away from father and mother or any earthly friend, and sur- rounded by a cloud of sepoys, he saw a Mahommedan who had been converted to the Christian faith, ap- palled at the preparations tlieso demons were making for his torture, and about to renounce his faith. Fast dyiflg, and almost beyond the vengeance of his ene- mies, this good lad, having a moment longer to live, and willing to spend liis last breath for Jesus, raised himself up, and casting an imploring look at the wavering convert, cried, * Oh ! do not deny your Lord.'" Inspired with holy courage, the Hindoo stood firm, and as he entered heaven, the victorious shout — the conquering hallelujah burst from heaven's full- peopled depth. In the midst of this glorious company, what do I see ? Our fathers, our sainted mothers ! Our bro- thers and sisters; our husbands, 'wives and children. Those blessed ones ! who stimulated our young desires and enkindled our mature ambition ; who loved us as no other ever can love, and wdiose loss — thousfh their infinite gain — is to us a life-long sorrow. We see their waving hands, beckoning us to their happy 9 ibO A PEEP wnniN Tin; c;atks. homo: thoy are gathored t(>gotiuT, Hafu troni every Htorm. triuiiipimnt over eveiy evil, mid my to us,— - Come, and join us in our everlasting Llessedness, Ix'ar pai't in our stmgs of praise, and share our adoration, progress and works of love. They urg.. us to cherish in oiu- eartlily life that spirit and virtue of Christ which is tlie beginning and (Uiwn of lieaven, so that they may welcome us with more than Imman h)ve to life and im- mortality, O! tell us, ye departed spirits of tlie sainted /X Zde"' t''"*-". ^^o have washed their SiHtinjruished _worthiu8 «' 'l?,*; ''''^loSd o( e ^^^^^ To the afflicted, this book robes and made them ^'l^'^e "*'!«■ '7''"/, VhovVirhtful readers encouragement to .;Ttr^Se1tlT:^ridXifin'i;;?^tiJ".^ '-tastic. and the d.ction {.r«a;^4t^iBt.er^o^Xwte?e\'roSW^^^ Joseph Wild. D.D. FEATHERS FROM AN ANGEL'S WING. FOURTH EDITION. price 50 €enl». F«l»' upp. .., «5 tent*. ..we very much admire the author's style and beauty of diction."-Hamllton '"T,^;e author ha. a pcworfnl imuKination. «reat command of language, and intense earnestness. "-'forontO ^f^, „ictures(|ue and the chastened imagina- " The stvle ..f the author is *'''>''^'^''' "> P!'''«ontreal WitnCBB. tion of the writer is displayed ,. very part. -Montreal wun "The author has a descriptive power of no common orutr. Dr. Outhrle, Edlntourgn. STRAY BEAMS FROM THE CROSS. Price, Clotl. out, 50 tents. Paper Wrappern, i5 « ents. "The seventeen chapters in this book a"/£|j,r;j:','";,e\^t.To'tt'c^of ."i sphere of the Cross of Christ. •t^nnttntvMi^^ My winch, in „,v opinion. Cro9s.'"-Rev. R. Boyle, Brampton. Ont. _ _„ ..,„..»« w»wja« 7S & SO KIN« ST. E4ST. TOK03iTll5 >i iiiS.i.vSl "«i"-'' ' C. W. COATES. MoSTK«xt.. Qas. S. F. HUESTIS. Haukax, N.S. liV THE SAME AUTHOli. 'V7'0:E11D^ OIF LliFE. THIRD EDITION. Price 2't Cents, €loth, Limp. CosTBNTs: The Christian Ministry -The Church Asleep -Workin;? for Jesus- Are we to expect a Fallinsr Away after a Revival? -How are we to get the Senior Members of the Church to enter more fully into the work of God ?— Why are so many of our Children Unsaved ?-Is a Life of Personal Holiness Attainable, or does the Bible teach the Doctrine of Christian Perfection or Entire SanctifieationV— Christian Perfection Removes the Sting of Death. WHERE HE MET WITH JESUS. To wliicli if* }ippen«Ie«l a short accnniit of the life-work of the late RKV. W. K. AFFLFX'K, the eminent Temperance worker. Price 25 Cents. "The writer has ijiven us a pathetic narrative, told in beautiful and poetic language, and with an attractive grace which leads the reader to finish the book before he lays it do«n. Beauty of stylo and a spirit of fervent piety which breathes through this little volume combine tu make it a most acceptable religious book ."-Christian Guardian. JUST FROM THE PRESS. WALKS IN PARADISE Price, Cloth Gilt, 50 Cents. Paper M'rappers, !45 Cents. "This volume has those marks of excellence which characterize the other devo- tional books of ;he writer. The subject is one which only a vivid, yet reverent, imagination could well attempt; and it has been preseiited"in a manner comforting and inspiring to the reliirious reader. xMany of the descriptive passages are unusually beautiful. Books like this are welcome guests in Christian homes."— Christian Guardian. ,„"'^,*'^.^"**'°'"' '" e'!?ht pithy chapters, exclusive of the 'Introduction' and Condusion, gives his readers a very charming and inviting view of the Heavenly Paradise. The chapters are divided as follows: ' vve Puit, but not Forever;' 'The Avenue to the King's Garden;' 'Paradise a Re.ilitv;' 'Whert' is Paradise'' 'The Glory of Par.tdise;' 'The Nativ-es of Paradise;' 'The Siiints in Paradise;' 'The Keunion of Friends in Paradise.' The author's vivid imagination and beautiful word-painting find full scope, yet ''"eping within the limits of revelation and sound reasoning. History, science. Scripture a.. d noetiy are brought into requisition to Brooklyn "iSry^^'us^ »'"p"f J' the delightful theme. '-Rtjcord and Messenger, "'Walks in Paradise' is an eloquently written book. It is full of heavenly sunshine, and should have a place in every home." TORONTO : WILLIAM BRIGGS, 78 & 80 KL\» ST. EAST. C. W. COATRS, Mo.NTRRAL, Qi-e. S. F. HUESTIS, Halifax, N.S. il i 1 1