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Sciences
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(

^'i

s^t-u

-^^^

iWt4

rp'

Or, MAN'S LITE;

Setting forth his Nature, Views, Harmonies,
and Contrasts, Virtues and Vices, Restraints, Temptations,
Beniedies, Victories, Eesponsibilities to himself, liis Fcllow-Me.i, and
his Saviour, for Time and Eternity.

^ §iU Mml^r

Some Portions of the Book a ChiUl may understand ; there are Others
which a Man may Study with increasing Interest and
Profit all his Life.

Pabt Ist — Christ and the Soul.
Pakt 2d — ^The School of the He\kt.
Pabt 3d — ^The Candle of Life.
Pabt 4th — John Bunyan's View of Lifk.

Rev. E. H. Gillett, D. D.
Rev. Gko. B. Ciieever, D. D.
Rev. Howard Crosby, D. D.

Rev. W. M. PuNSHON.

Rev. R. McGoNEOAL, A. M.
Rev. P. D. Van Cleef, D. D.
Rev. D. M. Reeves, A. M.

nearly 300 Illustrations.

J. H. JEWETT AND CO.
NORWICH, CONN.

SCHUYLER SMITH & CO.
LONDON, ONTARIO.

Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1870, by

N. TIBBALS & SON,

In the Clerk's Office of tlie District Court of the United States, for the

Southern District of New York.

ir the

|0 every household in which the lessons of sacred wisdom
are accounted a necessary element of family training —
to every social circle where a generous fancy can com-
bine amusement with instruction ; to every parent or teacher who
prizes illustrative art or pictured emblems, as aids to impress truth
upon the mind ; to every mind, youthful or mature, that can derive
pleasure or profit from the recognition of practical truth in human
experience — this work, designed at once to arrest the attention and
impress the heart, is dedicated.

'Tis not thr wlmlv of life to live,
Hot M u/Ututli, Cu die.

Motitijomery.

^^-^^

■■ THS VK0K©.9 OH' THE WISE A!iE AS GOA'^a, AN'D /i.^ NASLS
FASTENED BY THE MASTER OF ASSEMBLIES '—So'.omcn.'

[0, the central figure of tlie pajj^o, tho rrowii of thcjriia!
This is the most eli quent of all, as it touchos all, unites
™ all, and gives value to all else. From its top part, one
rose in full bloom hangs down into the open area. This crown is
indeed preface to all other things. Above it, on tho right, is a
feather from the tail of the peacock, and figures human vanity and
folly, while in the left corner, a venomous spider spreads lu'.s web,
to entangle there his prey. Below, on the right, are miniature
globes, with crosses on them, while in the loft corner, are emblems
of immortality. On either margin there are beautifidly-wrought
works of leaves, and vines, and buds, and fruits.

Looking to the top of the page, wo see tho emblem of the
human soul, leaning one hand on the heart, just in front of it, and
moving the other over, and above, as if to caress tho dove, wliich is
in the act of graciously brooding the heart, as if the Holy Ghost,
promised in the Gospel, to do this work of loving benefaction. Thus,
the soul, and the Holy Spirit, and the heart of man are brought
most intimately together. In the next group, there is the soul
dressed out as if in punch's clothes, with a peacock's feather
depending from his cap, one in his right hand, reaching far ba(;k
over his shoulder, while his right foot has on it a clown's sandal,
and he is chattering to a chattering rook, which has in its tail-

A LIFE

•'VDW

ftfiithers ono much longer than liis own, borrowed from Juno*s
bird. Bulund this punstor, llios a bat, indicatin^jf tho twihght of
his cart'LT.

Nt'xt appears a human body, having upon it tho lioad of an
owl, swaying forward and back ward a long rod, with a pngna-'ious
olianticleor perched upon it, itself armed with spurs and hooks.
In the left corner, we see a soul in a sad dozo, hands clasped about
tho knoes, head leaning over it in sadness and sleep, nnklo chained
to tho woi'ld by a chain, luado of a band of stool, and a cross of
stool, while just befcn-e him, an earth-monster is coming up out of
the ground, with his eyes fixed upon the mourning captive.

In tho foot of the page, we note that tho border is composed
of a variety of images. On the right, is a figure symbolizing the
hunuin soul, engaged in an occupation far beneath tho abilities and
duties of an immortal being, for it is blowing soap-bubbles, with a
cup at its knees full of bubbles, and just beyond is a gaggling
goose, nmch elated at the achiovments of the bubblo-maker. On
the left of this figure, we see another, one of hideous death,
laughing over and admiring the soap-bul)blo exhibition, to help on
tho young trifler, while the right hand of his strength is holding
the tail of a serpent. Just at death's feet, and beliind him, a rook
is standing, awaiting his festival-share of tho bubble-blower, when
death comes into possession of him. The serpent, with many
strong coils and muscular twists, is destroying the life of a human
soul, which cries aloud with tho bitterest wails, appeahng with
upturned face to the skies, while both hands are vainly attempting
to tear off the great coils of his oppressor, whoso open mouth is
hissing and darting its deadly fangs into its victim. Still further
on, there is a young soul, full of a fruitless kind of business —
catching butterflies, by swinging a scoop-net in a most lively
manner. A frog looks ^vith admiration upon the sport.

Prom Juno's
twilight of

I hotul of nil
inigna.'ious
and 1 looks,
ispcd ubout
klo chained
a cross of
g up out of
ivo.

3 composed
aohzing tho
bilitics and
jIos, with a
a gaggling
laker. On
0U8 death,
to lielp on
is holding
dm, a rook
w^or, when
i^ith many
f a human
iling with
ittempting
mouth is
ill further
)usiness —
est lively

THE r.TiNC} OP (Death :ij,c:v. anO tiik otrehoth cf sin :s

THE LA W. HUT THANKS HE TO 00<D. WHO OIVETH US THE
VICTORY, THROUGH OUR LOR-mI JESUS CHE'ST. '•-Paul.

N tlio cuntro of tho froutispioco, vo iiotifo tlio figure of the

world. Tho globo is the body of tho peacock, Juno's vaiu

bird. The tail is fully spread, nhowing that the world

carries its best side out. Evangel is at work, jdunting tho cross on

tho top of tho world, having n ludo about his head, iudioating that

ho has passed from death unto life. Eviingel is cUiubing iip the

table of tho hiw, for this kind of teaching is necessary to bring the

sold to p desiro for tho Gospel.

A little sprite of evil, topped out in punch's cap, is watching
tho process, with tho serpent l)elow, with Ids war-chib,
dressed like himself, ready for action. Just at the foot of tho law-
tables, an evil genius of temptation is holding a pomegranate to the
open in(nith of tho maddened serjiont, wnoso hissing and vibrating
tongue is issued from his mouth. A solid basis of stone, iutinmting
the solidity of tho divine purposes, and marked by a cross, showmg
that even tho firmest purposes of God are in harmony with tho
Gospel, is in the midst.

On tho stone table, there is a death's skull, to whlcli one of the
sprites is riveting the feet of the peacock, Avhile on the left of the
table, and leaning against it, there is an underworld ag(,'nt, with
an owl's head upon a luunan body having wings, scattering e^ ils,
from Pandora's box, nuvking a sea for the serpent.

A LIFE STUDV

To the left of the main and central figure is a human soul,
engaged in plucking the showy quills oflP it, for his gratification.
He has been to a limited degree successful, for he has obtained one,
and has it in his hand, and is playing with it. In the far upper
corner, on the right hand, we see the butterfly, emblom of immor-
tality, facing the scenes below, and coming down to mingle in
them.

Hero wo have the court of the emblems. In the English lan-
guage there is not one page so rich with the forms of symbolized
thought. All the greatest principles of the Christian religion are
set forth, at once, intelligently and beautifully.

Hours of pious study may be devoted to this one page, with
profit not surpassed in one's life-time. The lessons taught us are
finely voiced by Anna Letitia Barbauld,

" Jehovah reigns ; let every nation hear,
And at Uia footBtool botv with holy fear;
Let heaven's high arches echo with His name,
And the wide-peopled earth His praise proclaim."

Now let us turn our attention to the symbols of the bordering
to this rich court of emblems. In the crown-piece, there are four
beautiful figures. The world, surmounted by the cross of Jesus,
shows redemption to be in possession of the race of man, wreathed
in ornamental work of vine, and leaf, and bud. The foot and leg
of chanticleer, showing that pugnacity has a spur for itself, as well
as for others. The feather of Juno's bird is the longest, has for a
center the body of a venomous spider, a little bell of vain speech,
and a large one of vespers. The heart, entangled in a bow-string,
is proof of its entanglements with an instrument of pain and death,
while an arrow flies towards the dove's form, as it is coming down
out of the firmament. The first is named " Mundus," the World,
and is attended by the moon, in its first quarter, or crescent. The
second is called " Lubido," Desire. The third is " Vanitas," Van-
ity. The fourth is " Amor," Love.

On the right border, we see the image of the celeptial world,

A LIFS STUDY.

iiman soul,
ratification,
tained one,
I far upper
of immor-
mingle in

aglish lan-
jymbolized
eligion are

page, with
ght us are

bordering
9 ai'e four
of Jesus,
wreathed
3t and leg
If, as well
has for a
in speech,
Jw-string,
nd death,
ing down
le World,
mt. The
as," Van-

ial world,

marked "coelum,^^ crowned -with a star, and the emblem of immor-
tality just above it. A vase below contains a miniature heart, and
is the home of a flowering plant. On the left border is this world's
figure, marked " terra," and suimounted by a cross, and above it
the cap of folly. Higher still is a plant, bearing miniature worlds,
and the Httle crosses, and two stems of evil fruits, inviting to the
eye, but poisonous. Below, there is a scroll-vase, containing a
little world within, and sending forth a plant, that bears little
worlds, and their cross-ornaments.

" The grave is but the portico of life—
The dark vestibule i f departed souls."

Let us now turn to the bottom of the border. In the left
comer, there is a symbol of the soul, with its Latin name, "«w«»?a,"
with a star of Bethlehem near and above, while danger is still
nearer and below it. Next is the body of a venomous serpent,
spotted with wickedness, its mouth open towards the soul, and its
tail pointing towards the hell of lost souls. Its body is wound into
one coil, showing that one coil is enough to threaten death, while
its figurative name *^ malum," indicates the great tempter and
father of all evil, Satan. The emblem of death is that skull, with
a flowering plant growing up out of one socket, while its name,
" /ww«," is on the band above it, and a crown of glory just opposite
it on the right, showing that death has rewards very near its
portals, even nearer than we think. The harlequin-cap is sur-
mounted by a cock's head, while its name, ^^ stuUitia," foolishness,
is there with its antidote, the hour-glass, lying in plain view.

Thus have we sought the import of these emblems. Things
high and things low, great and small, plain and abstruse, far and
near, have thus been laid out in this most instructive picture, while
greatest of all, the king's palaces, and grounds, are back of all that
we have seen, reminding us of a few lines of the poet Sandys,

" God is our I cfuge, our strong tower,
Securing by His mighty power,
When dangers tlire;iten to devour."

:i! .1

" SiMime feror" — I am bomo aloft.

" Tralior infra" — I am drawn below.

' Cum Coelum Ai^pkio, Sohtm Bespicio,"—

While I look to Heaven, I spurn the earth.

::tXjTdJ"

•T A]£ THE LIGHT OF THE WORL<S.'-— Jesus. THAT V/fi.3 THE

TRUE LIGHT, THAT LIGHTETH EVEI{Y JJIAU THfi.T

COMETH INTO THE W0<RLD.

EHOLD, in the picture here presented, a vision of Heaven-

ly Light ! The human soul, with spirit-given pinions, is
called of God from above. A beam, from the sun of
Eighteousness, sheds its glory on the soul, and its environments.
Impressed divinely, the soul kneels upon the Cornu Copia, which
had been heretofore filled with toys, and follies, and vices of the
world, as its chief good.

Now, there is no longer any love for such things, and they
are being poured out from it, while the Cornu Copia reversed
bears oHve branches of peace, and it is thus a type of the divine
promises, indicating His wealth and benefaction. The soul drops
the instrument of music, a symbol of worldly entertainment and
pleasure, turns the back upon all things Earthly, and looks to
Heaven, whence the vision of Heavenly Light has come, while the
hands are extended upward in adoration.

jS. LIFE STUDY.

In the crown of the picture, the laxk ascends the Heavens, with
extended wings, towards the morning light, as it pours in from
the East, upon the highest mountains, uttering her early welcome
to the king of day. On the right and left of the crown-piece are
two torches, in full flame, showing how Christiaiiiiy meets the souls
of men, as they lift their eyes towards the throne of God.

On the left of the page, is a globe, placing before us the celes-
tial constellations, a type of the Heavenly world, surmounted by
the Star of Bethlehem, in full glow, which is the glory and crown
of all. On the right is a globe, presenting the terrestrial world,
partiy in the shadows of night, and partly in the twilight of
morning, while the cross of Jesus Christ is on the top of it, planted
firmly there, as the interpretation and Sovereign of this lower
world.

Beneath the central picture is the world of waters, and clouds
are above it The time is night, and a storm is upon the deep.
A ship is on the stormy sea, and the birds are upon the wing,
while the gigantic sea-serpent is coming up, from the deeper parts
of the waters.

""lyvut^^

iiVens, with
's in from
y welcome
i-piece are
J the souls

the celes-
Junted by
nd crown
al world,
tilight of
t, planted
his lower

,f^

ad clouds
;he deep,
he wing,
per parts

-^7^_

hen the. lion roars,the beasts o I' the /ore si Ueep
Icnce ; when Jehovah speaks, the inhabUtiiila i,f
world ouff/it to stand in am:

■SEARCH THE SCRIPTURES; FOR IN THBJU YE 1HINK YE HAVi

ETERNAL LIFE ■ AND THEY APE IHEY WHICH

TESTIFY OF ME. --Jesus.

|HEN Sir Walter Scott, during a lucid interval of his
last illness, requested Ids son-in-law, Lockhart, to read
to him, he was asked in reply, what he should read.
"There is but one book," answered the author of a hundred vol-
umes, and from that one book the son-in-law of the dying genius
read to him, the words of One "who spake as never man spake."
"There is but one book," in all the tens and hundreds of
thousands which human pens have written, or human eyes have
read, which speaks with authority from heaven. Good men have
^vritten, and sometimes their lofty thoughts and pure devotion
seem to bear us upward to the right of the throne. But if asked
the secret of their power, they would exclaim, "Not unto us!"
They had filled their lamps and lighted them from the heavenly
throne. They had quaflFed from the streams of a divine wisdom.
They had been taught as Disciples at the feet of Jesus.

So, admirable and useful compendiums have been mads of
the truths of the Bible. Some of them have been brought out
in elegant and carefully compacted systems. They show the
grasp of powerful intellect, or the sagacity of scholarly penetra-
tion. But they are only patterns, more or less imperfect, of
what may be seen in the moment. They are the well-wrought,

Kim

-t

Jl. LIFE STUDY

but yet dead images of truths, that live forever ou the Sacred
page. All their beauty, all their worth, and all their force,
are borrowed from a Divine source, aud are proportioned to the
exactness, with which they reflect the sacred original.

Here we see "the one book," plac#i{ii*ne scale of an equal
balance, while all the creeds, confessionipdecrees of councils and
synods, for eighteen centuries, are cast into the other. Much of
these last is mere useless lumber. Hero are decrees then, the
words of false as well as of fallible men, that are lighter than vanity.
There are some creeds, in which grains of eiTor are mingled with
important and weighty truths ; then there are others, where the
error is so extended, that the truth seems smothered under it.

Some of those creeds have been rigidly imposed. They have
been made the pass-words of party, to exclude from the Christian
privilege, even those whom the Good Shepherd would take as
lambs to his bosom. Thus, embodying much truth, in many cases,
they have been made stumbhng-blocks to weak souls, and have
obstructed the cause which they were intended to advance.

This, however, little affects their real weight for this is to
be determined by their nearness to the sacred stf'.nrlard, used as
expressions of the common belief and experience of classes of
Christian men, and means of understanding and adjusting their
mutual learning, they serve a valuable end. But if the world were
filled with them, they could add nothing to the Word, and if they
did, it would be to convict and condemn themselves.

Thus " the one book " is seen justly to outweigh all creeds and
confessions. It receives direct from heaven the full blaze of light,
which is only hereby reflected upon them. All the merit they
have is dependent upon these scattering beams, and among them
are some upon which, if radiated darkness were visible, darkness
would be radiated from the haunts of error, the prejudices of sect,
or the absurdities of " infallible " imposers of creeds.

ho Sacred
leir force,
led to the

f an. equal
uncila and
Much of
then, the
lan vanity,
nigled with
where the
3r it.

Ihey have
Christian
d take as
any cases,
and have

':'f

this is to
I, used as
classes of
iting their
rorld were
id if they

treeds and
9 of light,
lerit they
ong them
darkness
38 of sect,

^^.5=^^

The air that whisper'd nnw begins to mar ;

That lal* waB vmiic, now affright! like thunder,
Thejlre now burnt, that did but warm before.

•Sm WHEN IT IS FINISHED BRINOETH FORTH DEATH. ■—Paul

IIUT yet it moves," whispered the Italian, Gallileo, as he
rose froia his knees, bending upon which, under awe of
the Inquisition, he had confessed that the earth was
stationary. But yet it moves — moves along its ethereal pathway,
flying in its orbit around the sun. Yet, that is not its only motion.
Invisible forces are impelUng it, as they may, whirling it on its
own axis, or now hastening, and now retarding its speed.

This material globe is one thing, but the living world of
humanity is another. This, too, moves, but who has mastered the
astronomy of a depraved nature, flimg out of its orbit, and, like
the gigantic fragments of an exploding asteroid, scattering con-
fusion and death on every side ?

Society is moved and controlled by various conflicting and
discordant forces. The good are often intermittent. The evil are
for the most part constant. The first are drawing it upward. The
others are dragging it downward. A much less force is necessary,
in the latter case, than in the former. " Facilis descemv/a^'* said
the Latin poet. The descent is easy.

£3

A LIFE STUDY.

This is illustrated in the accompanying picture. If the fabled
I'luoton, could not ntanugo the horsos and chariot of tho Bun,
there is no human or cioated spirit sufHeiont to hold iu check a
world, that has broken lo(J8e from its allegiance to God. If society
had on earth a presiding genius, tho great mass would lecognize
him in some idol of power, of fashion — some dazzling hero of the
battle-field, some bright star of gay saloons, some Bolbigbroko, or
Byron, some Marlborough, or Wellington. But what care these
men whitlier the great world of humanity drifts, or rolls, or moves y
Or if they cared, how far could thoy control its movements ? More
often they sit aloft, perched on the world's heights, and plunging
on with it, grasping no reins, imposing no check upon men's evil
propensities, but rather impelling them on, and urging to larger
and more dangerous activity the baser lusts.

Satan need not trouble himself to give the world a charioteer.
Leave it to itself, and to the forces that are hitched to it and drag
it on, and it matters little who sits aloft and stupidly dreams of
" progress " and "manifest destiny," when "progress" and "mani-
fest destiny" are evidently downward, and when, if the sleeper
wakes, he find himself without the power to curb evil, and perhaps
without the disposition to do it.

So it is here. The mischievous simpleton who presides over tho
desperate experiment, can only ply his whip and lash to more
reckless speed the vicious propensities whit;h he has no power to
elude. These propensities, the ruling ones on the world's down-
ward track, are symbolized by the not altogether incongruous
combination of the goat and swine, lust and gluttony. On they
go, blindly, madly, with, even pace dragging the world after them,
and hurrying it, if unwarranted, to some sad catastrophe, sym-
bolized by an open grave. Every fence of restraint is broken
through as they press on.

A LIFE CTUDY.

f the fablod
)f tho 8im,

ill check a

If society

Id lecognize

hero of tho

jigbroke, or

care these
, or moves ?
ats ? More
d phinging

men's evil
[J to larger

charioteer,
t and drag
dreams of
nd "maui-
;he eleeper
ad perhaps

The catastropho is foreshadowed by tho bordering of tho picture.
A blazing crowd sots a world — black witli guilt, and loaded down
by the beastliness (symboli/ed by a toad), that sinks it lower
and lower — on lii-o. A winged death's head exults in the spectacle.
Winged monsters with open jaws bark out tho horrible news, while
the slimy serpent lifts himself up to view with exultation, the
terrible consummation of tho tragedy in tho earliest scene of which
he was one of the actors.

Thus the I^atin motto, mundiis ad excidium ruit — "tho world
rushes to destruction," is seen to bo true. Forces are drawing or
impelling it that are governed only by their own caprice, or blind
impulse. They must bo detached, displaced, dismissed, and others
must be yoked to the task of counteracting what they have done.
Who is capable of accomplishing this? Surely help must bo laid
vipon One that is mighty to save. The hand of an imseen bone-
factor stretches out the cross over the blazing conflagration of guilt
that its fierceness may be subdued.

es over the
i to more

power to
Id's down-
congruous

On they
fter them,
phe, sym-
18 broken

Iftia

THOU j^RT WEIGHED m THE GALANOE ANL
V/ ANTING. -Daniel.

FOUND

ONDEE, in the background, is the grandeur of tlie
world, with palaco and temple in view. The lofty
structure which,— surrounded by the verdiu-e, and half
shaded by the trees* of a noble park, towers aloft, commanding
a view of the surrounding scene,— is suggestive of princely
magnificence, or the taste and lavish employment of unbounded
wealth.

Upon such a background we have, set forth with startling
distinctness and prominence, a picture of real life — a picture
which few concerned in it will at the moment bo dioposed to
regard as a picture of reahty — but which at last, when the
disappointed actur, like a celebrated French marshal, is forced to
exclaim, "My life has been a failure," appears no longer a sketch
of fancy. The world is to be weighed in a balance exqvisilely
contrived. The beam of the balance is an arrow, its- point ahnost
pressing the bosom of the one engaged in the experiment, and the
arrow ia self-poised on the coru of a suspended bow. In front of
one scale, sita the world's magician, tricked out as a harlequin;

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■i

hii fox-headed cane, ready to serve as a club to knock down his
victim, lying concealed by his side ; his head masked with trump-
ery which seems by long-eared manifestatious to disguise his real
character. While his bowl of miniature bubbles is placed by his
side, he is engaged in blowing up a gigantic one, the edge of
which just rests upon the scale and presses it down to the earth,
insomuch that the globe itself, thrown into the opposite scale,
is seen to be Ughter than a bubble. It is thus, that the un-
satisfying nature of what the soul longs for among earth's pos-
sessions — ijven though, like Alexander, it makes the conquest of
one globe, and longs for more — is grapliically exhibited. All
that Ir.st can attain, all that ambition can grasp, proves no more
than an imposing cheat. It is to be accounted '* altogether lighter
than vanity." Quis levoir? ^^ Cici plus ponden's addit amor^^ — Which
scale is the lighter? That to Avhich Cupid (passion), is adding
more weight?"

Meanwhile, outside the main picture, and yet encompassing this
visible scene, there is another and a gigantic balance suspended.
It is mo exact balance of an invisible providence and of eternal
truth. The tenant of the palace cannot behold it. It rises aloft
above the sphere in w^hich he moves ; but there it is, suspended
aloft to the view of the meditative eye, and of superior intel-
ligences. Here, too, the bubble — in tliis case fully blown, rests
in our scale, while the other is not only loaded, but overloaded,
with the grandest and most attractive prizes of the world's
ambitions. It is evident that one has been added after another,
to adjust the balance and equipoise the scales, till the experi-
ment is complete, and the loaded scale itself can hold no more.

Upon examining more closely, we find, that first was "put in
the flesh, with all her loads of pleasure." Next labelled "mam-
mon," " Great mammon's endless inventory." Then come, " the
pondrous acts of mighty Ca;sar," '' the greater weight of Sweden's

A LIFE STUDY.

glory," "Scipio's gauntlet," "Plato's gown," and "Circe's charms."
And when all these have failed to bear down the scale, "the
triple crown" of pontifical grandeur, with the keys, which are
at once to "loose" on earth and in heaven, is added, hung to
the edge of a scale that can hold no more. Yet all this mighty
mass is insulfifient to balance a bubble, which by its superior
weight, is even cracking the end of the beam that supports it.
No wonder the Poet of the emblems exclaims,

'' Lord ! what a world is this, which day and i\ight,
Men seek with bo lauch toil, with eo much trouble
Which weighed in equal Bcales is found bo light,
So poorly overbalanc'd with a bubble.

Good God ! that frantic mortals should destroy
Their highest hopes, and place their idle joy
Upon such airy trash, upon so light a toy."

Thus does he echo the sad refrain of the enthroned philosopher,
" Vanity of vanities, all is vanity."

\i)i

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"Hell and night
Must bring Viia monstroiu birth to the world's Ughl."
' ^ Shakespeare,

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■■WE AI^i^ NOT IGNOIIANT OF HIS DEVICES/ -Paul

^N the subiirbs of Vanity Fair, Satan finds a playground.
Yonder are the palaces of wealth and luxury, and the
youth that are nurtured in them must often be distin-
guished by the superior hazard, as well as costUness of their
games. Oftentimes there is a nominal stake, while the real one is
not mentioned, or even recognized.

The gambler sometimes gains or loses his thousands in a
single night, but there are costlier treasures than gold can buy,
staked on the issue. What if they are not counted in ? What if
a peaceful mind, an approving conscience, a loyalty to truth and
virtue, steadfastness of principle, pure thoughts and industrious,
honest, and noble aims are altogether overlooked ? It is as if one
should wrap his coppers in a bank-note of a thousand pounds,
and without a thought of the note, fling his coppers down as his
forfeit. The note goes with them. Or even if he wins, the hand
that is outstretched to grasp the prize flings down perhaps in
taking it, what is a thousand fold Tno^^ ^.xocious.

In this picture, we see Satan playing his game with two youths,
one of whom represents the flesh and the other the spirit— one
with his fool's cap suspended aloft, and his dress after the Vanity

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A LIFE STUDY

I \ >

Fair pattern, suggestive of camab'ty, and the other with his wings
and in simple garb, intimating the soaring possibilities of the
spiritual nature. And in this game, ** the flesh lusteth against
the spirit," and takes the part of Satan. It is really a struggle of
** the flesh and the devil," or if we interpret also the implements
of the game, of "the world, the flesh, and the devil," against the
soul of man. Satan, with superhuman sagacity, plies all his
skill, and is aided in his designs by the part which the flesh takes
in the proceedings. It is true, when the two parties are con-
sidered, one with his infernal cunning, and the other with his
unsuspecting inexperience, it matters comparatively little what the
game is. But in this case it is for the soul a game of life and
death, as is plainly intimated by the fact that one of the bowls —
so near as to betray its features — has traced upon it the face of a
fleshless skull.

Satan closely watches every cast. He seems absorbed in the
game, while by lending it new excitement, he is making more
sure of his victim. Perhaps he allows him to win at first. He
would even yield what is necessary to his infatuation. Then the
terrible fascination of the game lays hold upon the spirit. It will
venture more and more. Has it lost by one game? Another
must be played to make the loss good. Another still, and still an-
other follows, till disappointment makes the player desperate.
One more, and his earthly all is sacrificed. One more still, and
hope is finally surrendered. One more, and his mad infatuation
has plunged him down the awful gulf.

Abov3 the picture is the corona triumphalw, " the crown of tri-
umphs," while conquered worlds and captured fool's caps are
suspended with it as trophies. Beneath, grasping the scroll of
destiny, is a skeleton Bhadamanthus, seated on his throne of
judgment, with a darkened world in the background, that has be-
come a thing of the past. Between these two issues — the crown

A LIFE STUDY.

and the curse — the game of life is played. If Satan triumphs, the
curse shall befall the spirit. If the interposing grace of heaven
defeats his designs, and snatches the heedless youth from the net
of his subtle schemes, the crown is assured.

There is a horrid magnificence of conception in the ideal sketch
by Retsch, of the spirit of darkness assuming a human form, and
with sinister gaze bending over the chess-board, whereon he plays
with man his game for his soul. Here, too, the same thought is
presented, only Satan's fleshly ally is depicted. The heedless
youth, representing the spirit, and venturing more and more, little
realizes what he is doing. Satan is playful. Satan enjoys with
him what he may deem innocent sport. But, under the form of
innocent amusement, he lures inexperience to ruin, ,

Romance has few stories like this ; but real life has many.
They have been written in bloody sweat. They have been told
with sighs and tears. Name after name of the victims of guilt
betrayed by confidence of inexperience to some rash venture, from
which after recovery was almost hopeless, brings them up before
us. The festive cup has been the first term of a series, the last of
which — on earth — was the gallows. Men have bargained peace
for plenty, and God for gold, and their birthright for a mess of
pottage, without dreaming that Satan was playing with them a
desperate game for their souls. "Well may we say when flesh and
spirit are engaged in their game with Satan, that whatever the
prospect, there should be written in large capitals over the scene,
uirmque crepundia merces, ** The gain of each is a trifle."

!! n

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iivs to (liid alow,
ihiul itsi't/c." -Cowpor.

^^^^«(3^ ~^^r-x.

■LET HIM DENY HIMSELF, TAKE UP HIS CROSS
FOL L O W J.iE. • --Jeaua.

A ND

WOELD without "a cross" is the fool's ideal of a Tarii-
dise. To his view it is an unsightly projection, and lie
would saw it off. Mounted on the globe that threatens
every moment to slip from under him, he toils and sweats to
destroy that which alone can furnish him a secure siipport, or
resting place. He takes no interest in the near projecting roof,
or the distant palace. He has no eye for the inviting garden
or the wooded hiUs. All his attention and energies are devoted
to saving the world the incumbrance of the cross. With his old,
rusty saw, he would cut it off, and let it fall as rubbish into the
vaults of his own elegantly wrought structure.

So heedless youth would shake off the obnoxious appendage
of religious principle, would saw it harshly away, if need be, and
leave only a smooth, round, genteel world to deal with. It
matters not that this is the soul's stay and strength — that it is
the only support on which it can lean, which perches upon the
world's slippery height. It is " a cross " which for fashion's sake,

III!

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fi LIFE STUDY.

for foar of ridicule, or to keep up appouranoos, must bo put away.
Enough only of it is to bo loft to save appoarunces.

So, too, mon would have a roUgion without a crosa — a smooth,
round, s^Tnmetrical rehgion, that thoy can roll about, and play
with, and commend to others as a gratioful and elegant thing.
With the agiUty of liealth and strength, and the false peace of a
sleeping conscience, they feel no need of the cross for their
support, and their superior taste, rectified by the world's new
philosophy, revolts at' the unsightliness of the cross, sometimes
pronouncing it " the central gallows" of the universe. They would
not allow it to disturb their self-complacency, or come athwart their
fine-spun schemes of " a broad way " to heaven.

But a world without " a cross " would be only a universal
Sodom, with fullness of bread and abundance of idleness, waiting
for the outpouring of the fiery deluge. The hardships of which
men often complain, are the necessary conditions of their well-
being and their blessedness. The stern law of toil has been more
effective to keep down the volcanic forces of human passion, than
all the statutes of Solon, and Roman fables and institutes. A
hard lot has often cradled true greatness. Noble spirits have been
rocked or waked to consciousness by the blast. The grand hero-
isms of life have been born amid throes and agonies of struggle.
He that would smooth the path, would relax the muscles of the
climber. He that would dispense with the cross, would only
secure the forfeit of the crown.

What multitudes are engaged just in sawing off the crosses
of the world; in making life easy, comfortable and luxurious!
They would have no unsightly projections about them. They
would adroitly balance themselves on a slippery world, -without any
support. Little do they consider how much more wise it would be,
to leave duty as it is, solemn, stem, or even repulsive in aspect,
than to trick it out as an actor, or to dress it up as a monster.

Jl LIFE STUDY

But such folly is ever Bure of thia inevitable retribution. Aloft,
above its head, are the compasses that take their exact sweep, and
measure of its desert on the dial-plate of justice. There, too, is
tlxe pawnbroker's sign, intimating that folly is engaged in that
brokerage of principle and duty to which the deepest infamy
clings ; or perhaps tliat pawning all is to bankrupt itself. To the
right, a winged messenger of the skies comes down, bearing, to a
a barren, cheerless globe, the best-born of Heaven — a cross! To
the left, a globe without a cross, has " Vanitas " (vanity) inscribed
upon it — though flowers and peacock's feathers, wreathed or
Avaving over it, enrich it with all the gifts, wliile they sbadow it
with all the curse of pride.

But while the butterfly alights on the globe from which the
cross has fallen ofl^, and makes it a butterfly-world — the scorn
and loathing of noble spirits — there is seen beneath the picture,
the form of a human heart supported on the arms of the cross
— itself tlie key that opens the gate of life — while wreathed
around both is a scroll that bears the inscription, " In criice qum
ttita.^* In these words there is a truth expressed that has been
coined out of the richest experience, of all the weary, worn, and
heavy-laden, who have found peace in Christ. They assure us
that "in the cross there is a safe repose." It is even so. Paul
would glory in nothing else. Greek and Jew might exclude it
from their creed; shallow experience and false philosophy might
saw it oflf from theirs; but millions have sung, and millions still
sing,

"In the cross of Christ I glory "

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" And oh wiml a with-inij tlml tlefp
3>tall know

At the p,al oj the. Jmlgmenl day."

AWAKE THOU THAT SLEEPEST AND CALL UPON THY OOD

HILE Saul slept in his cave, David ontorotl, and cut off
the skirts of his robo, instead of plunging liis spear into
his breast. It was the act of a generous spirit, designed
to remind his fue, that his Ufo had been in his power. But tho
sleep of folly is not as safe, as that of the king of Israel. The
intruders, that stand ready to break in upon it, are not all
Davids. In this picture, we see man, represented under
the foi-m of a weary child, lying down to reposo by the side
of the thick-set hedge, and he has tho world for his
pillow. Perhaps he dreams, and his fancies are reveling in an
ideal world. His unstrung bow lies fallen by his side, and his
loosened quiver has been laid by. Evidently all fear has been
banished, and no apprehension of danger disturbs his repose.
Far off, beyond the hedge are spacious fields, with groves and
dwellings, and there, too, is a graveyard, with its mute memen-

A LIFE STUDY.

toes of mortality, and its attestations to the reality of that cur^c oy
which sin has blighted the world. Nearer by, yet all unob.,erved
by the sleeper, the stealthy adder is winding himself iortli from
his covert to seize the innocent bird, that has alighted or. a lowly
branch.

Yet the sleeper does not wake. Right before his closed eyes, a
scene of brute tragedy is going forward. Another moment, and
the serpent's cunning may have secured a victim. Another mo-
ment and his burning glance may rest upon the sleeping child,
and a nobler victim incite his assault. How significant the lan-
guage of the warning scroll, latet hostis, ntia duels, "My enemy lies
in ambush ; you are taking your ease." Aloft, perched upon a
globe fashioned of a skull whose grinning features are turned
toward the scene, a ccck crows his warning note. Why does not
the sleeper wake? Fragrant flowers and gaudy butterflies, in-
deed, are wreathed around the picture, but there, too, are thorns
and briars, amid which the noisome bat finds shelter, and the
deadly serpent is coiled for a fatal spring. But poppies are min-
gled with the other flowers, and the danger is unlieeded where its
opiate breath is felt.

How true an emblem of that scene through which our daily
paths wind ! Here are unconscious sleepers around us who have
sunk to repose, with their heads pillowed on the world, or on what
it has to give. They feel secure. Bow and quiver are laid by.
They sleep, and in their sleep dream of danger. One listens to
ghostly voices whispering, "Take thine ease; eat, drink, and be
merry." Another meditates self-complacently, "Thou hast much
goods laid up for many years." The world, too, the soul's pillow
and support, is itself one huge opiate. Whoever rests upon it
takes no thought of anything else, lays up no treasure in heaven,
looks not to "things that are unseen and eternal," discerns no
great adversary, no roaring lion, no lurking serpent, no prowling foe.

; '::\\i

A LIFE STUDY.

And yet this world is often seen to be almost like an eastern
jungle, where tigers keep their lair, and venomous reptiles coil un-
seen. It is no place for the soul to sleep, or to be off its guard.
The path that leads through it is marked by scp.ttered bones, that
tell where victims died, smitten by foes that gave uc warning they
were near, and when the warning came from another source — as
startling as that which reminded Peter that he had denied his
Lord — it is often unheeded! Day by day, with sleepers who will
not wake, though we shout in their ear, ITostis Met, "the enemy
lies in ambush."

The danger of the soul is greater than any that threatens the
body. The rattlesnake gives warning before he leaps upon his
victim. The hon roars till the echoing forests tell the story of his
presence. The dark cloud gathers up its frowning folds before the
lightning leaps out. But for the soul, the lightning sometimes
seems to blaze forth from a cloudless sky. The rage of passion is
curbed by shrewd calculation, and the tempter that wins his prize
does it under the aspect of sociability and good fellowship, while
the great adversary of souls winds his way into human hearts, as
noiselessly and stealthily as into Eden, once, and he has taken full
possession, before man is made aware of his presence, or the flo-.v-
ers wither at his breath.

■^

\§

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■ Hut the place-it was fire from holiness,
As the soul of the Infidel" -Coxa.

^::*^-^

■BUT THE LIPS OF A FOOT, WILL SWALLOW UP HIMSELF

THE BEGINNING OF THE WOI^DS OF HIS MOUTH

IS FOOLISHNESS ■■-Solomon

|HAT tills globo of ours goes spinning round and round
under our feet, us it flies througli space, every well-
taught Bchool-boy knows. But that this living world
of feeling and fancy copies its example, and that meddling and
mischievous fancies impel it, is not less obvious to tlio one
who studies its fasliions. Here we see Cupid, with his unstrung
bow and his neglected arrows, busied in a new capacity. He
is whipping liis top, with a lash of scoi-pions attached to the
leg of a crane for a handle, and his top is nothing less than
the world itself, spinning in the midst of a marsh overgrown
wath rushes. Meanwhile, the croaking frogs, allured by the
spectacle, come up from their muddy retreats, and all-absorbed by
interest in the exhibition, enjoy the sight. With evident wonder
and surprise, they observe what is going on, and with philosophical

'I .III

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fi LIFE STUDY.

V. ' \

eedateness, meditate on the problem set before their eyes. Under
the shadow of the old gigantic trees, the sport goes forward, and
Cupid's feat ia the evident admiration of all his beholders.

Whether he is moved to his effort by the simple love of mischief,
or to gain the admiration of the citizen^ of the marsh, or whether
he is impelled by both motives, he is still acting under the force of
impulses which have a great sway in the world. The motto below,
nig vertitur orhis, '* by these things the world is turned," is still
true. If we suppose the hero of this great feat to be aspiring to
make a sensation, his reward is the upturned faces, and the eager
and surprised gaze of the surrounding spectators. Ho is setting
forth the wisdom and aims of many a hero, who aspires after hu-
man applause, heedless of its worthlessne^.s, and never considering
what Pope has so elegantly expressed :

" One self-approving hour whole years outweighs
Of stupid Btarers, and of loud huzzas ;
And more true joy Marcellus exiled feels,
Than Caesar with a Senate at his heels."

This busy world of human life, spinning on like a top from day
to day, is driven, for the most part, by the lash and impulse of very
vulgar passions. Its great men, its noisy men, are greedy of
praise and fame, but it is the praise and applause of the unthink-
ing and brutalized mass that they gain. Sensible men despise
them, and the "fantastic tricks" they play before high heaven.
The world whii'ls around under their lashings. Like Mavericks or
Shaftesburies, they make or unmake kings. Like Bolingbrokes or
Arnolds, they scheme treason, and display adroitness, or rash valor.
Sometimes they take upon them the demagogue form, and then they
are known as Wilkeses or Gobbets. But their reward — what is it ?
Tlie admiration of frogs — the croaking of bewildered gazers !

All this is seen in the real world around us. The picture ex-
hibits a folly that seems too shallow and contemptible for any rea-

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LIFE STUDY.

sonable being to imitate, but it is not merely fanciful or fabulous:

" Horops are much the same, the point's aerrecd,
From Macedonia's madman to the 8wodi-."

They arc simply making a top of the world, and they are spin-
ning it for frogs to admu-e.

While this game goes on, all the best interests of humanity suffer.

On either border of the picture we see a vase bottom side up, to

show that in these circumstances nothing useful will be gathered

up or retained. Above, w? see a tomahawk, and a bow formed by

the fold of a hissing serpent, symbols of the venom of passions that

are let loose while the world's heroes spin their top, and feed upon

the hollow admiration of the staring mob, on which they are just

ready to trample. To gain an applause, which in more sober

moods they must despise, they wield the scorpion lash, discourage

honest and peaceful labor, and Uft aloft the symbols of discord and
hate.

■»" f;

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THIS IS THE VICTORY THAT OVERCOMETH THE WORLD
EVEN OUR FAITH'— Paul.

jE must siippose the radical form here presented to bo noth-
ing less than the glory-encircled cliild of God's everlasting
Covenant, the heir of the promise — the church incai'uatc ou

earth, against which the gates of hell shall never prevail. Here we
see it represented, as if in prophetic vision, returned triumphant from
its great conflict with the prince of this world, and the powers of dark-
ness. In a divine strength it has won the victory, and it comes back
with its trophies. The divine halo is about its head, while in its left
hand it holds a vanquished world, and in its right a spear. It stands
upon the serpent, trampling it under its feet, while the spear
pierces the body of the venomous reptile, and pins it fast to the
earth. In vain does the latter try the power of his fangs upon the
cold, sharp steel. He can neither free himself, nor harm his con-
queror ; but only writhe in anguish, and die by inches.

JL LIFE STUDY.

The symbols of triumph are also seen above. The hope of im-
mortality, like the butterfly at the spear's point, is fearless of what-
ever may threaten or impend, while the globe encircled by its
thorny wreath is held for Him who wore the crown of thorns.

Below, we see the flags of victory, the banners of the church of
God unfurled. The staff of each ends above in a barbed point,
while one bears the symbol of the cross, and the other, the symbol
of life from the grave. Under these banners, the victory is
assured. The church must and shall triumph. Nay, it has
triumphed already in the purpose of God, and on the page of
prophecy. A strength from above is assured to it, and he who is
"head over all things to the church" will not suffer it to be over-
come. The world shall be subdued before it. " The old serpent "
shall yield to its prowess, and wounded and ^vrithing, shall hurt
and destroy no more.

This is the glorious consummation to which the world's eager an-
ticipation has looked forward. It has found expression in
prophetic strains, and poetic numbers. Bard from bard has caught
the burden of inspired prediction, adorning it with pecuUar fancies,
but never destroying its identity. The golden age — it is felt — is
yet to be :

" Thu groans of Nftture in this nether world,
■Which heaven has heard for ages have an end."

Indeed, these groans are themselves unconsciously predictive.
The present pain and burden of human souls crushes out of them
intense longings, that go up like prayer to heaven, for deliverance.
Here and now, amid darkness and shadows, we feel and know that
we need the dawn, though we should see no beams to herald it.

" Hero every drop of honey hides a sting,
Worms wind themselves into our sweetest flowers."

Traveling the burning desert, we long for the cooling spring,
and to the church of God the pathway, under a divine leadership,

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A LIFE STUDY

18 opened. The longed-for rest, the final triumph, the conquest of
the world, bringing every thought and passion to the obedience of
Christ, is just at hand. It is even now before us. The power
of evil shall be broken. The poison of the seri)ent shall hai-m no
more. Under the unfurled banners of the cross, and of lifo and
immortality brought to hght, the church sl.all win the victory, and
triumph over every open and every secret foe.

1:'

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'• The ilnv ilnlh vhffr wlinl i» tlinlirst
Till' fio.itii ill tirfds nijt and mnli-sl,
III liiith t/ioii u-orh'.tl iiiilu the bf.<t." V'liUL'liii.

S^'-c'

■^T !S VAJN FOR YCU 70 RrSE UP KARLY. TO in' UP LATE.
TO EAT THE BREAD OP SORROWS. --Dai-.d.

■

EEE we see a world, without a cross, omptyinj^ its fullness
into a human lieart without satisfying it. 'Iho vanity of
both is signified hy the fact, that a skeleton is seen on
<Mther side of them, and together standing on the heart's base, and
supporting the world's firniainent. Grim guardians are they, for-
biddhig liope to intrude upon the domain, that is divided between
them, while the symbol of the human soul is seen, half-leaning
upon the unsatisfied heart, and yet well-nigh cast down to
the earth

Here it is depressed and humbled. From a heart which the
world vainly attempts to fill, it can draw neither consolation nor
support. On the other side, in the deep darkness irradiated by
stars, the darkness of nature and the gloom of the soul, there is
u cross shooting forth its beams, and sending down drops that
sparkle as they fall, into the vase of the liuman heart. That heart,
lying low and far down beneath the cross, is drinking in light and

rl LIFE J:UDy

Htronp;t]\. Outsido of tlio world find its skolotou Hoiitiiiola, it enjoys

a I'ulhifss which tho whoh) gloho itsolf cuimot givo.

Above, wo 800 uu Older duck, opoiiing it.s own bosom to iord

its young. Its liio-(b'ops iiro oo/ing forth, and thus its own sull'cr-

ing and sacrifico food tlio liungt'r, and sustain tho Hl'o of another,

suggesting tho niomory of tlio lovo that bled lur nian, and teaohiug

U8 to exclaim :

" O Saviour, of a world uiuloiu*.
WlioHo cljiiiij HorrowH blot tin" huh ,
WlioHu painful groiuii) mid bowliii; licud
Could rond iho veil niid wiiku tlio drud;
Hiiy, from thi\t cxerrublo troo
Di'scciids tlif ruddy tide for mv '.
Ih IIIh doi'p logs my bouiidli'H" uMiu,
And comt'8 my victory from liii* i"iiri i
IIIh duutli, Ills croHH, IiIk funeral sleep,
Instruct repeiitiuiec liow to weep,
lie poured for mo tho vltiil flood ;
My tears shall mlnglo with his blood."

Looking beneath, we see why tho heart is h
affliction, and sonietiniea to weep tears of bloo
ing forth its precious drops, Avhilo tho butterfly, as tho emblem of
immortality, is feeding upon them. Tho soul's undying Ixope is
nourished often by the heart's own wounds.

Thus tho wise and kind discipline of heaven teaches the soul
the vanity of every worldly prop or refuge. It cannot lean upon u
heart dependent upon the world. There is nothing can satisfy it,
nothing that can sustain it, till it looks away from all created
things, till it rests under the shadow of the cross, and opens its own
lieart to the stream of bleeding lovo that flows forth, therefrom.
It must have the assurance of peace and forgiveness, which the ex-
perienced power of the cross alone bestows. Till then, it may
grasp earthly good, it may even empty the world to fill its longings,
it may centre all earthly pleasures in its own experience, but all
will be found unsatisfying. It will sink under the burden, rather

o be wounded by
'lere it is, pour-

fi LIFE STUDY

tliiiii l)c cuiitlu'd hy tlio possossion. It goes Btoopitif? niul criisluKl
to tho I'iirtli, vainly sigliing lor (lolivonuico, mid coiiscioua of it*4
luisory, whilo pi-rliupa umonMeious of tho ciiU80. Skoh-toii guards
will sDcm to rcpol it wliuii it turns back io tlio world, and an iin-
Hutisliud ln'art will wtill bo crying, "give," "givo."

But lot it conio under tho power of tho eross, and all is
changed. Tho hour of darkness and despondency has passed
luvay. Drops of Hquid light will bo poured into it from the inex-
haustible glory of a crucitled Iledoejnor, and it will bo warrante('
to exclaim, in unwavin-ing trust in his grace, " I can do all tiling
through Him that strongtlunieth mo." Then, not only tho world,
but "all things," will bo its inheritanco, and ho who feeds the
young ravens when thoy cry, will satisfy all its dosiros, uud suffer
it to want no good thing.

m ;■

.11'

i t n

" .SVioiu me the deed
You'd have, me do, thaCs fitting fm- a man.
And though it tare the softest string i'mij heart,
I'll do t7."-Wliite.
C

•THE SLUGGAI^D WILL NOT PLOW BY REASON OF THE COLD.

THEREFORE SHALL HE BEG IN HARVEST. AND HAVE

NOTHING. ■■—Solomon.

HAED lot is often made t\e necessary discipline of
the soul. It will heed no lesson that is not pressed, as
it were, on the points of thorns, deep into the Uving
flesh. It is love that presses it, even while the soul smarts under
the pain, and unwittingly and unwisely asks that " the thorn in the
flesh" may be taken away.

Here we see the afflicted soul breaking to pieces by heavy
blows, administered by itself, the little worlds of its former idolatry.
It is with tears and sweat that it performs its task. It is hard,
perhaps, to see these objects about which the heart once twined
itself, crushed under the stroke of the hanmier — to see them
crushed and turned to worthless rubbish. Yet this is what those
are called upon to do, who are summoned by Christ to follow him,
bearing the cross. The language of their hearts must be, —

"The dearest idol I have known,

Whate'erthntidolbe;
Help me to tear it from ito t! rone,
And worship only 'i'hee."

li'

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Jl LIFE STUDY.

Earthly hope and selfish fancy create for themselves ideal
worlds, almost without number, but stern experience is the sledge
wliich breaks them in pieces, and exposes their hollowness. That
experience is the necessity of every renewed spirit. It must macad-
amize itt,^ own path with the splintered fragments of its own vain
idols.

To do this, is, of itself, a task severe enough, but to do it
under the stroke of countless lashes stinging us while we toil,
seems a needless operation. Yet here we see those lashes, almost
innumerable, worked by every wind that blows, and chastising
with stripes, the toiling soul. This is a superadded discipHne,
under which the soul must learn the great and precious lesson of
patient endurance. Its earthly lot has not its end here. Perhaps
it never finds its full interpretation in this world. It is a mystery
which the next will be called upon to solve.

Looking above, we see the perpetually-revolving wheel, with
its cogs intended to turn other wheels that are to us in^^sible.
That wheel, with its ceaseless revolutions, symbolizes incessant
effort) and yet their cogs show that it has an end out of itself, in
what it is designed to move or effect. Eestiag upon the axle of
the wheel is the stalk of a. whip, the main lash of which branches
out into three others, and each of these ending in a barbed spear-
point, thus indicating the iiresistible and terrible force by which
man is impell >d to his incessant task.

Beneath is the spade, together with arrows, both illustrations of
human experience. The spade seems a memorial of the sentence,
"In the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat thy bread," which the
aiTows suggest, the character of a world, over which the prince of
the power of the air exercises an usurped dominion, and in which
his arrows fly thick and deadly. It is in such a world, that the
soul is called upon to work out its own salvation with fear and
trembling, persevering in its tasks, and patient under all strokes it

A LIFE STUDY.

is callofl to bear. Let it do this, and the troubled brow shall bo
wreathed in sunshiuo. Tears and sweat shall be alike wiped
away. The light of everlasting blessedness shall dawn upon it,
and all its toils ended, and its trials passed, it enters upon its
gracious reward, and experiences the truth of the infalhble
assurance, "He that goeth forth weeping, bearing precious seed,
shall doubtless return again with rejoicing — bringing his sheaves
>vith him."

I ■:-.. 1

! I

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t I

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HELP, LORD. FOR J.'IEU OF FAITH F/IIL.

j|HIS is the victory that overcometh the world, evon our
faith." So wrote one of the most venerable war-worn vet-
erans of Christ's sacramental host, nearly eighteen centu-
ries ago. By the same divine energy, by which the soul conquers
the world witliin, does it subdue and control the world without.
That energy finds its human expression in "the power of faith"—
the faith that " wrought righteousness, stopped the mouths of Uons,
quenched the violence of fire, waxed valiant in fight, turned to
flight the armies of the ahens."

Such was the faith by which ten righteous men might have

saved Sodom, such the faith by -which believers are the light of the
world and the salt of the earth, such the faith that leavens the

whole measure of meal, or from a feeble mustard seed expands
into a tree in the branches of which the birds of heaven may
lodge.

There is no blow more fatal in its design to all the best in-
terests of men, than that which is aimed at a living faith in God.
All the conservative influences of social morals are to this faith,

I^H

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III"

■4 LIFE STUDY.

hilt as tho sheaves of Joseph's brethren to Joseph's sheaf. They
all bow down and pay obeisance to it. Take away the vital ele-
ments of a Christian faith, and society will bo a carcass without a
heart. It will become carrion for the worms and maggots of in-
trigue and corruption to revel in.

This is the truth that is pictured in tho emblem. There is
Faith, that was wont to soar, sinking with clipped wings to the
earth. Here and there wo see falUng portions of her mutilated
pinions. The sword that, wielded by some invisible foe, has done
the mischief, has not altogether triumphed itself. It has fallen on
the cross that supports the globe ; its point is broken off, and it is
blunted forever.

Meanwhile the world has taken upon it a more beastly nature.
It is putting forth bones and the cloven hoof. Between the horns
is a human heart, consuming away in flame. All nature feels the
curse that attends upon weakened faith. The fields become waste
and desolate. From above the hea(^ 3 of ravening monsters, with
open jaws, show an eagerness to waste and devour, while a
darkened world pierced with arroAvs, shows the fate that confronts
human prospects. On tho right, beneath what should be the
crown of justice, and is still the symbol of supreme authority, a
serpent is entwined around the sword, from whose point the drops
of blood fall, indicating that a serpentine cimning or intrigue en-
tangles and impedes the use of that instrument, by which justice is
executed. On the left, the cross is seen, with the spikes that shall
support it or pierce its victim ; above it, indeed, a crown of stars,
but around its upright part a wreath of thorns, indicating that it
has become more repulsive and obnoxious than ever. Beneath,
tlie face of a horrid monster, in the stealthy glance of whose eyes
we discern a satanic cunning and maUoe, glares out upon us, and
wreathed around it are the thorns and thistles that suggest the
curse which his presence invites.

1: I J

A LTFE STUDY.

«{>

All this is the cliro result of the injury done to foith. Justice
has been weakened ; violence has been encouraged ; the cross has
been made more reinilsivo; and Satan has been loosed. Those
clipped wings are the secret of the tragedy. Behilitata fiden, terras
Astrca rcliqmt. "Faith has become powerless ; Astrea (the goddess
of justice) has left the earth." Cause and effect are thus coupled
together. Put the hand of violence on Faith, and you oppose the
very vitals of the world's moral life. Without faith, it sinks to the
level of corruption and violence. Without faith, it invites the doom
of a Sodom. Clip the wings of faith, and human hope can no
longer soar, for it mounts on the winga of faith.

■f^'\

Light and ilarknftt, life, and dtalh,
Slrit't within : each feehlf breath
U'aiti, the issue, IMp, O Thou
Who art life— to Thee 1 bow.

.ilHil ! q

'•I WILL BEHOLD THY FACE 'IJ I^raHTEQUSNESS.''-PB xvii. 15.

|ENEATII, we see the same lesson pictured forth, biit with
addititional significance. Here a guide-board under the
figure of a cross, symbolizing a crucified Redeemer, is the
central object, while on the right is Lux, the "light," and on the
left is T''it(i, or the " life." Light and life are the soul's need, but
the cross is Via, or "the way" to them. By this, it has access to
all which a cross-bearing Redeemer has to bestow upon the soul
he died to redeem. He becomes himself its portion. " In Him is
life, and the life is the light of men." Here the emblem of the life
immortal is presented full and distinct, for now the light falls, not
on the tables of the law, but on the cross.

The lost soul needs Christ, and the mourning soul needs the
restored light of his countenance. Its experience makes it bear his
departure, or the eclipse of his beams. Again and again, it is
forced to exclaim,

" Thou art my way, I wander it thou fly ;
Thou art my light; if hid, how blind am I ;
Thou art my life; if thou withdraw, I die."

It is in the soul's calm repose upon Him as its all-sufficient
helper, that it rejoices and triumphs. His love and sympathy, his
wisdom and grace, his life and death, his finished work, as at once

■;!

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t hi

Jl LIFE STUDY.

i t, '■:!

f-:st

tho Great Ilij^h Priest nml atoninpf saorifice — those gladden the
soul Avith Hght from heaven, aud restore it to Ulb aud joy.

"Dark iiti'l cIicitIphkIh llie morn,
If tliy liglit is hill truiii viuw ;
JuyI>'H8iii thu ilay'H ri'lurn,
Till thy 111 rcy'H braniit 1 »ct — •
'I'll! tlicy iiiwunl llt[li iinpnrt,
I'euca and gliidiiuHH to luy bcurt.

" Visit then this soul of mine,

Plcrco thu ^looni of Bin and grief ;
Fill mo. Radiancy divinu :
Scatter all my unbcliuf ;

More and more thy self display,
Shining to thu purfuct day.'

There aro times when the renewed soul is loft to walk in dark-
ness. Even then, however, it will testify as tho poet Cowper did,
when someone objected to him, "your rehgion makes you gloomy."
"No," replied he, "it is the want of reUgion." When a sense of
God's love possesses the soul, and it lives in sweet conscious har-
mony with hun, the very earth seems to reflect back upon its in-
ward peace, the grass aud flowers are clotho'i in new beauty, and
the soul enters upon an experience, like that which President
Edwards has so beautifully described as his own.

But there are times when the divine Ught is withdrawn. It is
as if the sun was echpsed. A gloom gathers over the face of the
world, and the soul feels the oppression of it. This experience is
here pictured in emblem. We see one around whose head is a
divine halo, and who is indeed a child of God, yet the great heart
of Infinite love is partially ecUpsed by the world, from which in-
deed he has turned away, which half conceals it from view, and
leaves liim to walk in a twilight so deep that the stars come out
from the darkened heavens. Saddened and doAvncast, he puts one
hand to his eyes, at once to cover his tears, and to shut out the
gloom of surrounding nature, while the other hand is unconsciously
thrust backward, as if to indicate the source of his grief. The dark

A LIPE STUDY.

world is interposed between him and "the light of liis coun-
tenance."

Above, wo see a perpetual Eoman lamp, the tables of the law,
and the emblem of the resurrecvion to life. We are reminded of
the sacred words— fit counsel to the downcast soul walking in dark-
ness. "The commandment is a lamp; and the law is light, and
reproofs* of instruction are the way of life." The law of God— the
word— is a lamp to the foot of the Christian pilgrim, and guided by
it he is brought to Him who is "the Eesurroction and the Life."
Yet it is to be noted, that while the light of the Old Testament falls
full on the tables of the law, the hope of immortality- which be-
longs emphatically to the New— is left obscured in the shadow.

tmMtt

Kiirlh'if firitle it Ul;f Ih' pnsnitty Jlnirn;
Which rpringt to fall, aud bl(iisnm.i but tn ilif.

rCR WHO KUOWETII V/HAT 10 OOOD FOR MAN IN THIS LIFE. All.
THE <DA y^J CF HIS VAIN LIFE WHICH HE SPENDETH AS A
SHADOW ? FOR WHO CAN TELL A MAN WHA T SHALL
BE AFTER HIM UNDER THE SUN?'—Eoo vi. IS

EN are but children of a larger growth." The little child
in the picture has become discontented with hia play-
things. He sita on the ground, with flowers and verdure
around him, a world for a rattle in one liand, and a neglected one
by his side, which has fallen from the other hand, now thrust up to
liis eyes to wipe away his tears. Other playthings are before him,
but they have lost the power to pleuse. There is a frog, made fast
by a tiny chain attached to its leg, to a rat, and the two strangely-
conjoined creatures are pulling different ways, each forbidding the
other to move or make progress, like diverse passions in the human
soul.

On either side is a bell, the one on the right bearing the im-
press of a skull, and the other that of a butterfly — one ringing the

•l|(« "'

I'!

ill, •:.': ;

'J3

^ ilia's sTanr.

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aoui to death and tho otlior to lifo, oiio with its emblem of the grave,
and the other with ita emblem of the resurrection. Above are
heavenly objects and instruments — the heart-shaped harp, that
gives forth to the skilled touch its spirit-music — the symbol of hope
as an anchor to the soul, standing fast even when, the symbols of
earthly dissolution are hung all over it ; heaven's own bird stooping
down to receive its message ; the volume which holds tho psalmody
and music of angels, and beside all, the sjTnbol of the mystery of
the triune majesty, Pater, Filius, S. Sandus, " Father, Son, and Holy
Spirit." Such are the grand and glorious things above our heads
which the child of earth, now amused and absorbed by his play-
things, and now disgusted with them, has only to look upward with
the eye of faith to behold. If it heeds the warning note of one
ball, it will look up from its toys to the joys immortal. If it be
simply aroused by the chimes of the other, it will weep and play,
play and weep, till the April day of life ends in the everlasting
night of tears.

This is verified by the motto, Haec ammant pueros ctjmhala, et ilia
vivos, "Theso cymbals rouse boys, those men." The infant is
pleased with rattles.

"A little playt'ilng gives his youth delight,
A little louder, but as empty quite."

Yet this delight is scarcely less transient than tlie child's amuse-
ment. In a little while the new toy satiates, and is laid aside. It
is left like the neglected drum. It is no more thought of than the
rat and frog made fast together. Tears start through the eyelids,
and the fingers are raised to wipe tiiem away.

This is a common experience, too cimmon to excite surprise.
The things that are most covHied, and which excite disquiet till
they are possessed, come, ere long, tr disgust rather than please.
The soul sits wretched in the very midst of its playthings. It is
still acting the part and suffering the disappointments of a pam-

lii:

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A l:fe study.

pered child. Glutted by indulgence, it is even poorer and more to
be pitied than at first. Desire has grown upon what it fed, and
has even outgrown the resources it can command to satisfy it. It
is subjected to a chronic and incurable weariness. All its pleasures
are the chance gleams of an April day, alternating betWeen smiles
and tears.

And yet, by heaven's art, the bow of the child may be made
into the harp of manhood, and the arrow itself shaU become the
bow of the harp. The cross affixed to the globe shall give forth
music, and a riddle more wonderful than Samson'a of old shall be
solved by a sanctified experience.

I||l! »' ;

I
I

I' I

Tlie spider's most attniuate.d threml

Is card, is cable, to man's liiidrr tie

On earthly bliss ; it breaks at every breeie.

I llill

" FEW AND EVIL HA VE THE DA YS OF THE YEJIRS OF MY LIFE

J-'-ZEN. " — Jacob

IVE me wliere I may stand," said the old philosopher,
Simoiiides, "and I will move the world." Ho wanted
something to rest upon outside of it. This is what all
men want. There is great significance in the motto, Fnistra qttis
stahihmjigat in orhe gradum, "In vain may any one place firm footing
on the globe." Many have tried it, but the world has reeled be-
neath them.

In this picture we see the experiment tried. With ruins of
ancient structures, proclaiming earthly mortality, in the back-
ground, a beardless youth fondly imagines that he can climb tin-
heights of the world, and plant his feet safely upon them. Mount-
ing by a huge timbered framework, he is confident of achieving
his design. But before he can fairly accomplish his design, the
scythe of Time, wielded by an unseen hand, cuts the world— which
is but the stalk-supported flower of a broad-leaved, luxuriant
plant— loose from the prop that supported it, and down it falls,
leaving the venturous youth to his fate. His unstrung bow is

¥■'

■fl LIFE STUDY.

it'

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slipping from his shoulder ; his quiver is emptied, and his arrows
are scattered, and he himself, falling with the support on which he
relied, is in danger of being precipitated sheer on the edge of the
scythe, left neglected after it had done its work, and struck the
fatal blow.

Beneath the falling globe, a human skiill symbolizes the
emptiness of human hope, and the vanity of himian confidence.
Above the pictoire a winged hour-glass — the wings unequal, com-
bining the bat and the eagle, the soaring and the fluttering —
supports a globe that has nothing better to sustain its glory than
the winged and fleeting hours. Even the hour-glass, supported by
an axis that runs through the centre of a cross, rests upon a
human heart. To the right, coils of serpents distil their venom,
while to the left, suspended on flower-stems, wheels with attached
weights serve to show on what a slender thread mortal hopes
revolve.

This is human experience when the world of human Ufe no
longer finds support on the standard of the cross. Severed from
this, it sinks, bearing human hopes planted thereon with it in its
fall. The catastrophe seems to emphasize the lines of Young, in
his Night Thoughts,

B|
CI

" Beware wbat earth calls happiness ; beware
All joys, but joye that never can expire ;
Wlio builds on less than an immortal base,
Fond as he seems, condemns his Joys to death."

If man had no inward craving, sometimes more than half-
stifled by sensualism, reaching forth from the seen to the imseeu,
then a world that ends its service for him by furnishing him a
grave, might support his hope. He could at least have no hope
more dignified and enduring than a Jonah's gourd, and such a
hope might linger out its little day on the faUing globe. But like
a vine that reaches after a prop to support it, grasping straws and

A LIFE STUDY.

weeds in its tendrils till it finds it, so the soul of man, even while
it clasps the straws and weeds that mock its trust, is feeUng after
something higher and better. It is bearing witness within its own
consciousness, to its birthright as a child of God. Let it cUmb as
high aa it will, in the pursuit of earthly greatness let it mount

"The steep ivhtre fame's proud temple shines afar."

Let it amass princely treasures, or win, like Alexander, the mastery
of the globe, it is unsatisfied. There is still a soul-hunger that is
not fed, a soul-thirst that is not slaked. It must have a hope that
shall be "as an anchor" to the soul, or as a rock to rest upon, that
no tempest or waves can shake.

Where are these to be found ? Gold saith, it is not in me,
and the depth saith, it is not in me. But even the desert wastes
of life, the centuries echo tho words of him who eaid, " I am the
resurrection ,and the life." He, and he alone, brings life and
immortality to light.

" Religion, Providence, an after state t

Here is Arm footing ; here is solid rock ;
This can support us; all Is sea besides ;

Sinks under us; bestorms, and then devours.
Ilia hand the good man fastens on the skies

And bide earth roll, nor feels her idle whirl."

i»

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WM [

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Lfii-e. ill Ihesi; labyrinths his slaves detains,
Andmighty beastsare bound in slender chains.

THE HEATHEN ARE SUNK DOWN IN THE PIT THAT THEY MADE
IN THE NET WHICH THEY HID IS THEIR OWN FOOT TAKEN/— DJi':::.i-

ONE are so much slaves as those who are loudest in
boasting of their freedom. The body may be unfettered
while the soul is tasked under a worse than Egyptian
bondage. The bonds of habit, or evil association, or the spell
of the dark enchanter, and the wiles of the great adversary really
control it, and determine its destiny.

The character here presented to view is that of him who, in
the wantonness of appetite or sensual indulgence, exults to show
how free he is. In his right hand is the goblet of hia revels, and
in his left hand th.e symbol of vanity and luxurious ease. Ho is a
modern Sardanapalus. He can raise his goblet aloft without
restraint. He feels no manacles on his limbs. He stands erect
and exultant on his own feet.

But while he exults, ho is a wretched captive. If he look
back to his past career, ho would see what a fire of retribution it

1!
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■ft. LIFE STUDY.

i j'

has kindled, forbidding his retreat. Yet, if he advance, it is to
envelop himself still more hopelessly in the net which the spirits
of evil, whoso presence and society he had invited, and to whom
he had oflfered his soul as a willing victim, have thrown around
him. It is true that his sword still hangs at his side, and ho might
yet cut his way out by the strokes of a resolute will. But botli
hands aro filled with the objects of his fond idolatry, which ho will
not surrender to secure his freedom or to save liis life.

Ijooking above, we see the method by which the arch enemy
of souls snares them in his net. We see the spider symbolizing
him, standing watchful in tlio centre of his web, and that web
supported by and made fast to peacocks' feathers. Light as they
see*^-, ihey aro stable enough to support the web which Satan
weaves for unwary souls. The merest trinket may become the
idol of pride, and the occasion for a violation of duty, and a fatal
wound to conscience.

Below wo see the snares whicih the arch-deceiver employs to
draw his victims into his net. There is a jewelled world, sup-
ported Uke an ornament, and the support itself hung with bril-
liants. Next comes a splendid crown, the prize for which ambition
has sacrificed loyalty, and challenged the agonies of a guilty
Macbeth. Then we have the symbol of a glutted appetite, the
world on a fork, all the luxuries and dainties of the globe inviting
to taste, and repeat for the individual soul, more, if possible, than
the original curse. Finally, we have a symbol of knighthood,
horse-hair for the helmet, serpent's body and dragon's head for
standard ornament, and a knot of ribbons set Avithin a central
gem.

Thus is it seen that the lures to evil are infinitely various, and
each draws the soul into the snare. In a thousand ways, before it
is aware, it is entangled in the web. It i-j from the whole field
of human experience that the voice of warning comes. Prosperity

A LIFE STUDY

and adversity, plenty and want, greatness and meanness, fame and
infamy, all have their temptations, and with temptations, snares.

" Snares In thy credit ; gnnri's In tliy dixgraco :
Biiarus In thy hi,'h uHLitu; Rnarcs In thy hasc ;
Snarus tuck thy bod; and aiiari's surround thy board ;
Snares watch thy thouj{hti< ; and rnarcs-attiick thy word ;
Snores In thy quiet ; Bii;in.'a in thy commotion;
Snares In thy desk; and snare* In thy devotion ;
Snares lurk in thy resolves; snares in thy doubt;
Snares llo within thy heart ; and snares without ;
■ Snares are above thy liead ; and snares beneatli ;
Snares la thy sickness ; snares are In thy dealli ;

llo that becomes their victim is held a prisoner. Light as
they may seem, allowing him to boast his freedom, they are like
the spider's web to the captured fly. The soul is entangled, and
unless it promptly cuts its way out, it is forever lost.

Touch the be' ! the wrathful thing
Quickly fleet, but Uavet a sting.

VV9

AT THE LAST IT BITETH LIKE A SERPENT AND STINOETH
AN ADDER ■■-Solomon.

jUPID is not always safo himself whUe ho plans his own
pleasure or designs miscliief for others. Here he is
represented as a beardless meddler. He has attacked a
hive of bees, in the hope of robbing it of its sweets. He ought to
have counted tlxe cost, but Cupid— who here stands for \lind
impulse or greedy desire— never deUberates. Eager to seize and
enjoy, and resolute stiU, even when pierced by stings, ho seems t»
say, as in the motto, ut potior patior, " That I may enjoy I suffer."
But on the same scroll it stands ^vritten, pattern non potieris, "you
shall suffer, you shall not enjoy." So that aiming at sweets, he
gets only stings.

But this is not all, the foe is one that he cannot meet. Bees
cannot be subdued by arrows, even if he was prepared to use them.
But already they have disarmed him. His bow has faUen un-
strung at his feet. The winged enemy swarm around him, alight-

■? ■

fi LIFE 3TUDY.

i m

ing on liis bosom and in hiH hiiir, and watchinf? tho opportunity to
stinj^ tho hiuul lil'tod to brush tlmm awiiy. His fond hopo.s havo
givon plu(!0 to tho torturo botli of j)uiu and diaappointniont, and his
loosod <iuivor hangs usoloas l)y his wido. llo would run tho risk
of Hulfuring in ordor to possess, but, as tho fruit of his folly, ho
sulTera without possessing.

llow diversely is hia fate regarded by spectators frotn above
and beneath ! On a uiiniaturo globo at hiu feet, two grave, earnest,
whiskered sages aro holding mutual converse, heedless of Cupids,
of arrows, or of boos. But from tho heights abovo, a pitying
gazer looks down, sympathizing with tho sufferer, and excited to
hasten to his relief by tho sight of his fool-hardy daring. Littlo
does tho Butferer know it. Ilis averted face shows that ho has no
thought of witnesses.

Even so it is in daily experience. There are Cupids, passion-
ate and heedless, everywhere. The hives of hopo and ambition
are before them, and they fall upoa them with all tho heat of
sudden impulse. Before they are aware, they are punctured by
couutless stings, and are forced to leave the sweets they sought
untasted and unpossessed. '

To superior intelligences they are objects of compassion. Lower
natures, debased to a brutal level, are unconcerned for their mis-
fortunes, but one eye of love is fixed upon them, even in their
folly, and one voice of kindness would call them off from their
rash designs. But too often, with averted face, they see not, nor
heed. They have made themselves defenceless, and provoked the
aroused foes. Youth may still be theirs, and the flowers may
bloom over their heads, and foliage, amid which the cards and
jester's cap are hung, but they are wretched, the tortured victims
of their own folly.

Clustered around the picture are certain expressive symbols.
Amid flowers and wreaths an acorn to the right suggests what

A LIFE STUDY.

groat msults may flow from fooblo causos. To tho loft, a k„otte.l
co.l „f H„ri,o„t.s, liko human paasionn, gnawinj. an.l fo.:li„jj upon
ono anothor, loavo thoir minglo.l bl„od and poison to di.til in
stroums into tho rocoptado of a luunan hoart. Ah(,vo, a randon.
arrovv from an unsoon 8our,,o, aimod at a liornot .u-awling ovor its
nest, 8triko8 a hoart from which tho lifo-drops oo/., forth. Uo-
noath, luunan porvorsity, which travok backwanl, or sooks nvil
ends by crooked means, fin.ls an omblonx in ono of tho most vicious
of tho 8lielly tenants of tho deep. Fitly does tlio eye turn away
from tho obnoxious sight to rest upon tho empty comb that speaks
the vain issue of unwiso aims and impulsive endeavors. In such a
setting wo have tho picture of human passion finding its rebuke
and punishment in tho result of its own impulses.

: 15

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Wonlriwortl

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■pr:de goe:-h h-.j-^i^K -Ss^rrRUOTsoN. pRjoh

LOW -Solomori^

:'ALL PRU'JO HJ/^

|F the soul of man is a castle to be kept, tlie oyo is one
of Its gates that needs to be most closely watched. It U
by tliis gate that the foe is most apt to enter. This is the
gate which he who designs to dolus villainous work of treason^
may pass almost unnoticed, nu.y enter as a mere image or fleeting
impression, and then stealthily execute his purpose.

In this emblem we are taught the danger which threatens
rem 'the lusts of the eye," as well as from "the pride of life"
We see the carnal mind so eurroundod by vain objects, that the eye
can rest upon nothing else. It is itself, indeed, fairly robed with
temptation. Its fools-cap is upon its head, and bound close about
the neck, oppresses the brain, while from its top an ostrich feather
indicating the pride of display, is seen t<. wave. In one hand it
holds the symbol of the sceptre of worlcUy pleasure, hung with

:,it

A LIFE STUDY

ornamonts, while vanity is seen plainly written upon tlio fan that is
held in the other. Even its feet aro buuud by an elegant silken
fetter.

By the side of this figure i.s a pipe with a liowl of bubbles,
fillcii to overflowing. They have been distiubuted abroad also, till
the air is full of them, and they aro seen falling v.pon eveiy 3ide.
In the whole paiu)rania, the soul discerns only wi>at is ^aiu and
worthless, for the rough earth on wliich it stands appears repulsive,
and does not invite its gaze.

Yet its true wisdom is symbolized by what we see above,
a l)lindfoldpu eye. It should make it its con.stant prayer, " Turn
away my eyes from beholding vanity." There is no other safety for
it. It ij through the eye that tlie infection of sin takes effect.
The image of vanity or guilty pleasure is born into the soul, and
excites its passions and pois<ins its pei*ce. It enters also so silently!
There is no tramp of a steel-bound foe ; no violent intrusion which
crushes opposition. It glides by noiseless and inoffensive, but
when it has secured an entrance, it does the traitor's work. The
feeblest instruments will suffice for it. It can use such objects as
we see below, and make them more effective than battle-ax.i, or
drawn sword. The ornamented fools-cap, the ostrich feathers, tlin
bosom ornament — each may hire the heeui astray, and make it the
slave of vanity.

Nothing there, which addresses itself to the soul through tbe
eye, is to bo despised as nniniportant. The gazing upon vanity
may work a debasing transformation. The images of sin become
familiar, and indulgence in sin loses somewhat of its repulsiveness.
Even Pope could say, in words that warn,

" Vice is a monster of Bach frightfnl mein,
That to ho hated, needs but to he f cen ;
But seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, tlien embrace."

I™!

A LIFE STUDY

The soul itself is largely — even while unconsciously — educated
througli tlio eye. Upon the character tlie outward object photo-
graphs itself. It leaves upon it, perhaps, an almost imperceptible
film. But repeated again and again, like tlie sand-grains that once
yielded to ripples, but have been consolidated to rock— they become
the substance of those strata of life, in which thought and affectic^n
and aspu-ation and endeavor strike their deepest roots. Tlius
through the eye— carelessly wandering, or turn(;d toward forbiddcm
objects— the soul is debased, the moral sense is perverted, tempta-
tion acquires a new power, and the soul, off its guard, admits a
traitor into its citiuel.

t ll 41

^*'

■, St.,

II wax IIS if tjie dead could feel
Tltc ic;/ worm an.uul litem flcat,
And shudder as the. reptiles creep
To rex-el o'er their lotting sleep,
Without 'he power to smre awai/
The cold I onsumers of their clay.

THAT OLD SERPENT.

SEEPENT with an apple in his jaws, and coiling his slimy
folds around a huiiiau heart, is 8eir-interj>retBd. A glanco
at the background, whore the luxuriant foliage of an
Edea is displayed conlirnis thn impression already made. We see
the tempter before his nature had become known, graceful in his
every movement, and displaying on his mottled skin what might
attract, rather than repel the inexperienced eye, while he seems
generously to offer the beautiful fruit, which he holds in his own
mouth to the acceptance of others. His very attitude speaks. It
s.^ems to say, "Partake along with mo." Yet see his entire length,
every muscle is drawn to its utmost in pressing the very life out of
that heart. He is kilUng the heart, yet offers a gift.

Thus, the hospitality of the serpent is a delusion. "While he
speaks, he is coihng himself more closely around a hmnan heart.
He is making himself more sure of hia victim. He has intruded

fid

A LIPE STVLY.

JiH!

into the sphoro of poocoful innocence. Nature blooms all around
him. Ho repose.s amid the grass and flowers of a Paradise, tut
ho is tliuro as a traitor, and a human heart, above all things else, is
his chosen victim.

It is ever thus with many forms of evil. Tliey glide stealthily
along, gracefully and noiselessly as the serpent. They steal upon
us in the hour of unsuspecting repose. Tlioy come when nature is
wreathed with flowers, or fragrant with perfume. They ofibr a
tempting bait with large promise. They whisper of life when they
moan only death. They present us ^vith what seems an apple, but
is only a scorfjion's egg.

How many thousands have thus fallen victims to their own
over-fond confidence! Tho Avliispered voice of warning — "you eat
to die" — has been unregarded. The false counsellor has been be-
Uevcd, while tho true one has been unheeded. Tho soul has
trusted to show and pretence. It has been destroyed before it was
awaro. Cheated by plausildlities, it has lost all — it has lost itself.
Turning again to the picture we s(ie it fringed with a border
rich in emblems. There is no Eden visible now. Its only remain-
ing memorials are tho quick Avithering loaves that wreathe about
the memorials of sin and death. Above, we see a globe that like a
seed of death sends forth, with withering leaf and transient butter-
fly, the worm (serpent) that dieth not, with its skeleton head. On
tho right, a barbed arrow is the fishing rod from wliich depends,
with its skeleton float, the lino that carries tho deadly hook wath
serpent (worm) bait to the innocent tenants of tho waters. To the
left, a solvent is seen coiling around tho tree that supports the
globe, and hiding his head in tho foliago which half shrouds it.
Beneath, tho grand circle of human experience, encompasses flesh-
less human bones and skull, while winged dragons, witli arrowy
tongues, prowl above it, watching the opportunity to break in and
sate their vampire appetite.

mi .

A LIFE STUDY.

G"*

:i': i

All this ig deeply significant of tlio necossaiy results of the
tempter's success. In coiling around one human heart, he coiled
lumself around the world. Hence the Latin motto-7W,« nnmdu.
,n maL,no-,mU lii,no-.posltas est "The whole world has boon
placed in the wicked one," or-with the play upon the word, which
the change of a single letter allows-" upon the tree of evil."*
This is what has come of his Eden triumph. The lust of the eye
and of the appetite has issued in death. A whole race feel the
effects. There is a serpent amid the flowers. There is a seq)ent's
guile in the fisher's hook. But death is evoiy^vhore. All forms
tliat we behold in living nature are wasting to skeletons. The
flowers that cari,et our path as we walk tlio green earth, are root<'d
in graves. On every side we are taught, "There is a way that
seemetli right to a man, but the ends thereof are the ways of
death." Well for the race, had this moral of Eden been m<.re
diligently studied.

'Mali also means of the apple.

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a^'i^i^^.

Thf chfek may br titigfU wilU a warm, sunny smiU, ( ^J I

Tho' the. cold heart to ruin runs darkly the. while. J f

THEHE U^A ^VAYTHATaKEMETH niOHT ITNTO A „AN Urr~ '^UF
F-NDTHEHEOPla g^EATH.--Pr.^„,

ONomne quod hie micat, aurum e.sf, "Not all wl.i.h flitters
here U gold." This picturo illustrato8 thut truth. A
youth trickocl out iu finery, v-ith crosses for ornauieuts on
his dress, with httle worlds f.-r eamn.^.., a world depondin-. fro,n
his bosom, and a world fa.stoninj,. his girdle, is making an "xhihi-
tion of what ho prizes and esteems. In ono hand ho holds a pinch-
beck watch, and in the other a rattle. Gay flower.s-ponpios which
indicate the stupefying effect of worldly influenccs-aro bloomin^r
before him, while a rook, ludicrously tricked out with ostrich
feathers, is strutting forth to parade them, by his sid., ; and iu the
background, the mean cottage from which ho liimself si.rnng.

The bordering of the picture is hung all around with mock
jewels. Above, a richly-ornamented crown, surmounted by a
globe, lias wings attached to it, to show how easily it may s(,ar
away from tho grasp of ambition. Above it, attached to it, and to
another, by a cord, are winged worids and ornaments, ready

ono

■ :fe study.

also to fiy iiloft and boar it away. Ou tho right is an overcrowdod
l)urK)», rent by tho wciglit of its coutonts, which aro falUng out and
loosisly h('attt>ring thj'uiaolvos ovor a rich bo(juot of withering
flowers. Below thc'so aro c-ards — among them, tho jack of dia-
inondH, ttvcrlyiiig tlio aco of licarts, tho heart upon which is pierced
through witli an arrow, indicating tho retribution of tho gambler's
vice.

On tho loft, wo 800 a (!a.sk, spilhng its treasures from tho open
bung, a symbol of worldly actjuisitions wasting away, and spilling
themselves beyond tho liopo of a recovery. Below this is a coin on
which tho falso world has stampcMl a Ciosar's iumge, and tho super-
Bcriptiou which Bignifios, " Mammon, tho lord of tho world."
Beneath, a human head, with littlo worlds of its idolatry clinging to
it, holds attadied to it by its own magnetism a jewelUnl and orna-
montod globe, whilo tho inscription which rebukc;s its fond imagin-
ings, is i)assed through a ring that supports it, and presents us with
the motto that rebukes its folly.

It is thus that ornament and splendor, toys and fmory, capti-
vate tho heart, and oveu wliilo tho cards aro shufned, it is pierced
by tho arrow of falso pleasure. Tho soul is nuide tho victim of de-
ceitful shows and pageants. It is taken by glitter. It breathes
the odor of poppies. It is kept in countenance by pcacock-foather
display, and tawdry ornamentation. It is entertained by the music
of its own rattle. It sees Ca)sar's face on tho world's coin, and does
not discern that it is mammon's counterfeit. It may look upward,
but tho riches and splendor of tho crown hide from view tho wings
that would convey it away.

But the almost empty cask, tho ruptured jmrso, and tho
arrow-piorcod heart, teach another lesson. Tho tinsel of life will
wear off. The pageantry and splendor are a hollow show. The
world is

" A paintcJ cask, but nothing in't,
Nor wealth, nor plfUBUro."

A l:p'J3 study

All that it coTitainH, Rpills nn<l wastos itrtoU", and cannot bo
gathorod up. Tho soul thut ha« boon

"Pica oil wllhii rati lo, tlikkU witli a « mw,"

comos ero long to loathe its worthloss toys, and to w-orn thoir hol-
low mockery. Its treasure's aro coutainod iu a moth-raten jturso,
wliich bursts by th.^ir w.'ight, wliilo tlu) hoart itself is pionrd by
the arrow of disappointed hope.

Such is tho stfjry of luunan exporionco, a thousand times ^*.
poatod, till it becomes trito and familiar, yet men refuse to believe
it. Tho experiment, ever to issue in tho same result, must bo trit'd
over and over. A path strewn with wreck and ruin, and without
expectations, must still be trodden anew. The well-worn adage,
" It is not all gold that glitters," loaves little hupressiem after the
sound of it has died away iipon the ear. Men aro still taken by
show and pageant. They are held captives to sense, and show
themselves indisposed to, if not incapable of, spiritual discernment.
Only when it is too late, when their hands gi-asp a crushed butter-
fly, when the music of their rattie has ceased to charm, or riches
have taken to themselves wings and flown away, do they uwake
irom their delusiou, and bemoan their folly.

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1.6

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Corporation

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WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

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.^V^

'8^\ ^'^

My lotiging snul would tread tlii" path
Thai's via rl:rd by wisdirm' s ray :

Jfthna wiltr/itidc, to pnaie from wrath
I'll mount ; from night to day.

-71 Pi7i^i K=

■ THOU SHALT GUIDE ME WITH THY COUNSEL, AND AFTERV/ARD
RECEIVE ME TO GLORY '—Da.'jid.

ITHIN a circle surrounded by a circle of butterflies facing
it every where, and showing that it is intended as the
sphere to which the hope of immortal life belongs, or
where questions pertaining to it are directed, we see a pilgrim-statf
in hand, and on his broad-rimmed, slouched hat, the cockle-shells,
symbolic of pilgrim purpose. He is just past the point where Uvu
roads diverge. He has chosen the right, and is plodding on his
way, though almost tremblingly, and with self-distrust. It is
right, and though the stars are shining over him, he feels the
need of a sun, and seems to be looking around him on his narrow
desert way. He appears, also, to feel his hmeUness, and we ran
imagine him silently praying for divine light and guidance. His
heart whispers,

" While I am a pilgrlru here,
Let tliy love my spirit cheer ;
Bi my guide, my guard, my friend-
Lead me to my journoy's ci;d. '

■f

A LIFP^ STUDY.

All around him is dreary and forbidding, and he can only
walk by faith in the unseen. Without a flower blooming in view,
or a fountain sparkling along his way, he can only say.

" Long nights and darkness dwell below,
With scarce a twinkling ray ;
But the bright world to which we go,
Is I'vcrlasting day.

''Our journey is a cheerless maze,
But wo march onward still ;
Forget those troubles of the ways,
And reach at Zlon's hill."

He feels the need of walking " by faith and by sight," since

" 'Tis by .he faith of joys to come.
We walk through deserts' darkcrnlght."

Above the picture, we are reminded of the pilgrim's hazards.
There is a compass — perhaps its straight and its waving points in-
tended to show with what different eyes it may be read, while on
one side we see dies, oi *' day," with its bright, sun-lit clouds, and
on the other nox, or "night," with its lurid flames, plainly in-
timating the diverse destinies which await those who pursue the
different paths that are marked out below. -

From one destiny or the other, no one can be exempt. For
we see beneath, the pilgrim's hat, with the symbolic cockle-shell,
and the rude pilgrim's staff, with the wallet attached, intimating
that these offer themselves to us, and wait for us to take them up.

Onward, even, on the one road or the other — all are moving.
Every day and every hour bear us along. We are nearing the
one goal or the other, invisible to the outward eye, and only to be
discerned by the eye of thought or faith. Our business is to choose
the right path, to lay aside every needless weight, and to press on,
in the faith of our invisible leader to the unseen goal. We may
not linger on our way, neither may we be too confident, leaning to

A LIFE STUDY.

our own understanding. With the stars over our heads, we must
have God's pv.^iight in our hearts. The hand may grasp its own
support, but the soul, from its own experience, should be able to
say, "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil, for thou art with me ; thy rod and thy staff,
they comfort me."

li»
'i;fi

P
53

Upon tiff's sra the ressrl plides.
To drift un rorkt, br whi-lmed hi/ liili:i :
it's nnbj hopf is in I/is aid,
Whost " react " the timpeslsonce obeyed.

«-

"BLESSE<D ARE THEY THAT QO H.S C0.\L\IA:7DMENTS "-John.

i conflicting elements of our being have been a theme
for prophets and evangelists, for poets and philos(.iphers,
and the experience of each human soul reflects wliat they
have said. In the seventh chapter of the epistle to the Romans,
Paul has photographed these inward antagonisms, and one, as un-
like him as even the author of the essay on man, has reflected from
his pages much of the same truth.

" Placed on this isthmus of a middle state ;
A being darkly wise and rudely great.
With too much knowledge for the sceptic'^ side,
With too much weakness for the stoic's pride ;
He hangs between ; in doubt to actor rest,
In doubt to deem hime elf a man or beast,
In doubt his mind or Ijody to prefer ;
Born but to die, and niaaoning i ni to err."

J
\ 1

Jl LIFE STUDY.

In the picture, we see him standing between the tables of the
law engraved on the heart, and a world where the stem of a plant
with two branching leaves, supplants the crop and usurps its place.
One hand is i n this ^v^the^ing symbol of worldly inr-ufficiency, or
profane travesty, and the other on the law-written heart. WTiich
shall be given the preference? He knows which is to be pre-
ferred, and which he is bound to accept, but he hesitates; he
wavers. Sometimes he inchnes to the world which sustains the
flower-plant, yet for a little while unwithered, and again the spell
of the law's divine authority over the conscience perplexes him.

We may see above how the very arrows that are aimed at the
law recoil from it and pierce the heart. If one for the ease and
peace of guilty security would aim his sophistical or malicious ob-
jections at that which is "holy, just, and good," his arrows recoil,
bent or broken perhaps, upon his own heart. He stands self-
condemned, self-convicted, self-pierced for what he has done.
His guilt, in attempting to set aside this or that commandment, or
the whole decalogue, is a new shaft lodged in his bleeding con-
science.

Thus he cannot triumph in this direction, while he dare not
yield to the world in the other. He is like the ship that we see
below — a solid world with the cross, or a crucified world, drawing
him to the right, while the wicker world, with the star of its God
Eemphan, draws it to the left To the latter also it is fiercely im-
pelled by all the winds of passion that fill its sails. So strongly do
they press, that the soul, left to their drifting power would soon
break loose from all sympathy with the cross, and be carried over
completely to worldliness.

It is the truth thus symbolized which is full of warning to the
soul. The tradewinds that sweep the sea of life are all against
him who is steering his bark away from the realms of mammon,
and sensual indulgence. This should put him on his guard.

A LIFE STUDY.

Well may he say, looking upon this mirror of his own expe-
rience : —

" Thus aro my weather-beaten thoughts oppressed
With the earth-bred winds of ray prodigious will ;
Thus am I hourly tost from citst to woit,
Upontht! rolllnt; streams of good iind ill.
Thus am I driven upon the slippery suds
From real ills to false apparent goods,
My life's a troubled sea composed of ebbs and floods."

Thus is it with one whose head is crowned with the halo that
betokens his heavenly birthright, and whose whole being and
sphere of action are encircled by the emblems of the life im-
mortal.

J.V THY ZrOHT an ALL WF, SFE LIGHT.

NE of the most important leasong for tho soul to learn is
that of its weakness. lUit oftentimes, as in the case of
the little child, it can be learned only })y experience.
There must bo effort and stumbling, toil and failure, before one
can ascertain the limits of his capacity, or be brought to see the
necessity of a strong hand, or a firmi^r inspiring will.

In this picture, we have the emblem of a soul endeavoring to
light its way by its own intention, a blearing torch that only makes
the darkness visible, and shows by contrast tho need of the sun.
The soul pauses. It dares not venture to proceed. It stands
irresolute and doubtful, learning meanwhile to distrust itself and
its own torch.

That torch is not only reason, but the natural powers of the
soul, including sagacity and will. If it has only these to rely
upon to guide it, or to light up its way, it can only plunge onward
to deeper darkness, where the torch that already flares might be
wholly put out. Conscious of this, the inarticulate prayer of the
soul must be— looking up to the great fountain of eternal light—
" Lord, lift thou up the light of thy countenance upon me."

ICS

A LIFE STUDY.

The insufficiency of natural power without tho indwelling and
inworking of divine grace, ia aeon above in the attempt of a
butterfly, representing the immortal spirit, to draw the wheels that
bear nothing more than a rose-branch. The very highest and
most fragrant of all the duties which the soul is called upon to do,
is too much for it without that divine efficiency, which '* worketb
wthin us to will and to do." This ia still further illustrated by
what we see beneath. Here is tlie dial-face of a clock, formed of
the wings of a butterfly. These wings may flutter awhile, but ere
long they must rest The continuous movement of duty ia
impossible without a very different impulse from that which
spreads the gaudy wings. Beneath the dial-plate there must be
not only a human life, but there must be also a divine mechanism,
and this mechanism must be wound up and sustained by the key
of a constant diviro energ>.

Such, ia the truth inwrought in the deepest experience of tlie
renewed soul. It learns to distrust itself. It is forced to confess
its own weakness and insufficiency. It is like Pilgrim working his
way through tho Slough of Despond, or climbing the Hill Diffi-
culty, or called to inv)et Apollyon. It is sometimes scarcely able to
stand alone. It is troubled by its own doubts, or unmanned by its
own fears. It looks to its natural resources, or leans upon them,
in vain. They are a broken staflP in its hands, from which it turns

away to God, exclaiming in the low:iaess, and yet the strength of
faith, "Thy rod and thy staff, they coinfort me."

Here indeed ia the soul's help — its all-sufficient help. With
ita eye on heaven, it walks in the light of God. It is drawn
onward to every duty, and sustained in it by a divine energy. It
is no longer intermittent in effort. With its eye on the prize, it
presses onward to the work. Feeble as it is in itself, it is strong
while it pours forth the petition,

" While Jlfe'B dark maze I tread,

And griefs around me upread,

Bo tliou my guide."

/ ZJITE STUDY. j^^,

Or at another rrics out,

" May thy rich (m»co Impnrt
HtronKth to my f»lntln^ heart.
My zeul limplru."

Thus (loos tho (larlcnosa vanish in tho dawning light of God's
smile, and, in tlio conscious wouknoss of tho soul, God's strength is
mado perfect in its woakncss. It has boon taught to look away
from itself to a great and almighty helper, and it has found in hin.
a supply for its many wants, and a strengtU for its every weak-
uoss.

'is^l

1
1

The lapse of time and riversare the same—
Doth speed their jmininj with a restless stream :
The silent pare with which they steal away,
yo wealth can bribe, nor prayers persuade to stay.

CUT :.1E NOT Om'T' Ii: THE MlQST OF UY Q)AYS.

E have here a picture of hunmn life, and its uncertain
tenure. A suppliant, kneeling in prayer, on a stool sup.
ported by what synibohzes the tweuty-four hours of the
day, holds, balanced upon his head, a cross-surmounted dial, on
which the hours of his life's day are registered. The skeleton hand
of death is stretched out to grasp the dial and take it away, forbid-
ding any further registry, or writing a mme, menr, where other reg-
istry should be. The suppliant bogs for more time. He pleads
that on that dial as yet the registry is only from iv to viir, and
begs that ho may be spared to make out his brief day. He
seems to say, " cut me not off in the midst of my years."

We may gather from the emblem above what his feehngs are.
There is a clock, which the cross-surmounted world shows to be
the clock which indici.tes the feelings of our common lunnanity.
The houi'-hand is still near twelve, and the nunute-hand is but just
at one, while the pendulum, with a human heart for its weight, in-
aic;.te3 that the clock is the clock to which the soul of the suppUant,
with its aspirations and its fears, its hopes and its memories, keeps

• i

yes

4 LIFE STUDY

time. Evidently, it feels that it has just begun to live. The first
hour of its allotted time consciously has not passed.

Beneath, we see a winged hour-glass, which explains the mys-
tery. This denotes the rapid flight of time. Where nature, with
her clock-work of revolving worlds and suns, strikes hours, the
spirit's consciousness only registers minutes. Time flies too rapidly
to be realized. While it seems yet to be here, it is gone, and out
of sight,

" We take no note cf f.iiae, but by its Iosb."

One measure of time needs to be continually re-adjusted, and
we can only re-adjust it by noting its loss. Tb new year comes
upon us, as if only a month had fled.

No wonder the soul, surprised, almost before it had begun to
live, is a suppliant for years to come. At first, it chided the linger-
ing of the tardy months and days. But, ere long, it finds that
consciousness could not keep pace with them and now it needs
time to correct the errors of time abused,

" When first our infant yearj* lire told,
It seems lilie pastime to grow old ;
But as we count tlic ebining links

That time around ua weaves so fast,
How very little do we think,

How tight the chuin will press at last." *

The skeleton hand often comes before the dial-plate is half-
encircled by the registered hours. But no supplication can aiTest
it. It comes not unbidden. If life's work is not done then, it
never can be done. If the clock of human feehng indicates only
noinutes instead of hours, or days instead of years, it is in part be-
cause the heart-weight of the pendulum has been hung too low.
It needs to be adjusted anew, and a prayer wiser than that of the
suppliant in the emblem, is that of the Psalmist, who, thousands
of years ago, exclaimed, " So teach us to number our days, that we
may apply our hearts unto wisdom."

■ ■ THEI^E BE MANY THAT SAY. WHO WILL SHOW US ANY GOO(D '
iOfl®, LIFT THOU UP THE LIGHT OP THY COUNTENANCF.
■UPON US. •■-'David.

ATUEE has its stars, but Revelation its sun. One is
identified with our fears and apprehensions ; the other
with our hopes. Here M^e see the trembling spirit, in the
night-time of i+s experience. Its path has led it to a stream which
it must cross, and already it stands shivering and afirighted in the
cold waters. The bow has already fallen from its hands. The
darkness is all around it, and only the beams of a taper, inserted
in a fools-cap instead of a lantern, and elevated upon a pole, serve
to enlighten its way. Around the pole is a chain, with little
trinkets attached, the childish ornament which folly binds as orna-
ment around the support of all its hopes.

Above, we see a lighted candle, with a moth fluttering near it,
and in danger of being consumed in its blaze. The candle, with
its feeble beams, is but the light of human reason, just bright
enough to be an attraction to fluttering fools, but too dim to create
a day. Unlike the sun of revelation, which enlightens the world.

110

4 LIFE STUDY.

I I

and from which no danger is to be feared, even for the most deli-
cate wing, it exists rather to make darkness visible, and to expose
the folly of those who make it their trust.

Beneath, wo see a plant with its luxuriant leaves, striking
down its massive root, and clasping, showing us how the soul in
darkness will lay hold of whatever comes in its way, and wrap
itself around the feeblest support, if it can find no other.

What the soul of man needs most is the light of a divine
presence. In this picture, we discern the troubled and fearful
look with which it contemplates its own condition. Standing shiv-
ering in the chill waters, it knows not which way to turn. It
justly scorns the taper light which fools admire, turns away its
face from it, and seems unconsciously to be crying out after God.
We feel that we can almost gather the burden of its fears and
hopes, and seem to hear its .words, indistinctly uttered :

" Is tho dream of nature flown 1
Is the universe destroyed?
Man extinct, and I alone.
Breathing through the formlesB void t

" No; my soul, in God rejoice ;

Through the gloom His light I see ;
In the silence hear his voice,
And his hand is over me."

The soul, as here symbolized, is at least on the eve of such
experience. Cast down by its own anxieties and fears, it is assured
of the compassion and help of One who is mighty to save. His
presence, to the eye of faith, will chaoe away the shadows of the
night, and introduce the dawn of an eternal day.

It L? upon His help that the soul must rely. Without this, it
can onl}- press on, to sink in the deep waters. No light of genius,
or of vain mirth, can cheer or guide it. Untiided reason, when it
attempts the task, is only like a taper, with a fools-cap for its
lantern. It mocks a hope that reaches forth toward immortality.

.-I l:fs ctudy

111

It deludes that instinctive aspiration of the sin-huniblod, self-
revealed Bpirit, that asks after the clear liglit of truth, and the
eternal word on which it may repose. Earthly natures may
cleave to earth, may twine the roots of their passions about porisli-
ing tilings that can funiish it no nutrinuMit, and but a fooblo sup-
port; but the soul that has been taught by the spirit, can never bo
satisfied till it can rest on the rock of ages, and feel assured that
God himself will be at once its eternal refuge and unchanging
light.

Joy is vain vuihout thy breath,
Kindling li/i: when all was death.

hUT AG IT IS V/RITTEIJ. EYE HATII NOT fJEEIl. NOR EAR HEARD,
NEITHEI^ HA VE ENTEHE<D IHTO THE HEART OP MAN, THE
THINGS V/HICH 003) HATH FRFPARE<D FO<Sl THEM
THA T L VE JlH.f. ' '-Fa u ;.

E have lieie a picture to reniiiul us of tlie Scriptural

phrase, " The hist of the flesh, the hist of the eye, and
the pride of life." Human folly, by its pageantry and
display, makes itself ridiculous without knowing it. It struts, and
boasts, and plays "fantastic tricks before high heaven," for which
the Christians pity it, and satirists hold it up to ridicule.

Multitudes of men have each their hobby, as varied as tlieir
tastes. But the consummation of all is to make the world itself a
hobby, and to ride it with the ostentation and zeal of a mad
charioteer. Here we see carnal pleasure tricked out in a garb
congruous to his nature, holding in his hands reins attached to an
ass's head, which replaces the top of a mutilated cross ; while, also,
along with the tight-drawn reins, ho grasps a whip, curiously
wrought for the sake of display. The handle is a sceptre-like rod,
the handle of which is exquisitely wrought or jewelled, while a

114

A LIFE STUDV.

globe to which a wind-mill is attached surrounds it, nnd affords
a support to a long, broad streamer, that serves as a lash.

The fool's playthings, masks, cards, crosses, coin and jewels,
are loosely nnd negligently scattered around him, while his now
hobby absorbs all his enthusiasm. At his side, a basket which
holds liis two bags of treasure is falling off from the world, and
unseen by him, and, apparently, uncared for; one bag is fast
spilling its contents, which are falling scattered to the ground. In
his mad course, driving his world as if it were a beast of burden,
he little heeds what other wealth or treasure he loses or gains. Of
a world above, or a world beneath, he knows nothing, cares
nothing. The world he is astride of is his all.

Turning our glance above we are taught the mistake. There
is an eye, wreathed about with thorns, to show us that it is His who
wore the thorny crown, and who was content to despise and con-
temn all the honors and splendors of the world. Before him
archangels veil their faces with their wings, while they are seen
bowing with lowliest reverence, Hef that had not where to lay his
head ; who, though he was rich, yet for our sakes became poor,
and whose earthly career seemed one continuous rejection and
contempt of offered crowns a' id thiones, is exalted as the Lord of
all, by all to be adored. In the light of that eye, all the pompous
folly and display of worldly minds are seen to be only a mad and
reckless farce, a rocket-like explosion of fantastic and abominable
tricks, that can end only in disaster and shame.

Below we observe a pierced hand. Through this hand an
extended eye-glass passes, which that mutilated organ seems to
hold up and offer to our gaze. Through that glass, and through
that pierced hand, we may behold what would otherwise be in-
visible, the glory of a better world, stars like the Star of Bethle-
hem, the chief among ten thousand and the altogether lovely. All
that earth exhibits to the unregeuerate eye is but tinsel to what is
here revealed.

A LIFE STUDY.

116

Thus tho visible and invisible are brought into contact, and
the stupidity and folly of carnal pleasures, enslaved to its love of
pageantry, is displayed. It is soon to be shallow, childish, buoyed
up with trifles.

"So millions aro smlt with tho glare of a toy,
They ijnisp at a pebble, and ililnk It a gora ;
And tlnsol 1h gold if it glitter to thira.
HencG, dazzled with beauty, tho lover is sralt ;
Tho hero with honor ; tho poct-with wit ;
The fop with ills feathers, his snufl-box and cane j
Tho nymph with lier novels ; tho morohnnt with gain."

All these are making a hobby of the world. They are
attempting to ride it to a goal they can never reach. They are
suffering themselves to be deluded by appearances, even while they
are making themselves a show for others. But there is a scrutin-
izing, heart- searching eye above, that looks down on the world,
through a wreath of thorns, and sees things in that light in which
they will at last appear to the soul, cured of its folly, or over-
whelmed by it.

WE OROPS W THE (DAY-TmE

jjHE life of man may bo, in thousands of instances, com-
pared to a search for eonie hidden, perhaps unknown,
good. Few can tell what it is, and fewer still where it is
to be found. Nearly all seem to concede that it poca abroad in
something of a Protean disguise. In one shape it seems to be
recognized by one, and in another, by another. Past experience in
this matter seems to bo of small account. Men refuse to be in-
structed by it. One failure after another, in the same circum-
stances, seems to impress no lesson, or give no warning that is
heeded by those who come after. If men have groped in vain in
one path ; others, perhaps, with full knowledge of their failure, will
grope there again.

What is needed, is that which gives the soul peace, assurance
of security, and immortal hope. But these are not to be found in
earthly possessions, in bags of wealth, full-blown houses, troops of
friends, lofty towers, or ** pavilions of rocks." The sea saith they
are not in me, and the depth, they are not in me. If they are to

228

jS LIFE STUDY.

be pursued by human skill, or sagacity, on earth, they will demand
a long, weary, and fruitless search, still mocking every effort.

Here we see the soul, no longer standing, as elsewhere, on the
edge of the precipice, but making its way through the dashing,
rushing llood, that threatens to sweep it away, toward some object
which it may grasp with its uplifted hand, as a security. But it is
very doubtful whether it will reach the prop, which rises like the
upright part of the cross, from the midst of the flood, for it is ap-
parently turned somewhat aside from it, and is in danger, if it fails,
of plunging deeper and more hopelessly in the waves.

Yet what is wanted, is just the support and the security which
the cross affords. It stands planted firm and strong amid the
billows. It has proved the soul's strength in many a tempestuous
hour — its prop when every earthly prop has given way. But
where is this true treasure of the soul to be found ? Not on Alpine
summits. Not in happy valleys of " Easselas." It may have fled
from courts, and yet not be found in cottages. Again, we ask,

•' Wlicre thy true treasure ? Gold cays, ' not in me.'
And ' not In me,' the diamond. Gold is poor,
India's insolvent; Bcelc It in thyseif I
Seek in thy valued self, and find it there."

But a search within the soui itself — so long as it remains be-
reft of pardon, peaco, and immortal hope — could only disclose its
poverty and wretchedness. Yet one thing can enrich it, and that
is the cross, and a sanctified affection bestows it there. Within
each renewed heart, grace has planted the cross, and there the
treasure abides. Wo see the heart, with the guard-chain around
it, opening itself, as on hinges, to our gaze, and within, its treasure,
its great treasiire, its only treasure, is the cross.

Let the soul have this, and it is secure and blessed. This, as
we see below, anchors the floating island of its hopes. All things
else may be as the ship, spreading all its canvas to meet the fierce
buffetings of the storm, or perhaps to be stranded on a strange

A LIFE STUDY.

110

shore, or buried in *he deep caverns of the ocean. But the cross
will never disappoint the trust of the soul. It never has disap-
pointed it, and it never can.

Deeper meaning has never been compressed into human lan-
guage, than when it has been employed to express the sustain-
ing and cheering power of a crucified, but risen and exalted
Redeemer. The experience which has led through sighs and tears,
has been lighted up at the sight of the cross.

Here it is I find my heaven,
Wh Ic upon the cro88 1 gazo ;
Love I much ? I've much forgiven ;
I'm a miracle of grace."

\rquaint t.'iee ic.V/i l/,T/s>lf, coii/fsfing
"!'!//rai!ly,asa crra/nre nf,.ie clay,
'd in the dying sod bihoUl (he emblem
Of life immnrtiil cradled in decay.

" YET THE LORD THINKETH UPON y.K —'Dama..

|N the calm still night, with only tho stars visible above it
and with its feet on the cold, rough earth, a meditative
spirit is seen, reflecting upon its own destiny. In its right
hand, is a miniature human statue, exquisitely wrought, and in the
ether, the graving chisel with which it has executed its work.

Wherein— the human inquirer seems to ask— wherein a.-
I superior to the work of my own hands? I, too, am fashioned
out of the dust. My form is perhaps less symmetrical and perfect
than that which I have MTought, and it may even sooner, perhaps
be doomed to perish. Is it that I have life ? So have beasts and
birds? and some of these range free, where I am confined within
bounds. How, then, am I better than they ?

The question cannot be answered till the soul becomes con-
scious of itself and its endowments, as well as of its filial relation to
its Maker. The image reflects the artisan's skill, but not the divine
likeness. The bird may know its season, and construct its nest
with the utmost reach of sagacity ; but though fed by an unseen

jfi LIFE STUDY.

benefactor, it can only thank him with its unconscious song. It is
not so with man. The broad leaves and the green earth map
themselves on his eyeball, with a meaning and beauty wliich the
soaring eagle never discerns. He is God's child, and may know
and love Him, and at the same time, share this love. He can enter
into holy communion with his Father and his God, and even in the
degradation of his prodigal wanderings, his soul, in refusing husks,
testifies how it thirsts and hungers after God.

But one of the most important truths which the soul should
bear in mind, is that of the frailty of all things on earth. The urn
beneath, on which we read the word, argillu, " clay," is a remem-
brance of man's origin and destiny, as the tenant of a feeble and
perishing body. If tempted to pride, if allured by fancies which
paint before his eyes cheating images of the future, if disposed to
build and rest upon the vain promise of to-morrow, he need only
turn his eye to the old funereal urn which holds the ashes of
earthly greatness, or to the grassy m( und that now covers, with its
tame verdure, a form that was once almost adored. The lessons of
urn and mound, are lessons which the soul needs to humble it, to
bring down aU its high thoughts, and teach it in all lowliness to
seek a life which does not own the grave for a boundary, and soars
on the wings of immortal hope far above clay and urn.

It is true, man's skill may fashion the statue. It may carve
the marble till it glows with the eloquent expression of thought
and passion, but it cannot put the glow of a divine life on the fea-
tures of the soul. That is the work only of the divine artist, and
when it is done, the soul may triumph in the thought, that though
the handiwork of its skill may outlast tho body, and though the
century oak may spread its branches over the crumbling hand that
planted it, the soul, living the new life of faith in the Son of God,
shall triumph in the doom of a dissolving earth and blazing
heavens.

And farlhbjpridf is like the passing flo,..,.
That springs to /all, and blossoms but to die ;
'Tis as the tow'r erected on a cloud,
Baselestand sill;,, as the schoul-boy's dream.

yE SHALL BE <?0V.=?'O"">'-.r-i =-nr> ^-.^ ^ . r,^

i^.v. u iO ^.Qj^ -v^s GARDENS YE HA VE CHOSEN.

|HE world is a Proteus in the variety of shapes which it
assumes. To one it seems a puradiso, all the paradise
that ho desire.; to another, disappointed, disgusted, an.l
overtaken by sorrow or angui.h, it is a hollow mockery. Even
carnal pleasure, that had idolized it once, learns at length to
contemn it and denounce it as a cheat.

Here we see the different worlds of pleasure, of ambition, of
taste and display-the worlds of sense, m which many live and
move, and have their being-represented as immense eggs, within
the cavifaes of which are concealed, ready to break forth, serpent
fonns, Hke that which is seen reax^ng its horrid form aloft, and
g anng with savage mien and forked tongue. It is intubated
plainly that the object of the soul's perverse idolatry is the hollow
shell that conceals a venomous and deadly foe. This, however is
not known or suspected, till the broad beam of light from heaJen
comes down and manife.sts the world as it is, piercing throuo-h it
and making it so manifest, that even carnal pleasure, seated nenr
by, made helpless by the very hmnner in which it is tricked out
cannot bear the sight Unable to walk or stand, by reason of its'

ISO

A LIFE CiTUDY

ornaments becoming its bonds and fetters, it is also blinded by the
glare of the light that exposes the vanity of its idols, and so it sits,
bent forward, helpless, humiliated, covering its face with its hands,
and estranged completely and forever from its former joys.

But that which fills carnal pleasure with terror and despair,
appears far different to the eye of faith. The believing soul
contemns what the other has idolized, and when the beam of light
comes down from heaven, all earthly things molt away and are
dissolved in its blaze. It looks up to its great source, the Sun of
Righteousness, and it sees no earthly interest or worldly splendor
any more. The only thing whiih intervenes to intercept or
moderate the intensity of its blaze, is the cross, which presents its
shaded side to the eye. This serves, as we see bolow, as a veil, to
temper a light which mortal weakness could not endure to approach
and behold. It is tho humanity <>f the sufferer on the cross that
veils the glory of his divinity so that mortal vision can endure it.
The cross fixes tho eye, and while the soul's gaze rests upon it, the
glory of the infinite One ia interpreted to human weakness, and,
instead of overpowering and appalling, lights up the cross with its
own splendor, and makes it a guideboard in the heavenly way.

Such is the contrast between carnal pleasure and the behoving
soul. One ia dazzled by the blaze that exposes the hollowness of
its hopes. The other ia attracted, enlightened, and pointed heaven-
ward by the broad, glorious beam. One sees the serpent ; the
other the cross. One sinks ashamed and confounded in the midst
of its idolatries, the other looks up to heaven, and forgets all the
vanity of a world which it can only despise. One is helpless in
the bonds of its own ornaments. The other is only emancipated
from all the bondage of darkness by the light that exposes all the
hollow idolatries of the world.

//"/'■ /.'/.'' a rnrilinl, iiiiinn'uC, Ihnuijh ulrnng,
Jltui\i In (irt at once innitiriU^ and si'rrnis ;
Anr iHiikfs MiniHii/ his wisilom for /tin Joij.t.

WHICH IICPK -.VE HAVE AS AH ANCHOR rp THE SOUL. FOTH
rUFB AND STEADFAST '~n-,u'

^OEACE, in momomblo Hiips, Inis skotchorl the noblost
character of wliic'h he could form a coiicoption.

.IiiBliim et tcnnccm pi-opoRlli vii-iiin.*

But tlioro is a lofty grandeur which lins been witnessed in
eonneotion with a religion he would have despised, to which his
ideal was altogether inferior. One of the most forcible and just
lines of Young asserts

"TheCliilsiinnlHtlie liiifliput style of ninn.

and the truth has been vindicated in chapters of human experience,
which sometimes melt to tears, and sometimes inspire to lieroio self-
denial.

We have the Christian ideal here presented to view, and we
see the support on which it rests. We witness a countenance

* Tho mnn juBt and unyielding in purpose.

ISO

A l:fs study

which bears upon it the Btniiip of jjurity, (nihii Horonity, olovatod
purpose and inward peaoo. Tho soul is Uj^ured leaning upon an
anchor, and we know what that anchor is. It is tho houI's Buro
and steadfast hopo, tho cross, with its base expanded to lioUl fast
when all else is driven or torn by the storm, llosting upon it,
with the eye of faith lifted to heaven, the soul muy bo indiUbr-
ent to oil external things. Flowers may bloom around it, or tho
rough earth and the shapeless rocks may fonn its prospect, but it
looks beyond them all, beholding a spiritual firmament where tho
sun never sots, and the clouds gather not, while beneath is a bloom
that is blasted by no frost, and that covers no grave.

Above «re see the anchor again, but now M-ith its cable made
fast to it, and so coiled that it pictures to us human hearts, which
it unites together by a more than telegraphic communion. That, on
which the individual heart reposes, furnishes a common basis for
the communion of kindred hearts.

But the enduring nature of the Christian's security, as ho leans
upon his anchor, is symbolized below. There is the rock, lifting
itself proudly aloft, above the fierce and raging billows, mocking
their fierce assault by its steadfast strength. Let them chafe and
foam as they will, they can make no impression upon it. Deep
fixed on a basis, invisible and far beneath, it challenges all their
ftiry, and survives all their violence.

So it is with the soul, resting on Him who is the only foxmda-
tion; established upon an invisible support, which underlies tho
chongiu^r surface and raging waves of this sea of life. Supported
by this, it challeu^jes the tribute,

" On the Bock of Agc-a founded,

What con abake thy sure repose t "

Indeed it experiences the truth of these wonderful words,
" This is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith."

A I IFR aruDY

7.v;

Tn the words of that quaint old mastor o*" omblems, the poet
QutirloH:

" No hope (IpooItor It, nrwl tio donht dlvldci It :

No KTlof dlMturh* It, nnd no error guldcii It;

No good contomn« It, nnd no virtue blames It;

No Kullt condumnn It, and no folly nhamcs It;

No Hloth ItcHotR It, and no liiHt IntlirnlU It;

No dcorn iiffll> t» It, and no |Jol»on i;all« it;

It Ih aciiMkt't of immortal life,

An Ark of IVucd."

Fnith in tlio oriuiifiod Ono lifts it above the world, giw- il
communion with hoavon, n.akes its life a walk with God, so that all
n.ituro is subdued into tribute to its welfare, and present afflictions
become light, as they work out its future glory.

'^m

T/ius reason huirns by sloiv degrees
W'lial faith rereaLt ; but still cumplains
Of intellectual pains,
And darkness from the exuberant light.

^r^
~)^

• HAVING THE UN'DEPSTANQIlINa <SARKENS^. BE:NJ AZTENATE<D
FROM THE LIFE OF GO<D . . . BECA U3E OF THE BLIN'S'.'E3S
OF THEIR HEART ■—Paul

r«vgAN'S reason, left to grope its own way, may devise a
nSyA B scheme of religion more or less adaptiil to the heart's

depraved tastes, but it will never find a Saviour. For
how does it search for him ? Just as we see its course pictured
before us in the emblem. It gropes its way blindfolded, -vnth its
fool's cap for a lantern, and its path illuminated only by the feeble;/
rays. In every respect it dooms itself to failure. By its aversion
to the Cross of Christ, it turns its back upon him, and puts a deep,
rocky precipice between it and Calvary. Then its own natural
powers have been so dimmed and obscured by sin and sinful indul-
gence, that it may be said to have blindfolded itself. Yet, by
sparks of its own kindling, by inventions of its own de\ising, it
contrives to kindle an artificial light in the darkness, but no light
that will display the world as it is, or the heart as ft is, or allow of

1S4

yl LIFE STUDY

any such prospect as will discover to it the pilgrim-beaten way to
the cross. How aptly does Cowper say,

" Yet thus we dote, refusing, ■while wo can,
Instruction, and inventing to ourselves
Gods such as guilt mokes welcome , Gods that sleep,
Or disregard our lollies, or that sit
Amused spectators of this bustling Btagc.
Thee we reject, unable to abide
Thy purity, till, pure as thou art pure.
Made so by thee, we love theo for that cause,
For which we shunned and hated thee before."

It is the

predi

'8 preaisposition to what is sinful and selfish, that
makes it like the dark lantern which we see above. If a spark of
the divine light has been kindled within it, the heart itself, ren-
dered opaque by its own lusts and passions, closes up the orifice, or
displaces the glass through which it might shine forth.

For the cross of Christ has ever been obnoxious to human
reason. It has be^r' " to the Jew a stumbling-block, and to the
Greek foolishness. It has been only to those who have been pre-
viously humbled and subdued, " the power of God and the wisdom
of God unto salvation." Hence the effort has been often made to
divide it, to take one part of its teachings and leave the other. But
they must not be thus mutilated, or robbed of their completeness.
The Gospel is a whole and entire Gospel, or it is none. There is
nothing superfluous, there is nothing wanting. "Is Christ di-
vided ? " No more can his cross be, as we see in the picture, if
torn asunder, must still be kept together, so that all may see that
they belong to each other, and supplement one another.

But it is this indisposition of the heart toward spiritual truth
that blinds it. " The natural mind receiveth not the things of the
Spirit of God." They are " spiritually discerned," and without
spiritual discernment, the cross may stand on the lofty hill that we
see dimly in the background, and the full light of heaven's noon-
day glory may fall upon it, yet the soul that turns away, follo\ving

fi LIFE STUDY.

the glimmoring beams of its own reason, or putting the bandage
of willfuhiess and self-seeking before its eyes, shaU never discern
it.

How pitiable is that bUnd groping which is pictured here'
And yet such is frequently the groping of strong and gifted
minds, pushing their explorations deeper and deeper into nature's
darkness, till, lost and despairing, they can only accept as the higli-

coteriet'"'"'"''* ""^ °'^'' ""'" '''''^' *^^" S^"°'^ «^ '^^^ ^^^ ^-

" Are these the pompous tidings yo proclaim-
Liglit of the world, and demi-god's of flami! f
******♦♦•♦

For this hath science sought, on V'«.iry wing, * * * '

From shore to shore, each mute aud living' thing."

^ ^.

•

^1^^-^^

0)ie htlrr in lite niphixbet of hedtvii.
One Utter hdiiund more than all the rest,
And S2»'lls vf!iim,'s--lis t/ir croas of Christ.

''^^^^^^^^.Ip'^^

■BUT OO^D FORBIO T:rAT I SIfOaLO O

:or:

Ob' ou;i LoncD jksus Christ. ■■■

:rE CROSS

OUL immortal ! We hero have it-no longer blindly seek-
^ ing an unseen good-but kneeUng before the cross, clasp-
^ iiig it with one hand, while tlie other is lifted in praise or
prayer. Tlie great discovery has been made. The wanderer wan-
ders no more. Every bandage is torn from the eyes ; the fools-
cap, no longer forced to serve as a lantern, is flung down neglected
to the earth, while a human heart, central in a frame bordered
with light, basks in the fuU cloudless radiance that falls upon it
from the cross. Here are light, peace, joy and triumph, at last. The
soul has found its rest. Its thoughts soar and exult, while it kneels
to pray. It has-no more to ask. Its last, and most earnest longing
is satisfied now.

Henceforth, as we see above, the heart is bound fast to the
cross, and is supported by it-bound by the branches and tendrils
of the " vine "-the love of Christ. This upholds and sustains it.
It IS a sure support that can never faU. In weakness, ia sorrow

:r:3 A LIFE STUDY

in desertion, in worldliness, when heart and flesh fail, this is its
strength and its joy, and will become its salvation.

Another phase of this intimate connection is set forth below.
There we see the emblem of the life immortal, bound fsi&t to tlio
volume of truth, that volume which reveals the cross-bearer, who
has brought life and immortality to light, who has said, "I am the
resurrection and the life," and of whom it was written, "the life
was the light of men." Take the Bible away, and the hopeful of
immortality would have nothing upon which to rest, nothing on
which to feed. It is the promises of grace, all dependent upon the
cross, upon which the soul lives, and in the confidence of which,
hope soars at length upward to the final blessedness.

There is no discovery so precious to the sovd as the discovery
of the cross. It is not the mere sight of the object that meets the
eye, but the meaning of it that greets the soul. It is a discovery
to the soul of a new world of spiritual life, when its cravings are
sati.sfied, and where it is content to rest. It finds here what mines
are too poor to give, " the unsearchable riches of Christ." It ob-
tains here what may not be obtained from softest pillows, or beds
of down, the peace which Christ gives. It enjoys here the sight
which no mountain top affords — the sight of a pardoning, gracious,
covenant God. The great problem which thousands have essayed
in vain — ^where shall wisdom be found ? — is solved here. The great
question that has agitated ages, and expressed the throbbing
anxieties of trembling souls — *' How shall man be just with God ? "
— is answered here. The soul on earth can aspire to nothing
higher or better than what is secured it, when kneeling under the
shadow of the cross. All that carnal minds seek seems poor and
despicable, by the side of that wliich belongs to th6 soul, when
kneeling by the cross, it feels warranted to exclaim,

i'tli

"Since Christ is mine, and I am hie,
What can I want beside V

A L:FE STifDY.

ir')

There is no longer an impulse to roam in weary search for
some unknown, some uncertain good. Here, as in a transparent
glass, is seen ths vanity of all that earth can give, the delusion of
those who hope to bring from visible possessions, that immaterial
and spiritual blessedness, which alone can satisfy the soul. And
here, too, is apprehended something of that everlasting' blessedness
which " eye hath not seen, nor ear heard."

.L-.

T/ierr, if thy Spirit touch the. soul,
AnUyraiP her men,, iboUi; ;

0!t ! Willi what pe.an; II 11(1 Joy, and lov
She thtit cuiHiHuties with Gcd!

■' AN.^ HA TIT MA T- ^^7 K:ro3 A:i D r;,:^o..^ ^.,.^ ^^^ ,^^^, ^

RESENTED to view lioro, wo have tli-, symbol of the voiy
highest power and authority, to w.ich mortal man ran
aspire. Wealth and dominion a^, here combined with
that majesty and awe which invest supremo earthly royalty. We
may imagine the personage before u.s to be an Ahasueinis, or Alexan-
der, or even, if possible, a gi-eater than these. The worM h be-
neath his feet, indicating his control over it. A crown on his liead,
and a sceptre in his hand, indicate tliat he is at once ruler and ex-
ecutor, dispensing justice or mercy at will. The circle of light
about hia head, is, inc^eed, no divine halo, but it is such effulgence
as attends earthly greatness. The figure— encircled, as it is with
butterflies, emblems of Hfe from the grave-is to be considered as
within thf sphere of man's spiritual interests.

The question at once suggested by the symbol is, what penal-
ties can such a being inflict, or what fevors can he bestow ? But
first of all, whatcan he asjiire to himself? The answer is seen m

14B

A LIFE CTUDY

WO look above. If ho rule in lovo, and sot the hearts of his people
as the jewels of his {Tf)^vn, and those hearts glow and burn with
the flame of devotion, thon shall his crown bo combined with a
sceptre like Aaron's rod that budded, and on the bloom of the
flower into which its summit spreads, lu)pes full of immortality
shall feed. Or if he rulo as himself immortal, and make his crown
rich with immortal hopes, then it shall inclose Avith it a sceptre, as
gentle as a human heart, which boars fruit in a world with its
anchor — a world which is provided with an abiding security against
every raging tempest.

Such are the capabilities of unlimited earthly power, but even
this, however exalted, has its necessary conditions. Wickedness,
or the malum, ** evil," whieh wo see below, written on the body of a
suspended serpent, knotted in its agony, yet hissing oiit its malig-
nity still, must be punished, and no power or authority can evade
the necessity. Nor is this all. It must be offset by the suspended
sword, on which we read Poena, or " Penalty," indicating that
where guilt is, no worldly dominion, no sceptered control, can dis-
pense with the use of the instruments of justice.

We see here, also, a supplemented cross, to the extended arms
of which the serpent and sword are suspended. It is not, and on
earth, it cannot be a simple cross, but one supplemented by in-
genious supports, by human inventions, bracing it up, and impart-
ing to it strength. The mightiest monarch has no provision, and
can have none, for pardoning guilt and maintaining justice, by a
naked, simple cross, no provision by which he can safely say to
each penitent offender, " You are pardoned ; go forth free." He
must have a cross on which shall be seen — not an innocent victim,
voluntarily offering himself, in the fullness of redeeming love, but
one that shall exhibit to view at once the drawn sword and the
writhing serpent, and shall be seen to be visibly propped and
braced by human statutes, by rigid laws, and marshalled forces.

A LIFE STUDY

14H

But that to which the highest possible authority and power of
earth may not aspire to, is attained in the counsel of infinite and
divine love. Ho that took not the fonu of a king, but of a steward,
who trampled not on the world, but allowed it to trample on him,
who instead of filling a visible throne had been dothroiunl in the
hearts of a race, and hud a reed placed in his hands as a mock
sceptre, has attained a dominion that shall be an everlasting do-
minion, and opened a way of pardon by whicjh he can say to the
guiltiest, low in the dust uf penitence — Go and uiu uo more.

•■ AS FOR THE LiClHT OF MINE EYES. THAT ALSO IS GONE EJ^OM

JHRIST'S cross owes its glory to the illuminating beams of
tho heart of infinite lovo. Wherever these come, it is

"radiant. That heart is the orb that pours its light alike on
the cross and the renewed soul. Around it, as around the sun, we
see the rainbow-hued circles of light, with that more distant halo
which quenches the stars within its sphere. Looking upon the
cross, we can see its edge lit up, just where the radiance of this
heart falls upon it. Elsewhere there is shadow, mystery, but
mystery, that in the full noon-day of eternal light will all vanish
away.

But sometimes the cross presents its dark side to us, or, rather,
we place ourselves in such a way that the light of the great heart
of love is obscured, and then, while we are in the shade, the cross
to us is shadowed also. We may even sit down beneath it ; we
may still, perhaps, be leaning against it. It may yet be unspeak-

i4d

A LIFE STUDY.

ably precious to us, and if we have ever exclaimed with the apostle,
" God forbid that I should, glory, save in the cross of our Lord
Jesus Christ," we have no disposition to recall the words. We
have experienced the blessed power of that cross, too frequently
and too deeply, ever to doubt it or call it in question.

And yet, perhaps even the cross seems shadowed to us, and we
ourselves are shadowed beneath it. There are difficulties, fears,
anxities, troubled luusingE;; inexplicable providences, and our pros-
pect is obscured and dim Why? Because wo do not so place
ourselves, as to look through the cross or beyond it, and see that
heart of love which lends to it all its lustre, and in a moment can
chase away the last shadow of fear from the soul.

Have we then ceased to be God's cliildren, because the bright-
ness of our prospect is dim, and the cross has not that surpassing
lustre which, to our eyes, it had worn before ? "

Look above, and the question is answered. There is the
sheep, but there is no shepherd to be seen. Is it lost ? has it been
abandoned ? No ! The shepherd's crook ia by its side, and the
flag waves from its top, and when that crook rests, and that flag
waves, nothing, not even the weakest and the feeblest, can be lost.
The shepherd is not far away. The wandering sheep has but to
see that flag from far, and hasten to it, and it will be found of him
when it would find itself. What the crook and the flag are to the
shepherd, that the cross is to Christ. It is the symbol of his near-
ness as well as of his power.

It is by no means in vain that the soul ia left at times to walk
along a shadowed way. It may need a discipline which is thus
most wisely administered. Looking below we see the butterfly
feeding upon fruit, that has fallen from the branches of the tree
above it. It is in the shade, and yet it is feeding on what will
minister to its life and strength. So it is with the soul's immortal
hope. It may sometimes be overshadowed, and overshadowed, too,

A LIFE STUDY.

247

by tJie y of life, and whUe thus overshadowed be feeding on the
richest food, be gathering new sixength and life and joy It n.av
not be left deserted, but led through darkness to more glorious
hght, to a higher pla^e, to a purer blessedness.

"DarknesB is but the bordering of ight,

Tlie lino which ^how8 the son! where It may pass
From night lo noon. It is tlic veil, which rent,

Ab ,t shall be, the pearly gates stand ajar,
And love, with beckoning hand, invites to enter.

1->S^)

I.KA '^mSSS INTO THEIR r^OULr

HEN one feeds and thrives, another will starve. The fuod
of a sensual is the poison of a spiritual nature. Tliiri is
illustrated in the diverse effect produced upon the two
diverse characters, to whom the world is here seen to offer liei-
breasts. One of these, with unreflecting eagerness and a greedy
appetite, drinks in nourishment, and the rounded and obese form
which he presents, shows how well he thrives. He is sensualism
incarnate. He is of the earth earthy. All higher aspirations ar«
smothered and stifled under the load of flesh. He seems to enjoy
the serene composure of a swine at his trough. He has his pleas-
ures, but they are the pleasures of a brute.

la the other character, we discover another nature. Even iiw
his misery, the lingering stamp of original nobleness is seen. Hi.s
worn and wasted wings, his shriveled limbs, his meagre, pain-
marked features, and all the negUgence of his dress and hair, be-
speak the presence within him of a conscious need, and a conscious

160

4 LIFE STUDY.

misery, such as coarse and carnal natures never know. He is ca-
pable of something more than sensual suffering as well as sensual

joy-
To both, the world yields abundantly from her full breasts.
But the taste of one, more gross than that of the other, allows him
to apply his lips directly to the fountain. The other would gather
up the flowing stream that he may leisurely drink, but he has
nothing in which to receive it, but the sieve, through which of
course it passes, flowing into the open mouth of a tunnel that con-
ducts it into the earth. If the outflow was less abundant, perhaps
he too might apply his lips, and overcoming his fastidiousness, en-
joy to some extent, at least, the food offered him. But the very
abundance is such, that like one sated at a feast, he revolts from
fuller indulgence, and pines for very plenty. Thus the motto is
verified, inopeinme copiafecit^ "abundance has made me poor."

Glancing at the bordering of the picture, we see above an ex-
quisitely-carved cross, firmly planted on an elevated pedestal, by
the side of which are two cornucopias, representing worldly abun-
dance, pouring forth their heterogeneous store, as flowers and thorns,
fools-caps, and bones and skulls, while between them a full globe
is discharging its superabundant fullness upon a human heart, that
yet does not receive or retain a single drop. Beneath, we see a
himian heart, with crab-hke claws, grasping greedily, but grasping
only the air, thus indicating the eager thirst of the human soul, to
possess something which it can neither see nor define.

All this is for the instruction and admonition of those who de-
pend for sustenance on the breasts of the vrorid. If already bru-
..taUzed, their Eensual nature may obtain its appropriate indulgence ;
but if the original instincts of the angel still linger, all this world's
treasures, poured from its cup of plenty aire only flowers and
thorns, fools-caps and skeletons. The soul is not fed by means of
pampered appetites. It is famished at a Dives' table. The very

A LIFE STUDY.

151

excess provided for its gratification fills it with loathing. It wastes
away amid abundance, which its better thoughts and feelings for-
bid it to enjoy.

And yet one would envy the latter rather than the former.
Pampered lust and appetite, high fed and even gluttonized by un-
restrained indulgence, form one of the most repulsive spectacles on
earth. Their conjunction with a human soul is hideous. It is as
if that soul was coffined in obesity. The spirit crushed by the flesh
is more tragic than the Enceladus of classic fable, buried under
-^tna.

„

For her my tears shall fall.
For Iirr my yrayirs ascend ;

To hrr mil cnrfis and toils bi- tjiven.
Till toilsoml cans shall end.

INASMUCH AC:' YS HAYS Q-:ONB IX UN'IO 'liiB LEAST OF THEi'E

MY Brethren, ye have <Done it unto me --josus.

NT ANT Divine ! we here see hira in his feebleness, which
this humble globe cradles, and yet to him — the promised
Saviour — tlie soul trustingly and lovingly bends. It is
blessed, unspeakably blessed in the privilege, for he that ministorH
to him in the cradle, shall be ministered to by liim, when he has
passed from the cradle to the throne.

This is the assurance of the master himself. His cause, with
which he identifies himself, when he says — " inasmuch as ye have
done it to the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto mo" —
is now weak and feeble, and calls for sympathy and help. It is as
it were, in the cradle now. It will accept the hand and help of our
himian weakness. We may offer it the incense of our love, and
the tribute of our willing and cheerful service. And this shall be
remembered. With its final triumph, our own shall be identified,
and the tribute we have paid shall not bo forgotten, when all na-
tions shall have become its tributaries.

a :

IC-i A LIFE aruDY.

It is this ministry to Christ's weakness, which gives wings
to the soul, and bears it aloft, where it may behold its heavenly in-
heritance, while with folded arms it presses the cross of Christ,
still more closely to the heart. If forced in reviewing the past to
say

" I was a groveling creature once,
And babcly cleaved to cartb,"

Now I can exclaim:

" But God ha4 breathed upon a worm,
And sent mo from above ;
Wings such as clothe an angelV form,
The wings of joy and love."

But there is another heart that does not merely embrace the
cross, but is nailed to it — a heart that has been " smitten by tlie
archers." It is this heart on which we read the sacred letters I.
H. S., signed with the cross. We see the stars of the world's idol-
atries ranged all around, for each of theso it must bleed. For
nearly every one of these, there is a corresponding dart, and eaclx
one of these pierces, or is designed to pierce the heart of infinite
love, that bleeds forth the balm to heal the world that inflicts the
wounds. All the benefits of this healing balm belong to those who
befriend Christ or his cause, in their earthly infancy or feebleness.

How consoling, and yet inspiring is the thought, that so far as
liis cause is concerned, Christ is in his cradle still, and can be min-
istered to by feeble human endeavors. We can befriend him in be-
friending those he loves. We can receive a little child in his name.
We can lay our frankincense and mjTrh, and the tribute of our
self-denial, at the feet of an infant king.

And this shall not be forgotten, while we press the cross to our
bosom, the soul shall be clothed in "wings of joy and love;" it
shall soar upward on wings as eagles, it shall run and not be weary,
it shall walk, and not faint. All its sins shall be blotted out. For
every one of them, there has been an arrow of anguish and redeem-
ing agony, shot into the heart of infinite love. That heart with all

.4 LIFE STUDY.

ICS

its love, with all its cleansing power, with all its atoning efficacy,
shall be the sacrifice, whose merit the soul may plead, and shall not
plead in vain.

Our life on eari;h places us therefore, as it were, by tho Saviour's
cradle. Ho deigns to use our help, and accepts our offerings now.
It will not alM-ays bo so. Ere long, the vineyard will be ended ;
earthly service will be uncalled for, and tlie infant of tho cradle
shall rule over the nations. Then the idea of mortal service be-
friending him will be entertained no more. Then he will be ex-
alted to his throne. He will need no more our gifts or toils. But
now we may say :

" What though in poor and humblo guise,
Thou liero did'Bt Bojourn cottage-born,
Yet from thy g.ory in the skies,

Our eartlily Gold thou wilt not scorn ;
For Love delights to bring her best,
And where love is, the ofiering evermore i blest."

f^stgss^mrwmamrmf

Fiithrr fii ipirits ! hear !
look- on the iiimosl heart ti> thri- rrrcnini ;
Loiil; iiiil/ii'/imiUaiii uf (he burning Imr.

•HOW SHALL XVE f; .Vc; r:;-, LORDS SONG :n A STR^NQV:

:. AND '■•-'David.

|HERE are times when tlie heart is like a harp, with a
broken string?. It liaa lost its power of melody and eono..
There is something essential to its harmony wantinJJ'.
Under the still heavens the soul can only kneel, and sigh out its
griefs, and wait for a divine hand to retie the broken string.

This is the experience that is depicted here. We are made
witnesses of a grief, not loud nor boisterous, but deep and silent.
Wliatis it? It is like thatof tlie captive Jew, by tlie rivers of
Babylon, answering tlio heathen's taunting demand for a song, by
asking, "How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange land?"
Here, indeed, we S(^o the harp hanging by the cross to the willows,
thus indicating that this sacred symbol is still dear, and that the
harp, even though silent, shall, in its silence, pay tribute to it, and
when it sounds again shall derive its inspiration from it.

But it is significant that by reason of the cross, the growth
of the wiUow is checked. Its trunk swells out, bulb-like, and puts
forth feeble shoots, when surmounted by the cross. Ita proper
weeping form ii taken from it by the power of the sacred symbol,

J.'iS

A LIFE aruDY

nnd loaves it RigniBcant of a griof that Ih limitod, and that may not
luxuriuto in m\ unrcstrainod iiululgonco of sorrow. With uuch an
euibltiiu, Uonry Kirk Wiiite, cut off,

" Whllo llfo wan In Un uprlnf},
And hia yotinx inunc flrHl trjcd her Joyoui wing,"

would havo synipathizod, as ho laid down what his foeblo hands ,
could hold no longer, oxclaiining,

"And muMt tlio imrp of Judah sleep ngalr t
Bhall I no more roiuilmate tlio lay!

thou who visltofit tliu BonR of men,

Thou whodoMt lUton when the humble pray;
One l.ttlo gi>iiuo prolong my mournful day.

1 am a youthful tiuvelvr in the way,

And thig Hlluht boon would conRccrate to thee,
Ere I with death shake handR, and Hmllo that I am free."

Below we see tho instrument which liad charmed by its music,
encircled by a chain. It is tho hoart which is symbolized — the
heart bound in the fetters of guilt or desertion, or spiritual deso-
lation. It cannot sing *' The Lord's song." It is in " a strange
land," a land of fears and sorrows, a land where sense and flesh
are still wrestling with the spirit to hold it captive. Its feelings
are seen in the tears that fall over the expressive symbols, bedew-
ing the chain that unites the manacle to the scallop-shell, the
symbol of the prisoner with that of the pilgrim. The soul feels
that it participates in the experience of both. If it exclaims, ** I
am a pilgrim and sojourner here, as all my fathers were," it
responds also to the declaration, " the captive exile hasteneth that
he may be loosed, that he may not perish in the pit."

But this grief of the humiliated, sin-burdened, half-despairitig
soul, though silent and unmusical to men, has a melody to which
the ear of heaven will not be insensible. He who knoweth our
firame and remembereth that we are dust, welcomes the sigh of the

A LIFE STUDY

soul that longg for tho light of his countonancn, and those groan-
ings of tho burdeiiod Hpirit, divinoly moved to break its silence,
which cannot he uttered in wordd. To that soul, a, grouiouu and
eovenant-kooping (Jod will Kuy,

"Tukc iIkwii thy lonn nrg'ootod horp,

I'vo aeon thy tcnri, nnd heard thy pmyer, ,

Tho wintur m-aHon ha* b en iihnrp,
But Rprlnif Hhull nil It* wuMtrii repair."

** Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the
morning."

••THE POOR OF THIS WOfiZCD. RICH nJ FAITH. AiiS> HE1F,S OF

THE K:Na<3:)0M. • '—Jo. ■ n He

jjEFOHE every man there are laid diverse treasures from
which he is to make his choice. For the most part, these
treasures are commingled like the prophet's figs — the
good, very good, and the bad, very bad. To him that hath, shall
be given more of the kind he has, and what he has shall also be-
come more perfect in its kind. If evil, it shall become worst, if
good, it shall b'^come best.

Here we see two youths, on the desert face of the earth, gath-
ering up and selecting from the treasures they can Ifiy hold of, the
things in which they find delight. Neither wants all that he can
gather, and hence each assorts and jireserves the things to which
he gives the preference.

One is seen on the right, with a tray that will hold safely all
that is put into it. Already it holds a pair of scales — the scales of
a divinely-imparted wisdom, in whiijh all things on earth may be

lOZ

/I LIFTS STUDY.

truly weighed, and beside those, a Bible, and the two tables of tho
law. These are the most precious treasures, an inhoritanoe of
themselves. The Bible is a treasure-house of counsels and proin-
isos, and the two tables of the law serve to chart the pilgrim's way
to heaven, and warn him of every false path, every line of trans-
gression. But this youth rejects and casts to the flames, which ho
has kindled, all that is worthless and pernicious, and we see borno
aloft, visible amid volumes of smoke, half-consumed cards, feathers,
and masks, the toys and trifles by wliich human hearts are deluded,
and robbed of their heavenly birthright.

The other youth has a sieve, instead of a tray. He has
scraped up together the wheat and the chaff. But the wheat he
allows to fall neglected and contemned to the earth, while he care-
fully saves the chaff in his sieve. This chaff is made up of cards
and dice, and the amusing toys and trifles of a mere worldling, and
when the scales, the tables of the law, and the Bible will not go
through the sieve, he gathtiis them up, throws them down, and al-
lows them to lie neglected at his feet.

Above the victim, behind an ornamented railing, at one end
of which the symbol of the bat, and at the other end that of the
dove, wo see the world represented. On one side of it, there
branches forth a stem, supporting beautiful loaves, and flowers,
and buds ; on the other is soon a stem which branches forth into
limbs, with a single leaf or flower, and armed only with naked
thorns.

On the right is a full-blown rose, upon which two symboUc
figures have aUghted. One is the butterfly, fresh from its chrysalis
symbol of immortality, and on its wings is written Vitaf " life ;" the
other is the wasp, producing no honey, and armed only with a
sting, on the body of which, wo read the word Mors, "Death."
The symbol of life, inscribed Vita, is nearest to tho youth who has
flung trifles to the flames, and preserved his sacred treasures.

fi LIFK i^'l'UDY

lot

On the left, wo also mcot with two fiymbols, one a hinnan
heart, fiiruished with winjrs— "the wings of faith and love; " and
the other a death's head, but each resting in a vase which supp.rts
it. The death's head is appropriately ncnirest to the youth Avith tlie
sieve, and bears the inscription, Malum, "Evil," wliile on tlie
winged htnirt wo read the word tliat expresses its portion, Bonum,
, or " the good " part that sliall n<n-er be taken away.

Between the two parties thus represented, lies the clioice
which nuin is called upon to make. Hie pessima, hie optima, serrate
"This one preserves the worst ; tliis one the best things." It is so
in human experience. He wlio weighs all things, in the scales of
truth, who fashions his life by tlie tables of the law, and accounts
the Bible his charter of hope and title deed, to an everlasting inher-
itance, and can call these his own, is rich in tlie loss of all else, and
will still be rich, when these are consumed in the flame. On the
other hand, he whose false discrimination leads him to use a sieve,
sifting out tlie wheat, and retaining worldly toys, of the nature of
chaff, while the Bible and scales, that will not pass through hw
sieve, are gathered up and cast away, is poor indeed — the lord and
owner of chaff, but bankrupt for eternity.

r>j

■■MEN LovE<D (Darkness rather than l:ght. because thei^,

CDES<DS were evil ■■—Johr.

jIOE Carnal Pleasure, there will come a clay of retribution,
when it will assume its true form, and anticijiato with hor-
ror its aiiproaching doom. In this picture, that day is
already represented as having arrived. Cupid is no longer tho gay
god of love and mirth, plotting his mischief for others, but anxious
for himself, and exclainung, Venturum exhorrcsco diem, " I shudder at
the day that is coming."

He is 80 transformed from his former self, that we scarcely
recognize him. His real nature now takes its proper form. With
owl's eyes and beak, and" a bat's head and Af*-inj;s, he is seen to be a
foul creature of night and darkness. One hand is lifted to liis
head in terror, and the other is outstretched, as if to ward olf tlie
comin"" vengeance. A lurid gloom settles over the world, for the
sun above, with a human face pictured upon it, as if it was an in-
telligent agent of retribution, is shorn of its beams, and seems to
look forth in wrath, while the whip, ^nth scorpion lash, is ready for
the hand of vengeance, and the torch tliat bhall light up tho final
conflagration, is ready to be applied.

The world has no longer a hope of redemption. Its cross has
fallen off. The aged tree, with its leafless limbs and hollow trunk,
gives signs of ripening desolation, and is the only thing beside the
feeble toad-stools which thickly strew tho ground, that can offer a
shelter to the affrighted criminal. He would fain call upon the
rocks and the mountains to hide him, but that is vain, and he can-
not crowd himself for shelter into tlie hollow globe. A solitary

zae

jtf LIPE STUDY

II '

Irog, grasping a fragniout of the dissolving world, looka up boldly
und seems to enjoy the wretched pUght of his ancient, but now
iKiWorless, and trembhugfoe, while a sorpeut, crawling forth lr«jm his
lurking-place, hisses from his mouth the venom of the primeval curse.
The scene beneath is scarcely less signihcant. There is the
strung bow, and there tlie full quiver, ready ior the hand of ven-
geance, and one of the latter is winding forth the servient that
grasps in his devouring jaws the wing of a bird, from which the
feathers are loosely flying. Thus the sure fate of guilt is already
foreshadowed.

The lesson is significant. Carnal Pleasiure assumes, at first,
a winning fonn. It is a cupid, with angel wings. It is si»ortive
and mirthful, and full of mischief. Buc its asaimied furm is only
transient. By and by, trutli will assert its suprematy. The day
of retribution will draw iu>ar. Vice will be reduced to its native
hideousness, and outraged nature shall bynipatldze with this right-
eous transformation. The sun shall grow dim. Nauaetjus erea-
ttires, and venomous reptiles shall come furtli, exulting in the
gathering darkness. Every refuge of guilt shall fail. The decayed
oak and the feeble toad-stools shall be symbols of the vanity of
all things, to which it can resort for shelter.

How can human guilt and folly confront such a terrible eon-
summation ? They shall seek to hide tliemselves in shame and
horror. The brief period of their roveUngs is over, and can never
return. The scorpion lash is ready for them. The torch of ven-
geance is Ughted, and only waits to be applied. Now are tliey
filled with shuddering. They know that the day of vengeance is
close at hand.

Thus it is with Carnal Pleasure. Its day of exultation is briel^
and its retribution is sure. All its former charms must give platxj
to its native hideousness — to owl's eyes, and bat's wings* — till those,
who idolized it once, start back from its presence with horror.

«*»^r-

Jf tears rnutd pay my debt,
My ryes n-ouhl /ouniaina be.

WEEFTNO MA >' E^!^')URE! FOR A NIGHT, BUT JOY COMF.TH IN THE

jaohn::;i} ■■—Oai-id.

j]HAT strange storioa mmo of iho old navigators had to tell
of their hard e.\perienrt>. By currents, tempests, rocks,
and shoals, they were threatened with wreck, xnd eome-
times despaired of life. And when tliey reached the peaceful port,
and returned to their own dwellings, how breathlessly «"juld their
Mends listen to the account of their hair-breadth escapes ! What
a story would they have to tell, who parting in the storm from that
old Christian hero of the sea, 8ir Humphrey Gilbert, heard Ids last
words, "It is as near to heaven by sea, as it is by laud."

"But, when, after the voyage of life, the soul, safe in the port
of eternal peace, shall relate its exporienco, how much more vind
and startling, perhaps, will be the incidents that have marked its
progress and its triumph! It has passed through "the great
waters." It has been bufifeted by the tempests. It has wept and
sighed, and prayed, till through the rifted clouds, the star of Beth-
lehem has shone forth.

Here we see the struggUng soul almost overwhelmed, while
the fierce waves rago around it, and lifting its hands in supplica-

2?0

A l:fe study

tion to heaven, while tears of anguish stoal down its cheeks. Over
its heud, the lightninj^ slioots its blazing linos on the thick dark-
ness, and lights up wiih \U bla/o tlio edges of the frowning clouds.
The world itself is tossed by the waves, and floats unanchored ut
the n»eny of the stomi.

No wonder the Boul is troubled, for there is no tro\iblo like
that which it feols, when the foundations of its hope are shaken,
and the solid globe seems to its view, tossed like u cockle-shell. It
may be that to the outward eye all is calm and still. It may bo
that the winds, that wave the harvest-tiolds, only whisper. But the
soul is its own world, and its inward depths are stirred, and the
storm of temptation, or ti'emulous fear, or despairing anxiety rages
within. Its lioiie is clouded ; its faith is weak ; its helper seems
far away, and the liorce billows have gone over it, again and again.
It weeps, but it cannot weep enough. Looking above, we see
what it desires — eyes, that shall be great fountains of tears, falling
in drops, and pouring in floods, while the mournful cypress sym-
bolizos a deadly l«)ss of peace, and a kind of funereal awe.

The scene beneath re-enforces this impression. The heart is
seen, in sjanpathy with the eyes, pouring forth streams of tears,
while nature above, and the world beneath, the fountains of the
firmament, and even the monsters of the deep, each bearing or
sharing the burden of a cross-surmounted world, add their tribute
of sympathizing sorrow to the tearful grief of one who exclaims,
*' Oh, that my head were waters, and mine eyes a fountain of tears,
that I might weep day and night."

But such grief as this is not the grief of absolute and blank
despair. It is that of the broken and contrite heart, and such a
heart God will never despise. In the midst of the tempest, he is
still near, and ere long the soul sees One coming to its help, walk-
ing, perhaps, on the waters, or hushing the storm by his word.
Dying hope revives. Some precious promise flashes its beam of

A l:ff. gtudy

I- 1

liKht out of the durkonod sky. Tho word of Johovah i.s a rock
amid the billowa.

" Paint, and Hlnklng on my niad,
Still I ollnit to thuu, my Uoi) ;
B ■iidlnn 'ncutii n wclglitof wo«hi,
llaraBRod by a tliousaiid foo»;
Hope Btlll clildoB my rlslna fcarit,
JoyH still mlntflu with my teura.

"On thy word I take my aland;
All my tImcH are In thy hand;
Makf thy faco upon me HhInu,
Take mo 'nuath thv winL'H divine ;
Lord I thy grace In ull my truit,
8ivu, O, cave ray trembling diwU"

/ /

The blin wf/ahrli/ trrk u nnvr iiwi-

Thal witick ran bleu wr «rc moit apt (o nAiin.

^sScti^t^^

" AN^ THE STRONG CHALL BE AH TOW. AN'D THE MAKER OF J r

AS A SPARK -raaiah

|HE discipline of human life on eartii has a deeper design
than simply to inflict pain, or impose hardships. It
wounds the "carnal mind " that it may save the soul, h
dashes down the dragon of our idolatry, that we may see its
worthlessnoss, and look above. What seems our foe, is, milly, in
many instances, the angt'l of our chastisement.

Here we see in the background the enchanting picture of
paradise. Ky the gate wiiich leads to it is the porter's lodge, and
beyond it are soon the beauty and foliage of an Eden. Yet, not
content with a home among them, inviting him to their enjoyment,
man chooses the world for his portion, and is engaged in bearing it
off, as his own pecuUar treasure. As he first left the sacred con-
fines, a shower of darts overtook him, and these are left with th.nr
points in the earth, while the other points project in the direction
from which they were thrown. From this shower, man has escaped,
bearing the world with him, and confident that he eaa at length

;-/

A LIFE STUDY

place his prize in some eufo and socuro place. But around him
Btill fly the arrows, toacliing him the Uvsson,

Cosliiin non nnlmum mutant qui t mix miiro curnint. *

Still ho is exposed to the vicissitudes of life, the discipUne of a
loving and faithful Providence. The angel form is seen hurUng
darts, darts that perhaps wound, but wound in mercy, and are
designed to show tliut on earth, oven with the world in possession,
there is no condition of unalloyed pleasure.

But Post vti/nera daemon, "After wounds the demon." Alter all
the chastisements of mercy have failed of their elfect, then comes
an aiTow from a different quarter, and hurled by no friendly hand.
Wo do not see the source from which it comes, but wo know from
its direction that it is hurled with malicious as well as accurate
aim. It smites its victim in the forehead, and brings him to the
earth, and forces liim to rcdeaso the world that he had held as a
treasure in his grasp. What that arrow is, is intimated by the fact
that it smites the forehead, the seat of intellect. It is the arrow
of doubt, or intellectual confusion, that makes the very globe
worthless to its possessor. Tho demon accomplishi;s, by divine
permission, what disciplinary and loving chastisement had failed to
do. Man sinks confoundtjd to tho earth, au-^ wretched, even wliile
he calls tho world his own.

Above, Ave see a skull, on such a sliield, as was wont of old, to
bear back tho remains of its heroic possessor, who had fallen on
the field of battle. Ihit on the skull, as if to vindicate the
superior power of the omoticmal to that of the intellectual nature,
wo see a heart pierced by an arrow, and a serpent that has crawled
forth from tho skull drinking from the wound. It is thus that the
intellect, wounded by the demon's arrow, sends forth the serpc nt
of doubt, to drink tho life-blood of the heart.

The symbols below indicate tho vanity of earthly possessions.
There is tho dark circle which contains tho globe ; but, sadly

• They change thulr sky, not thplrraiml, who run beyond tho Ma,

A LIFE STC/iDr. ,„,.

1 o

enough, its rodoeming cro88 projects beyond the circle, to which the
carnal miud is limited. There is the quiver, emptj-ing it.,elf of
arrows, and indicating the resourceless condition of niuu left to
himself. There is the flickering taper, a part of the outline (,f
which is the string of a broken bow, in which wo see the weakness
and blindness of human reason and wisdom set forth. And there,
too, is tlie flower which symboUzes the fleeting, withering nature
of all earthly good.

AU these objects, too, are beheld with an Eden in the back-
ground, but an Eden that the folly of man leads him to scorn. He
turr s from it to grasp n cheating treasure, but finds too late that it
is only to fall under wounds and tlio demon's stroke, and through
his wounded intellect, to have the seri)ent doubt crawl forth to feed
on Lia bleeding heart.

:l^

'•limb ujnvaril, laden wilk a globe,
Thinr arms nichained to grasj, it

Hut still Oemar^, l,st serpents share
Thy proud attempt to clasp it.

L.ON. AN0 A BEAR MET H:,t ^ CSi XVENT INTO TFE ^OU^^ ^""o
LEANE<X)n:3HAN<D0NT!iB WALL. AND A CERPE!:T "
BIT IT.'-Amoa.

MONO tlie things that will novor say--' It is enough," wo
must find a place for the soul of man fooding on earthlv
things. The more it has, the more it wants. It is nJt
quantity that can satisfy it. though it should vie with Alexander
m the success of its ambitions. Nay, its very greed may expose
It to the gravest dangers. High place only makes him who roaohe.
It, a more conspicuous mark for the fatal arrows of earthlv viri^^itudes
Large undertakings only expose to greater hazards, and vet to the
ohmbing spirit "Alps on Alps arise," and it never can 'reach the
coveted summit, or if it does, like Bruce, discovering what he sup-
posed the fountains of the Nile, it sinks exhausted and ahnos. spir-
itless in the triumph that seems the collapse of effort.

Here we see human ambition under the figure of a fond vouth
with angel capabiHties, grasping the globe, and attempting t'o bea^

1"3

A l:fs study

it up tlio steep declivity. Absorbed in tlie effort that taxes all his
strength, ho sees not that a serpent has coiled itself about the globe,
from which the cross has fallen oiT, and that its deadly fangs au
already f'^arfuUy near to his own hand. It is the serpent of dis-
appointed effort, or of stinging guilt, that is wont to coil itsi'lf around
all unlawful or extravagant projects. It is true, tho youth has
clasped the globe, but what will he do with it at last? Tho ser-
pent's fang will linally forco him to abandt)nit, and ho will fall tho
victim of his own folly. But even if that experience were spared
him, how would he be compelled at length, cverwearied with his
oiFort, to desist fi-om his undertaking, and fling down a world that
becomes a crushing burden, instead of a prized treasure, in soul-
withering disgust. Tho globe itself will never satisfy. It only af-
fords a resting place for tho dt>a(lly serpent.

Glancing above, wo see a winged world on which rests across-
imprinted heart. Let those wings be spread, as soon they may be,
and tlu^y will bear the heart a^ay with them. It is thus that tho
Sold of man is captured by sense, and becomes the helpless depen-
dent of the world.

If we turn to the symbol beneath, we see a crescent moon, that
seems to ask from tho sun more light. Its cry is still " give, give,"
Donee totum expleat orhenK " till it shall fill its entire orb." What it
asks is given. The whole orb is filled with tho gift of solar light.
But what then ? Boos it continue ? No ! It waxes oidy to wane.
It gains only to lose. It cannot retain what it has received.

Even so it is with the soul's avaricious or aml)iti()ns cravings.
They are ever crying to all things earthly, ''give," "give." But
what is given does not satisfy; more is demanded, more is sought,
with wearying and exhausting toil. But when tho prize is secured,
when the orb is filled, what then? "The full soul loatheththe
honey comb." It contemns its very gains. Perhaps a serpent has
coiled itself around what it has grasped. Perhaps amid its possess-

A l:x''e csudy.

j'p

ions there lurlcg eome stingring tluai-lu, some poisonous, deadly con-
Bciousness ul guilt iucune.l, alms perverted, privileges abuJed, or
life misspent. Then it is that the tre^tsure becomes a bunl..n
Wealth is only a heap of cares. Tiled up honors are only piled up
rubbish, and the crown, that rests upon the victor's brow.^is a crown
that is set with thorns, and by the weight of its jewels, only presses
deeper into the living flesh, their bloody torturing stings.

Not hero and there only has one sohtary experimenter found
this so. The experience even of a Soh,mon ha. some features that
parallel it with an Alexander's. Thousands have exclaimed at last,
even while they planted their feet on the topmost round of ambi-
tion's ladder. "Vanity and vexation of spirit."

" Tiie woiM f:in never give
Tliu liiiss for which wc »<ii{h.'-

The soul that was made to drink from the living fountains will
only tm-ture itself by glutting its thii-st Irom the brackish, .laguani
pools of earthly felicity.

''^S^QiCffe?

Srn iV thr task that wnils tlirr,
f>ail chilU of Utut ; thine arm

Must rest on one above thet,
That shitUisJrom every harm.

MY STRENGTH JS MADE PERFECT IN WE/lKNEas -Pm.:

jNE of the most significant lessons of the christian conscious-
ness is the strango feebleness of sanctified desire. Wliilo
the soul was absorbed in tho world, it exulted in its energy
and its strength. Nothing was too arduous for it to venture upon,
and with unwavering confidence in thoon-rgy of its own resolves,'
It f.>lt that it had only to enter upon the christian course, to run it
with equal swiftness and energy, and thus reproach tho tardy steps
of tlioso whoso lack of energy it had been wont to criticise 'But
when It had really entered upon that course, it found that it had
grossly exaggerated the sufiiciency of its natural powers. These—
in the world— were in a congejiial and appropriate sphere, and were
braced by tho very air of worldliness to worldly endeavor.

But passing into another, and a new sphere—like one ascend-
ing from tho valleys to the rarified air on the mountain-top, that
can scarce support life-it found that it had miscalculated its own
strength. It was a man before, but it became as a child now. It
had then reUed upon itself alone, but now, in conscious helplessness,
it came to feel the need of an ever present almighty helper.

A portion of this experience is set forth in tho emblem. The
strong man has become as a little child that cannot even stand
alone. Tlie world indeed is a hollow thing to it, but lacking yet
that faith in its full strength, which is ccmtent to throw itself on the
unseen arm of God, it finds in tho hoUow world, vith its meagre

ail

111

lea

A LIFE STUDY.

frame, a seeming temporary support, with one hand to grasp this
frame, while in the other it holds a cross — not in its naked simplic-
ity, but tricked out with ornomuntul appendages, and surmounted
by an ornamented globe, from which gay streamers float. No won-
der feeble progress is made, and that the little wheels that support
both the world-frame and its occupant, seem designed rather to bo
stationary than to bear their load along. As the eye takes in the
significance of the Avhole scene, we seem to hoar a voice from it —

" Look— how wo grovel lii-ro bulow,
Fond of thc'Mo triflini; toyB ;
Our souls can neither fly nor go,
To reach etemal Joys."

What is needed is a divine breath to animate the soul, to emancipate
it from all dependence upon sense, and aid it to ily upon its hea-
venward way.

Contrasted with its present progress is its former activity.
Then — as we see above — the world had wings. The worldly en-
ergy was prompt, active, flew, soared. It could make its way at
will. It moved in its own sphere, dependent only upon itself, and
sufficient in itself. But now all this is changed. For the pursuit
of the world the heart was zealous, but whon its (umrse is changed,
and another goal is held out, it moves but with tardy step.

What is needed is, that the moss grown heart sliould shake
itself loose from all incimibrance, that every feathery, fern-like at-
tachment should be cast off. Let it not yield to the spell of ease or
indolence, or be buried in a bed formed of its own fungi. It needs
help from above. Its prayer should be :

" Lord I send a beam of light divine,

To guide our upward aim ;
With one icvlving touch of thine,

Our languid hearts inflame.
Oh I then on faith's subiimest wing,

Our ardent hope shall rise, ■

To those bright scenes where pleasure* spring

Unclouded in the skies."

Atniift liiiniiiil. Onf i» nnir -
llit/iirm viisfrn -vhitsf rnice I lirai .
Hi lours, with vtiiair »wfel, invitf
My tout in him to take deliyht.

•■ \'.':iot4 rnr ha v -j i ;:■:::■:::, y/.: ,,_, ;■■,: _ . „
jEKK is 8r(«n a youth of lovely aspect, with a noatnoss of
droHs, i»)(Ucativo of a woll-ordoml spirit, lin;?.'riiijr uiuid
sconos of vn-duro aiul boiuity, surveying tli."?a tliun^ht-
fully, and yot with a ro.l, from which Htmiincrs j?aily wave, for a
stalf, and a watcr-tlask by his bi.lo, evi(h.iifly ft-.liufr that ho is not
thoro to linger, but lias tho journ(>y and the task of lilo boforo him.
Meditatively, doea ho turn toward some invi.sihlo object, extending
toward it his outstretched hand, as though somo othta- hand were
to grasp liis, and as though his happiness could not bo complete
without it.

What ia it that ho wants ? What is it that is necessary to
cheer his solitude, and enrich and guide his meditative thouglits V
If we look al)()ve, we road tho symbolic answer. Wo B(>o tho doves
perched at the foot of the cross, one giving and tho other receiving
food. Tho lesson is plain. If it is blessed to give, it is more
blessed to receive. That human life, which under tho everlasting
influence of the cross, combhies with external privih>ge and medi-
tative joy, tho self-denial of the giver, feeding other lives by its
own effort or sacrifice, is tho true life— tho ono that shall look up
and see over it, not only the cross, but tho cross enriched by tho
symbol of the life immortal.

Below, the significance of such an alliance is made more com-
plete. There wo see a world and a heart joining hands, and sur-

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■a LIFE

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roumlod on every side with true lover's knots. On the world we
read Martha, and on the heart we read Mary, and we see at a
glance that one represents the toil and care of common daily and
earthly duties, 8r.ch as belong to a place here in this world, and
the other the cro :.s-sauctified desires and longings of the heart —
in other words — that contemplation,

" Whoso power is Buch that whom she lifts from earth,
She maliCH familiar with a world unseen,
And shows liim glories yet to bo revealed."

It is this junction of homely duty with sanctified affection, of
earthly toil, with heavenward aspirations, that harmonise the ele-
ments of the soul, and make it the home of those two sister graces,
with whom Jesus will love to abide. It is essential that the two
should abide together. Neither is complete without the other.
One is seen amid the fairest bloom, and in an earthly Eden, incom-
plete in itself, and stretching out its hand to the other. It is not
enough to meditate alone, even on the beet of objects. With medi-
tation there should be a conjoined activity and usefulness. It is
not enough that one should toil, and be busied, industriously and
energetically, in earthly tasks and duties. " While I was musing,"
says the psalmist, ** the fire burned; then spake I with my tongue."
And again, "I believed, therefore, have I spoken." 1' ia medita-
tion that feeds the soul. But that which receives, and is fed,
should also bestow, and feed others. A hermit's life — the luxury
of solitary, and yet unproductive thought — does not meet the de-
mand of duty, or the demand of our own conscious being. It is
one-sided, and incomplete. And yet the continuous activity of the
soul in common duties can only be sustained, by being fed with the
food of meditative thought. Without this, it would be like a
river, deprived of .the springs that fed it. It would dry up, and
shrink Avithin the bounds of its nan-owest channel, till it flowed no
more, and only stagnant pools were left to mark the course along
which it flowed.

■ASA BII^D HAaTETH TO THE aUAIiK. AIJD KVOWETII HOT rUA .
IT IS FOR H1SL:FE ■ -Co'.omon.

JlPPEARANCES are deceitful." The profession and show
of friendship do not ne(!essarily imply the reality of it.
There are two Latin words that sound very much alike ;
they differ only by a single letter. One is amo, the other hamo ; but
one means, "I love," the other " I hook." Most opposite affections
may wear almost the same guise.

Here wo see Carnal Pleasure, not now as cupid, using hia bow
and arrow, but em]iloying his net to take a soul only too willing to
be taken. That soul is seen, in the form of a mermaid, seemingly
content with its capture, and wearing upon its features a look of
acquiescence, as well as simplicity. It seems to have no conscious-
ness that it is encompassed by a net. It enjoys the pleasure of be-
ing dragged along, unconscious of, or perhaps indifferent to, what
awaits it, when it shall be drawn ashore. It is only a too willing
victim of Carnal Pleasure.

IPO

A LIFE STUDY

The net itself has little worlds for corks to float it. Tlioy are
ita ornamont also. Thoy take the eye of the soul, and holp to en-
snare it. Perhaps the pond-lilies, that only grow near the shore,
are, with their voluptuous bloom and fragrance, a new temptation to
allure the soul, and make it more ready to leave its native deeps
and submit to its capture. It is drawn f )rth by the force, or per-
haps violence, of carnal pleasure, to a new world and new scenes,
where trees and flowers, and grassy banks invite, and yet a world,
which, though charming to the eye, means death to that organiza-
tion, which can only exist in its native element.

Above the picture, are emblems of beauty and art, in which
carnal pleasure delights. On the right, a not is suspended, in
which winged hearts have been taken, and on the left, we see an-
other net which holds butterflies, signifying an immortal state.

From either side, a fishing-line descends, and at the end of
each, a fish, gay, and embroidered, as it were, to indicate the
character of those whom the world takes by its bait, has swallowed
the hook. Beneath, we read the significant motto, Non amat iste ;
tied hamat amor. " This fellow does not love; but pleasure hooks."

It is a sad truth that many a worldly friendship may be de-
fined as carnal pleasure, capturing, by liook or net, a wilhng vic-
tim. How admirably, sometimes, is th9 net woven ! How nicely
ornamented it is ! As if all the worlds of fashion, all the realms
which the varieties of human passion would grasp, were attached
to it ! Many a one is engaged in spreading this net, or drawing it
in, and many a one becomes its victim, while he imagines he is
simply yielding to the drawings of earthly delight. He trusts to
friendly professions. He is lured by the hope of enjoying more
in\'iting and pleasurable scenes. Instead of resisting, he turns,
with a complacent smile, towards his captor, and seems to enjoy
his being dragged to guilt, shame, and death.

It is under the form of alluring pleasure, that souls are often

A LIFE STUDY

79/

captured and fataUy betrayed. They swallow the bait, and know
not that the hook h in their jaws. Even after they Ixavo greedily
seized it, tlioy are allowed line to play with. Within certain limits
they seem to enjoy all their old freedom. But this is only for a
little while. Slowly the lino is reeled up. They find themselves
drawn on irresistibly to their ruin, but they discover this only when
It IS too late. Beware of the hooks and nets of carnal pleasure, is
the voice of true wisdom. Do not call him a friend, who by the
spell of a false friendship would draw you to scenes as false to the
soul's peace and life, as they are enchanting to the eye or the
heart. Amo is the true, but JIamo is the false friend. One will
rebuke in love ; the other will betray with a kiss.

Fnml child of folly, .inn„ Ihr stnrni
Will loss lilt/ vessrl frail ;

Tlic fail shall be //,,/ viiyidimj sheet.
Thy dirge the tcmjxsrs waM

A FRW^ENT MAN FORESEETH THE EVIL.

-So.oiv.cn

T is ono of the most strikinrr illustrations of human life,
which sets it before us under the image of a voyage. It
has a port to start from, and a jiort to gain, and danger-
ous, perhaps raging seas between, that mtn/ engulf it. No human
sagacity can infallibly determine the issue, although the highest de-
gree of sagacity can assure us that neglect to equip or "man or
guide the vessel aright, may result in its wreck.

Here we see human wisdom, or rather human folly, tossed
upon the waves. The ship in which it sails is the world of its own
thoughts and fancies, a globular hull that seems fitted for nothing
except to drift, and drift to ruin. It has, and from its construction
can have, neither bow nor rudder. Its main-sail is composed of
the extended wings of a huge butterfly, while the fore-sail is sim-
ply a fools-cap attached to main-yard and bow-sprit. The streamers
are enormous peacock's feathers, waving in the blast, and indicate
the place which the pride of vain display has in the plan of the

73/

A LIFE arvDY

voyage. Tho only chart oi* compass, by which tho voasel's cours(» i.-t
to bo directed, is soea boh)W, in a huiuuii heart divided oil' so a.s to
indicato all tho varied points of tho compass. On a Btormy, rayles.s,
leaden sky, wo road tlio dark prospect that awaits alike tho cratt
and tho voyager. The Boa-duck floating amid tho billow.s, IooIch at
him with sitq)rise, or indignation at his intruding folly, and ovory
phaso of his condition, seems to write him "Fool."

Many a vessel that loaves the dock with fair prospects and a
rich cargo, novor roaches ita destined port. The bottom of tho
ocean nmst in places be strewn with wrecks. But the ocean of hu-
man life has a more tragic flowing of blasted hopes and wrecked
expectations ; men that would examine with tho closest scrutiny,
the character and capabilities of the vessel, in which thoy would
cross the ocean, will enter upon the voyage of life, with less of plan
and forethought than they would employ in crossing a flooded
marsh. Oftentimes their whole equipment seems made — judging
from that above — with the sole view to irremediable and total dis-
aster. Their vessel is the frail bubble of their fancies, that cannot
endure either wind or wave. Their sails, or the means they have
at C(»mmand to take advantage of favorable influence to bear them
along, are as frail as a butterfly's wings, or siUy as a fool's cap.
All the exhibition which they make of their spirit, taste, sympathy,
or aims, is a peacocklike display of vanity, and when tho storm
overtakes them — asitsui-ely will — they can only creep down through
the scuttle of their fears into the hold of their idle fancies, and
tremble on, with fear and apprehension, till the raging tempest
makes the refuge of their timidity, the coflin of their hopes.

Even with the staunchest vessel — the most sober and well con-
sidered plans — the voyage of life is full of danger. A ruddered
vessel, well equipped, with a sti'ong hand at the helm, is not always
safe. Something is needed, not only of human forethought, and
wise provision, but of divine help. There is a mysterious might

A LIFE CTUDY.

lot

that can toaoh thn soul, like Potor, to wnlk thn billows, Tinlmrmod.
Wo 800 this symbolized ubovo, in tho cniblfin of rcsurroctcMl lil'o,
tho buttortly sulb on tho face of tho turbid soa. To nmko this
inifrht ours, is tho divino wisdom, by whirh wo aro insurod against
ovory poril, and this wisdom is learnodfroni tho charts of heaven^
and tho lips of tho Groat l^ilot.

'• MlllloiiK Imvo perished on life's stormy const,
With all thoir charts on hoard, iiml jioworful iiiil,
Kc'cauMc their haiiifhty pride diHd;.liied to Joarn
The inHtructions of a pilot, and a God."

^T^^p^

TCS

IV^

(lather i/c rnsrbiulu white yemay.

Old Time, is still (i-Jli/intf ;
And this Slime /Inwrr, that tmilei In-itay,

To-morroio will be, ilijiiiy.

nrirlik.

■fiT THE LAST IT BITETH LIKE A SERPENT, ANQ STINOETH LIKE

AM A<D<:DER.''— Solomon

.TH even luis liis dance of mirthfulnoss. Wo hiivo here
the dance of Death. Full of grijn mirth, feeding his glee-
ful humors on the strange contrasts of life and death,
wearing ostentatiously his enormous fool's cap, and ready to slip liia
laughing mask over the hollow sockets nnd grinning jaws that ob-
trude themselves upon our gaze, the strange figure before us, is, in
Pope's language a "vile antithesis." His skeleton legs and feet
contrast with the gaudy covering of shoulders nnd chest, wliilo the
fleshless fingers, clasp the mocking picture, that is to help on his
masquerade. Before him, lies a horrid miniature of himself, with
a like fool's cap, but powexless to move. Beliind him, is an open
grave, the spade still resting iu it, which waits for a tenant. In
tlie back-ground, is the ancient cliun^h with its massive tower, and
tne leafless trees through which the winds sigh and moan.

The setting of the picture is in keeping with it. Symbols of
sportiveness and death, are grouped together. A spider's web sug-
gests the artful snares, that are woven by death's purveyors and
allies, while the master spirit that framed the web, and reposes

I! I

108

A LIFE STUDY.

near a ghastly skull, is only himself, a living death's head mounted
on legs. To tho left, a Damocles' sword in suspended over a boquet
of flowers, while beneath, at opposite ends of a beam poised upon
a globe, the head of a laughing, contrasts with that of a weeping
pliilosopher. The key to the meaning of the whole, is found in the
Latin motto, et risu necat, "and he slays with a laugh. '

One would think that death, or the skeleton that symbolizes
him, could never be anything but repulsive ; that however masked,
or robed, the exposure of a fleshless limb, would'break every spell,
and leave the beholder disenchanted, to turn away with a shudder.
And yet, with an open grave behind, a thousand forms of false
pleasure dance before the eyes of men, robed in part, in gaiety and
humor, and fascinate them by their smile, even while the skeleton
feet or fingers plainly betray the cheat. The spectator sees only
the mask, notes only the humor of it, is taken by the gracefulness
of the dance, and is heedless of the identity of the grim, jesting
actor.

'Many a career of so called pleasure, fully deserves to be repre-
sented in emblem, like this same dancing grave-digger. Many an
idolized vice, or health and soul-destroying habit, is half a masked
jester, and half a marrowless, nerveless skeleton, performing its
antics before a half dug grave. It has no living humanity about it.
It simply means fool's cap, and mask, and trips over the sod on
skeleton toes. It puts on the forms of mirthfulness and humour,
but is in fact, a hollow mockery, summoning all that dance to its
step, to fill its grave. There is not about it one fibre of mercy.
It is as inexorable as the King of terrors. It dances with its vic-
tim, till it can put its long bony arms around him, and then drags
him. down to the pit that is already dug.

Such is the story of what often begins with a jest, and ends
with a shriek of despair — begins with festive wine and social mirth,
and ends with delirium tremens, and the straw bed of an alms-

A LIFE STUDY.

100

house garret, begins with a gently soUcited compliance to join in
some sport or game, where a laugh palsies conscience, and ends in
a self-reproach that stings like the word that the dying Eandolpli
would have spelled and written, Memorse. The laugh kills. There
is no poised javelin, no loaded musket, no terrible menace, to excite
affright, or put one on his guard. There is only a dancer's laugh,
and beneath the mask, you cannot tell who the dancer is. He may
be known by a hundred different names, but each of them all is an
alias except one, and that is Death. Thousands will tremble at the
word, yet faU in love with the thing. A frown from it would ter-
rify them, while this frown can only impel to wisdom, and it is
the laugh that kills.

>^^3SS§S^^

Owfltnme! jiiirc-ci/iil Faidi, uliilr-liamkil Hope,
Thuu Uovcrint) angei, yirt n-ith golden wings.

■Gom un(Dei{stanq:ieth r:;-? way thereof, an0 he knoweth

THE PHAGE THEREOF.' -Job

ENEDICTIONS, lavished upon the elect of God, have
great w'^alth of blessing. It is redoenied by no corrupti-
ble things, as silver and gold, but by the precious blood of
the Lamb of God. Its resting place is beneath the covert of his
^-iugs. It is " the heir of all things," " heir of God, and joint-heir
with Christ." Nothing can harm it. Its very wounds are inlets
to the soul of a divine wisdom. Its pains and afflictions are the
discipline of a father's hand. It hngers on earth, only to ripen for
i^lory, and its toils and cross-bearings are but sowing the seed, that
ripens to eternal harvest, till it shall rest from its labors, and its
works shall follow it.

Here we see the flesh and spirit, presenting eacli its vessel to
receive the blessing that comes down in a beam of glory, from
heaven's "all-beholding eye." Tlie flesh, turning its eyes away,
unable to endure the insufferable glory, or, at least, dazzled by it,
and with its back toward the light holds up its idol world, to obtain
the boon. But the very attiturlo it assumes, defeats its design, a:id
its unpierced globe has no inlet, through which to recieive the
heavenly gift.

sen

Ji l:fe study.

On the o*^aer hand, the spirit, with the halo about its head,
cannot only bear the glorious Ught, but rejoices in it. It presents
its heart-shaped vase just where the full tide of glory strikes, and
there it holds it, till through its opened mouth it is filled, and there
is no more room to receive it. Meanwhile, it verifies the plain
promise made to it, " There shall no evil befall thee. Thou ehalt
tread upon the lion and the adder ; the young lion and dragon shalt
thou trample under feet."

Here we see the force and significance of the motto, Patet

cEthrcB, claiiditur orhi, "it is open to the rother, it is closed to the
world." Happy in its experience of heavenly blessings, the spirit
henceforth knows when and where to apply and rests in the calm
assurance that an inexhaustible bounty is ever ready to supply its
need. Now it is that the world blooms around it, as it never
bloomed before. The symbol of the rent tomb alights upon a
world half-covered with flowers, and surrounded with memorials
of a sinless Eden. On either side, nature seems to wear her fairest
and most attractive smiles. Everything on earth grows radiant in
that light from the throne, which fills the vase of the believer's
hope.

Meanwhile, the flesh has only its tightly-closed, dead world on
its hands. No light falls upon it. No glory wraps it about. Nay,
if it did, Ixis eyes would be unable to endure the blaze. Sin has
weakened them, and the dazzUng beams from above, would smite
them blind. Thus, with equal privileges, it is life impoverished, while
the spirit drinks its fill of blessing from the throne.

9 head,
resents
is, and
I there

plain
I shalt

shalt

Patet
J the
spirit
calm

ly its

lever

>n a

rials

irest

tin

er's

ay,
las
ite
ile

^iUea heaaiony ]„tsswn yls li.r m,,, „ r,;,.-...,,
rhe force nf nature, like too strong ,i ynle
for u;i „t of ballast, oversets the vessel.

-TO IVrr^L SS P!^ESE,;r WITH J,E. BUT HOW TO FERPOHH THAT
WHICH IS GOOCD. I FIN® HOT ' -Paul '"

jUMAN nature is a sti-ange paradox. - The good that
I would, I do not ; but the e^A\ which I would not, t)mt
I do," was the self-humiUating confession of an inspired
apostle. There are in the soul diverse elements, so diverse that it
seems to itself to have a double being. In the silence of its own
consciousness, it sometimes seems to hear the voices of an.>-els an<l
sometimes the voices of fiends. It is almost as if the domain of tlu-
spirit was equally-carved, and of the border-land of two contested
words, a heaven and a hell. It is as if a Jacob and an Esau dwelt
m the same bosom, or as if limb to limb, a dead body was bound
to a li\ing.

There is in the soul the element of conscience, often torpid and
sluggish to utter its rebuke, and there are there, also, at the same
time passions that a spark will kindle to a blaze. There is there
a half-smothered aspiration, which even when reduced, as it were'
to Its last gasp, still points upward, and there is also a gravitation
toward evil, reminding us of Cowper's description of those whose

"Ambition is to sink,
To roach a dcptli profounder still, and still
Profounder, ii, the fathomless ubyss
Of folly, plunging in pursuit of di-ath."

soo

A LIFE STUDY.

Those diverse elements, often conflicting, often in strange con-
trast, mujst be difierontly handled. One needs the bit, and the
other the spur. One is in danger of running away with us, and
the other too indolent or inefficient even to bear us up. Both are
symbolized in the picture. The better element of human nature
pants like a deer to ascend to loftier heights of attainment, but it
lacks capacity. It has the will — in the sense of desire — but not the
power. With the ass's head, it has the snail's body, and can only
crawl upward, tediously slow. The other, with a child's eager im-
petuosity of desire, has only to plunge downward under the gravi-
tation of lust and appetite, and this it does, mounted on a deer-
headed butterfly, whose wings are mottled by the opaque worlds
depicted on them. Even then, its winged flight is too slow for its
desire, and from the barbed point of its arrow, which it uses as a
handle, the flying lash is ready to descend and urge the gay courser
to greater speed.

Both these tendencies of human nature rest, as it were, upon
a sloping declivity — the declivity of an innate depravity. Left to
themselves, and bound to a common experience, these ill-matched
Siamese twins could only glide downward, the one dragging the
other hopelessly after it. Hence the wisdom of the motto which
we see below, in the wreathed inscription, to which are appropri-
ately appended, bit and spur. Da mihi frcena, timor ; da mihi calcar,
atnor. "Fear, give me the reins; love, give me the spur." The
good impulse, or suggestion, needs to be encouraged, the evil to be
checked.

Above, we have an emblem lesson which needs to be combined
with this to supplement its wisdom. We see a tortoise tediously
crawling upward along its steep path, and we feel that it must not
venture to remit or lose a single step. Yet the light- winged swal-
lows may stoop do^vnward safely to the very earth, even with the
world bound to its back, if only the cross also is there. It shall

fi LIFE STUDY

SD-^

rise again at will, and soar in the clear hoavens, and know nothing
of heights or depths, of struggle or defeat. So lot the soul bo
winged with love ; let the aspiring element of its better nature tako
the imprint of the cross, and it shall bear a world upon its shoul-
ders; it shall go down to the lowliest, it shall soar to the loftiest,
equally at home with the white-robed angel before the throne, and
the ragged, suffering angel of the hovel, waiting to put on its wings
and soar away.

Above the scroll, is the symbol of divine providence, combin-
ing in one the javelin of justice, and the shepherd's crook. The
point of the javelin is turned toward a world without a cross, that
follows ' the star of its God Eemphan,' while the crook indicates a
shepherd's care, for a world under the influence of the cross.

^!'

TIEN Wasliin}ijt()ii, with tears in Ills eyes, hi;j^tuMl the doath-
WiUTant ot' Major Aiulro, Ida vory soul was shakoii by tho
conllict within him, of the deraanda of justice, and appeals
of mercy. But justice — Hke duty, aa Wordsworth lias apostro-
phized hor, " intern daughter of the voice of God" — was iniperativo.
The livi'S of his own countrymen, or even the issue of the proat
struggle, in which the fate of a nation waa imperiled, wore at
stake on hi 3 decision.

In this pi(!ture, we see one, around whoso h(^ad is a lioavenly
halo, determining a kindred question, in which the fate, not of an
individual merely, but of a race, ia involved. Standing beneath
the arms of a balance — to which a heart ia attached, to show that
it ia designed to weigh ita merits or demerits — the sword of justice
has been thrown into one scale, carrying it down toward tho earth,
even while the world has been thrown into the o])posite scale. The
meaning ia obvious. The desert of sin, which the sword of justice
intimates, is such, that a whole globe, with all that it contains, is no
offset for it. Something more must be added, or, perhaps, rather
Bubstituted. What shall it be ? Other globes would be equally

IF'

■ I

§1}

A LIFE STUDY

vain. It must bo Bomething l)y which " mercy iniiy rojoico against
judgment." The only thing, in tho wholo universe which can
.sullico, is tho cros.s — tho gracious provi.siun of a crucilicd Ilodoomor,
by wliich tho mujosty of tho broken hiw nuiy bo indicated, and yot
morcy bo extended' to tho penitent transgressor. Tliis alouo can
uud will suffice against the sword of justice.

Very significant above is tho bent spear. The weapcju is terri-
ble, its hilt crowned with a death's head, to intimate its office,
kindred to that of death as the penalty of sin. If it liad not been
bent, it would have pierced, with its mortal thrust, tho heart of the
race. But an invisible might has bent it, and now it pierces an-
other heart, that never seemed exposed to it, or in its way, and the
fivo mortal wounds that are inflicted, serve to show that it is tlu*
heart of infinite love that bleeds.

Beneath, w© see that heart lowered by the central one — tho
most conspicuous of these passion-flowers — that turns itself full and
open to our gaze. Here it is, with its ten petals, representing the
apostles — Peter and Judas being omitted — its stamens indicating
the glory of the sufierer ; its purple threads surrounding the bot-
tom of the style, the crown of thorns — tho style itself tho pillar to
which the malefactors were bound to be scourged — the clasper, the
cord, and the palmetto leaf, the hand. Tho three divisions on the
top of the style, fancy has represented as the three nails, one of the
five stamens as the hammer, and the other four the cross, which
the albastrices at the bottom of the corolla, stand for the soldiers
casting lots, and the three days intervening between tho opening
and closing of the flower, denotes the period between the Saviour's
death and resurrection.

The cross is thus indissolubly associated with the pierced
heart — His heart who " was wounded for our transgressions, and
bruised for our iniquities." Only by the cross, can the sword of
justice be outweighed. To redeem the soul, under condemnation

A LIFE CTUDY

for Hin, and oxposod to that just dos»trt, tho mnro forobodiiig «>t'
which may well uiinmri it, tlioro waH iiccdod iiioio than a divinn
inipulso to inori-y, i)V«>u tho moans to molt tho hnnian luiart by an
oxhibition of lovo, and at tho Humo timo opon tht» way for tho ox-
orciHO of a morcy whi(!h hhonld not sot aside, or dishonor the vio-
latod law.

"Thu dworil of wmili Im Htayi'il
Init* piirHuli ofbloud; ,

Tlio crogii our dobt had palJ,
And madu our peace with Uod.

** The croHii hulh power to navi',
Krom ull the fook that riw ;
1'he croiiii hath tnndo tho gnvo
A pMMktfu to the •klua."

i !

IB:

%^^^

Where now, ye lying vanities of life f
Ye ever tempting, ever cheating train .'
fVhere are ye now, and what is your amount t
Vexation, disappointment, and remorse.

■FOR THB THINGS WHICH ARE SEEN ARE TEMPORAL ; BUT THE
THINGS WHICH ARE NOi' SEEN ARE ETERNAL ■—Paul

|ONTEAST the flesh and spirit ! We see this contrast in
the character of the objects which the several tastes of
persons lead them to observe. An "old mortality," pass-
ing through the graveyard, would pause to read the name of each
crumbling stone. A modem geologist would simply note the cha-
racter of the strata, from which the stone was taken. A Howard,
wherever he went, would ^^sit the prisons. A Sir Joshua Eeynolds
would be mainly curious about galleries of art.

The very same objects may be seen with very different emo-
tions. The man who visits, after a long absence, the scenes of his
young life, will seem to see every lingering object that memory
embalmed, invested with a kind of sanctity, while tlie new possessor
of the estate will change and tear down and rebuild, as if he were
but removing an obstruction, or abating a nuisance.

How differently do the heavens present themselves to the gazd
of diflPerent men,

" In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice ;
Forever singing as they shine,
The hand that made ua is divino."

S14

A LIFE STUDY ^

And yet another shall look upward like him whom Follok de-
scribes,

" Who thought
The vlBual line that girt him round the -world's extreme,
And thought the moon tlmt nightly o'er him led
Her virgin host no hroader than his fa iier'g shield."

Much the same is the contrast between flesh and spirit, as we see
it illustrated here. They have the same glass, which they inter-
change, and with it gaze upward to the skies.

The spirit, with the glass resting on the support of a heart,
emptied of all worldliness, discerns the transitoriness of all earthly
t'j'iings. It sees the sun itself shorn of his beams, reduced to a
death's head disc, and ready to vanish in night. Nay, it looks be-
yond all this — sees an universe dissolving, the heavens wrapped
together as a scroll, the judgment-seat, and the books opened, and
the record of human life and vanity aU displayed.

Flesh, or sense, endeavors to thrust other objects into view,
and hide the grand spectacle. It would intervene with a globe,
surmounted with a prism rather than a cross, and charm the spirit's
eye, with all the variety of colors which the prism displays. These
are what it loves itself to behold. These feast its fancy, while they
delude it to fatal error. In these, it finds the kingdom, of the
world, and all the glory of them, and it is continually soliciting the
spirit to turn its glass toward them.

But it solicits in vain. The spirit feels that earthly interests,
compared to heavenly, are like the apex of a pyramid (inverted) to
its base. The higher it mounts, the more broadly they extend, till
above the visible firmament, they expand into the light unap-
proachable. It sees, too, that the future of sense is but a huge
opaque disc, central to which is a death's head, which is alone dis-
cernible. From such a future, it turns away, preferring the glass
of faith to the keenest sensual vision, and remembering that old
things must pass away, while there is a city which hath foimda-
tions, whose maker and builder is God.

I PoUok de-

t, as we see
they inter-

of a heart,
all earthly
iuced to a
fc looks be-
3 wrapped
pened, and

into view,
a globe,
the spirit's
8. These
vhile they
tn, of the
citing the

interests,
s^erted) to
ctend, till
bt unap-
t a huge
lone dis-
the glass
that old
founda-

ii I 111

i :

(

" ne that wrestles with us, strengthens our
nerves, and sharpens our skill. Our antago-
nist is our helper."— Burko.

' BUT I SEE ANOTHER LA W IN i.'Y MEMBERS. WARRINO- AGAINST
. THE LA W OF MY MWD. ' —Paul

jLESH and blood continue still to war against tlio 8i)iiit in
deadly conflict, and this world is the scene of action.
The fortunes of the strife are various. The good man,
sometime loses his footing, and falls under the force of his antag-
onist, "The flesh lusteth against the Spirit," and at tii>. w over-
whelms it, with its assaults. But though sorely smitten, it is not
overcome. Its motto may still be—" troubled on every side, yet
not distressed ; perjilexed, but not in despair ; persecuted, but not
forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed." Indeed, some of tho
most instructive lessons of human experience, are learned atjusfc
that moment, when the soul is recovering itself, or when divine
grace is recovering it from its fall.

Here in a narrow circle — indicating their close conjunction in.
a single personality— we see the struggle between the carnal and
the spiritual nature. The foi-mer has secured its advantage, and
the Spiritual nature is cast down almost to the earth. But, sus-
tained by a divine strength, it is bravely recovering itself, resolved
to maintain the fight. So long as it is resolute, no fall can prove
fatal. The halo of light about its head gives assurance that an.

I 1

s:a

LIFE STUOy.

invisible guardian watches over it. It may fall again and again, but
its final victory — if it persists — is assured. So long as the conflict
is maintained, the flesh grows weaker and weaker, while the spirit
waxes stronger and stronger.

We see also, the diverse results of temptation in the opposite
experience of two doves. One has lingered in the way of danger,
and the cat, with stealthy step, has seized upon it, and made it its
prey. The other, on free wing, is soaring aloft ia the clear air of
heaven, already beyond tlie reach of all hostile, earthly designs.
This is the experience of the spirit, triumphing over the arts and
powers of the flesh. It at last breaks loose from the grasp of its
antagonist, and soars to its native skies.

On the right, we see the swift winged bird, heaven's own mes-
senger, hasting upward to bear the news of the Spirit's danger, to
heavenly powers, which may bring it needed help. The spirit in-
deed can never fall, without a witness, that shall note its dan-
ger, and speed away to bring it assured reUef.

On the left, we see a javelin wrapped about with a scroll on
which forms of human hearts are imprinted, importing that he who
wields it accoimts these his trophies. Thus, whether we look to the
heavenly messenger, or the infernal javelin, we feel that each tes-
tifies to the importance of that conflict which is waged between
flesh and spirit

** The soul of man— Jehovah's breath,
That keeps two worlds at strife ;
Hell from beneath would work its death,
Heaven stoops to give it life."

Nor is the issue doubtful, so long as the spirit is true to itself Its
case and exposure are known in heaven. Every blow that smites
it, by the swift winged herald, is reported there.

" The soul that on Jesus has leaned for repose,
He cannot, ho will not forsake to its foes ;
That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake,
He'll never, no never, no never forsake."

again, but
he conflict
J the spirit

e opposite
•f danger,
nade it its
lear air of
y designs.
3 arts and
asp of its

own mes-
langer, to
spirit in-
its dan-
scroll on
it he who
ok to the
each tes-
between

elf. Its
t smites

I :i

All my CiouyUU, willt uptoarU wiiigivg,
Hiilhr where, thi/ own hylit is xpringing.

^^WWMm

■■ LIQHT IS SOWN FOR THE RIOHTEOUS. AN^i OLA0NESS FOR THE
UPRIGHT IN HEART -—Vavid.

JNEELING, in tho dull air, annd grass and flowers, sprin-
kled with tiioh„ar Irost, a little child, representin- tl.o
earnest soul longing for light, s.nds up his petition t<.
heaven. Phosphore, redde diem; " Light bearer, give back tho day *'
18 the burden of his prayer. Well may he offer it. Tlie dense
rolling vapors above his head, mantle tho glob., and turn noon to
twihght. Weary of the darkness, he looks up to hin,, who is "the
light of the world," and cries for help. All tho light lie has is
that of a taper blaze, the feeble, flickering flan.e of a lieart, resting,
on the dark, cold earth. ^

The day may have dawned for others, but not for him F-xr
aloft on the earth's pole is a cock, but with no life in it, a mere vane
shifting with the wind. By no crowing, does it herald the onward
march of day. To the right, we see the owl, and the night hawk
plunging down to enjoy with genial delight their loved darkness
the former, ever striving to quench the feeble light of a taper, thaJ
comes in his way. To the left, a lighted candle irradiates nothin..
but a fool's cap, that is in danger of being consumed by its bla J
Beneath, is the rich mantle, with the star of nobility, and other sym-
bols of worldly pride, and greatness. But there is no light in them.
They may gleam, or be admired in the festive hall, or the gorgeous

tpfl

A LIFE STUDY.

.tiilDon, but thoy aro not what the neody, consciously benighted soul
longs for. It turns not toward theui, but to the eternal fountain
und the great Author of light.

As the greatest and most idolized of modem Gorman poets lay
on his death bed, he pointed to the curtained windows, and amid
the dimness of the darkened room, whispered, "Light; more light."
Sin has curtained the globe, with its deep shadows, and turned it
into a death-chamber, and many a sinking spirit, with a deeper
pathos than that of Goethe's tones, has called out, '* Light ; more
light." It is what the soul needs above all else — the light of hea-
ven, the light that comes from an unclouded heaven, from a sun
that never sets.

There is such a light. It was heralded, even in the old, dim
centuries, by the voices of prophets and sacred bards. It rose in
full-orbed splendor, when he w ho spake, as never man spake, pro-
nounced with authority, " I am the light of the world." Experience
has attested that he who dwells in him shall not abide in darkness,
but have the light of life. The earnest soul that cries after that
light — that emphasizes with soul-pervading earnestness, the pe-
tition, "Light bearer, give back the day," shall seek and find. An
eye of pity rests on the lonely child, trembling amid the night dews
and shadows, and a hand of love will draw the curtain of the thick
clouds, and let in upon it, the warmth and light of a better
day.

ightod Boul
al fountain

a poets lay
and amid
lore light."
i turned it
a deeper
jht; more
ht of hea-
rom a sun

i old, dim
It rose in
•ake, pro-
xperience
Jarkness,
ifter that
the pe-
nd. An
2;ht dews
;he thick
a better

(

^ 0'<'

To danct on pruvfi, (■, howl with nkiilln, to find
J'I'aiure in i/'ounrf,t ami ulcrn, 'tin tin art
In/tmal, blowing bubblci uiitli Uearl't blood.

THE CDaUOHTER op BEI^ODTAS CDA-lOh: D BEFOTiE THEM. AN^
PLEASE<D HERO'X) -Matthoio

jULTITTJDES thoro aro to whom life presents no serious as-
pect. They are devoted disciples of " the laughing phi-
losopher." They are quick to discern the ludicrous, but
slov^r to perceive anything else. Life itself is to them a protracted
jest, and evaporates away in empty humour. Ail its forma are
clothed with cap and bells. The thing, that cannot minister to amuse-
ment, is worthless and despised.

Here we see a youth, representing the thoughtlessness of hu-
man nature, with bow and arrow in hand, amusing himself with a
Punch and Judy, that stands on the topmost of a pile of skulls,
from the eyes of which, worms are seen crawling out, and holds in
his hand, the fox-headed club, that symbolizes his character. The
world, on the disk of which the youth is seen, is surmounted by a
cross, at the centre of which, is a ghastly deatli's head, while at the
extremities of its arms, and from the point of the cap that crowns
it at the top, miniature worlds depend. The whole is surrounded
by a pair of spectacles framed for the most part of long and jointed

"iTn

■

'- la

1:1 !'

Bao

n LIFE STUDY.

bones fastened together, while in the place of one glass is a skull,
with a butterfly and flowers, and in the place of the other, a harle-
quin's dress, surrounded by stars. Thus are combined in a single
view, the serious and the humorous, and they are utterly confounded
together.

Beneath, we see a human heart beholding itself in a mirror —
that mirror the word of God — and thus discerning the inmost
thought, and intent of it, with a scrutiny, which cannot be deceived.
Here, there is no room for deception. ** As a man thinketh in hi.;
heart, so is he," and in this case, the heart is fuUy displayed ; it
apprehends itself as it is, with an experience in entire contrast with
that of him, who is misled by the appearances and judgments of
the world.

The lesson taught is as true, as it is humiliating. Men are
prone, even through the spectacles of their own morality, to seek
to discern only, what will minister to mirth and pleasure. The
most sombre and melancholy objects and scenes furnish food for
their amusement. The harlequin may stand on a pyramid of nau-
seous skulls, but instead of revolting, attracts and amuses. Death
itself, furnishes material for jesting, and the little imps of revelry,
serve as fools of old, in royal couits, to help forward a coarse and
boisterous mirth.

Sic decipit orhis. " Thus the world deceives." It puts on cheat-
ipg masks, on which the undisceming and thoughtless eye rests con-
tent, or even delighted. The grim features of stern reality, are
hidden by panoramas of vanity and false pleasure. But the vic-
tim of deception is himself without excuse. The skull may plain-
ly be seen amid the butterflies and flowers. The worms are visi-
bly crawling from the hollow sockets where human eyes once
glared. Men do not see the truth, because they will nc-t. They
are blinded by their own hearts, for the heart before the eye hides

A LIFE STUDY

SS?

8 is a skull,

er, a harle-

in a single

confounded

a mirror —
he inmost
3 deceived,
kethinhi.:
played; it
itrast with
^menta of

what it will from its gaze, and allows it only to behold the amusing

the humorous, or the ludicrous side of things.

Human fancy displaces reason. In this real world, it creates

an ideal Avhich overshadows and obscures it. The real features of
things are deformed and caricatured. The heart allows itself to be
cheated by the world, and when our cheat is detected, it is stiU
ready to fall tho victim of another. To the last almost, it will
amuse itself with the harlequin that performs his antics, even on
tho pyramid of skulls. So it can be entertained, it cares not whether
it be edified. So it can be provoked to a laugh, or be convulsed
with a jest, it cares little, whether it be saved or not.

Men are
y, to seek
ire. The
I food for
i of nau-
. Death
' revelry,
•arse and

m cheat-
ests con-
ility, are
the vic-
ty plain -
are visi-
es once
• They
e hides

••ALL GO UNTO ONE PLACE ; ALL ARE OF THE DUST. AN<S) ALL
TURN TO ^UST JlGAIN ■—Solomon.

|EE here a youtli, pressing his ear to a hollow globe, and ex-
claiming, Tinnit ; inane est, " it rings, it is empty." A sec-
tion of its surface has fallen off, and lies shriveled on the
floor, where a greedy fox, in hope of booty, smells of it, and
grasps it in his paws, but can make nothing of it. It cannot fur-
nish food, even to his ravenous appetite.

Near by is a rope, one end lying loose upon the floor, and the
other, passing through a wall to some unseen ball, connected with
the massive structiire, visible in the background. Let the youth
drop his ball, and pull upon the rope, and it will only ring back an
empty sound. Above the very flowers with all their beauty are
merely bells, by their very aspect, forever ringing out inane est, it is
empty. Below, on either side, are barometers unmarked, and
their contents have shrunk to a mere speck. The little worlds that
hang suspended from the flowers, have each a dial-faco, as if to in-
timate the fleeting natui'e of the hours, and the vanity of time.

It is thus, that the emptiness of a noisy world is symbolized.
The very tumult and confusion of it gives evidence, how hollow it
is. Empty things resound loudest. A hollow world will resound,
where a solid one will scarcely give back an echo. The voice of
fame, sending her trumpet blast abroad, disturbs the world ; but

S30

A LIFE STUDY.

how little then is it ! The shout of applause — even when as before
heard, it cries out — " it is the voice of a God," — dies away in a mo-
ment to less than a whisper, and leaves no memorial, even of its
vanity behind. And yet, how many are cheated by these things !
Though fame be but "a farrier's life in other's breath," it is eager-
ly sought after. How few perceive, that it is a simple, hollow
globe, that rings the louder when smitten, for that very reason.

Little do the great mass heed what Cowper ha£> so beautifully
expressed :

*' StilleAt BtrcaiuB
Ofl water fairest meadowe, and the bird,
That flutters least, is longest on the wing."

The backgroimd of the picture shows us the frowning walls of
a castle, and the ladder of ambition by which aspiring spirits climb
to fame, and wolfish natures climb for prey, yet neither find there
anything but the shell ot an empty world. The cold walls near by
give back no light, and reveal no beauty. All is cold, and naked,
and cheerless. Such is the soUtude of greatness, such the vanity of
the coveted prize. How many a Heart has ached at tlie discovery !
How many a fond wish, has that discovery doomed to disappoint-
ment! Who would climb and toil, to be repaid by the music of a
hoUow globe ! Yet who is willing to believe that it is hollow, till
he has tried it for himself? He must put his own ear to it. He
must have it ring forth its own emptiness.

How much of vain striving might be saved, if it were only
known beforehand ! But fools must learn in the school of expe-
rience, and then the lesson will be remembered. Mere sound is all
the reward that the world pays back, or can pay back to thousands.
The prize they grasp at is but the echo of a breath, and it perishes
at the very moment when it strikes the ear. The heart is left or-
phaned, soUtary and sad. A hollow globe has no treasure or con-
solation which can cheer it All it has to give, deserves only to be
spumed.

1 as before
y in a mo-
Jven of its
se things !
fc is eager-
•©, hollow
eason.
eautifully

: walls of
its climb
nd there
near by
i naked,
'anity of
icovery !
ippoint-
sic of a
low, till
it. He

re only
■ expe-
i is all
isands.
Irishes
eft or-
>r con-
to be

■ ?

Half our daylight is a fahU,
Sleep disports with shadows too.

Seeming in their turn as stable
As the world we wake to view.

.(k

" WALK IN THE LIOHT OF YOUFl OWN FTRE AN<D IN THE SPARKS
THAT YF-1 H^VE KIN^LE<D. . . YE SHALL LIE OOWN IN
SORROW/— Isa-.ah-

P soul can live eternally without God, any more than the
world can live without the sun. He is its life and light.
Deprived of him, it must "walk in the light of its own
fire ;" it can only look for help to idols of its own forming. Of
such a soul, it is declared that it " shall lie down in sorrow."

There are ten thousand forms and phases of sin, wliich bear
the stamp of consummate and transparent folly. They are as if a
man should put out his own eyes, or cut otf his own ann, or mix
poison in his own cup, or plant thorns in his own pillow. But
tliero is one form of sin, that seems the consummation and combi-
nation of aU others. It is that which practically denies the being
and providence of God, that which is impatient of his supremacy,
his low, his superintendence, his retribution.

It is this form of sin that is pictured b(^lore us here. The
world's evil spirit, in which folly and mischief are incarnate, is seen
attempting, with his uplifted bellows, to blow out the sun, and ex-
tinguish his beams. By some strange method, he seems to suc-
ceed, just as the atheist, by his bold assertions, may quench the
light of truth in some human souls. The sun presents itself as a

9S4

A LljrE STUDY

> im

11 il

mere disk, omitting but fow and feeble rays. Man, left in dark-
ness, attempts to devise a substitute for the dying sun. By a
mecliauism of his own invention, which ho has affixed to the world,
and by which he drawo up from it hidden stores — perhaps of
petroleum — he is enabled to feed the wick of his ciirious lamp, and
by means of its blaze to create an artificial day.

The strange glare, feeble and contemptible compared with the
sun, utterly insufficient to irradiate the globe, is so suited to the
blind vision of moles, that they leave their burrowing and come up
to admire it. The world now is just the world for them. There
is, at last, a sun on which they can gaze, and the beams of which
they ean bear. To them, but to no others, the experiment is a
success. They, at least, will applaud it, just as blind sensualists
and conscience-smitten souls will approve the ingenuity, that extin-
guishes the light of divine truth, and the terrors of divine justice
which awed and frightened them, or perhaps threatened to dazzle
them blind.

But to extinguish the sun is not enough. Conscious guilt asks
for something more. The laws of an eternal justice must be set
aside, and the flaming terrors of the distinction, which they make
between right and wrong, must be extinguished. This experiment,
which many have engaged in, is symbolized by a syringe, worked
by some unseen hand, which is playing with its last discharge upon
a flaming Sinai. Of course, the experiment is a failure, although
it is entered upon with professions of religious devotion. The
syringe itself has the form of a cross wrought out upon it, intima-
ting that the effort to extinguish a flaming Sinai is made in its
name. It is as much as to imply that the cross is so interpreted as
to— logicaUy, at least — overthrow the justice of God.

Happily, no such designs can succeed. The bellows of impi-
ety cannot put out the sun. Artificial torches cannot create day
for the soul. A world, where moles shall come up to the surface to

A LIFE STUDY. ...

take the place of men, is impossible. The law of eternal justice
can be set aside by no interpretation, made professedly in the in-
terests of the cross of Christ. The only possibly beneficial result
of the experiment is, to show the vanity and folly of human
projects that would dispense, either theorotically or practically,
with the being of a God. Every other result is mischievous, over
which men may weep, and moles exult.

The issue is made still more significant, by the fact that even
prized treasures are surrendered in the experiment to find a sub-
stitute for the sun, but the light of eupid's bow and quiver, as they
too consume in the flame, is but a fresh accession to that of the
world's taper.

The motto adds yet another phase to the lesson. Siehmine
lumen ademptum, - Thus by light, light has been taken away." The
light of reason and human philosophy blinds the gaze of him that
trusts and follows, to the Hght of God's own truth. They who
scorn the last, while they honor the first, jhaU at length have none
but the first left them.

WHEN SHALL I ARISE. AN<I>THE NIOHT BE QONK ' -Job.

[IHERE are instaiicea in which life becomes a burden lieavy
to be borne, and is regarded with loathing. It cornea
sometimes when men have grasped the object of tlieir
ambition, and find it worthless, crvished like the butterfly the mo-
ment it is grasped. The real ends for which a man has lived have
been attained ; he has worn his crown and secured his laurels, and
finds them a barren conquest, or has vainly struggled to secure
them, and sits down in disappointment, bordering on despair. No
rigid moralist, no severe Puritan, abuses the world as these men
do. They feel disgusted with it themselves. Perhaps they have a
standing quarrel with it. It is the object of their satire, and the
butt of their jests. Few men have attained more completely to
what many seek, the fame of ability, wit and eloquence, than Lord
Chesterfield ; yet in the fullness of his fame, he turned away from
che world in disgust, and declared his purpose to sleep out the re-
mainder of life's journey in his carriage.

The emblem before us presents us a character, with which he
might sympathize — one who watches the waxing and waning
moons, one to whom the day of life is all night, illuminated by a
fragmentary moon and a few stars — one who lays his hand on a

■^

$39

A LIFE STUDY

wingod hour-glass, and wishes that tho hours would fly moro
quickly by.

Above, is a bunch of flowers — tho narcissus, emblem at once
of his disease, solf-lovo, as well as of his hopes — which tho sickle is
about to reap. In a little time tlioy will bo withered, and thoir
beauty, bloom, and fragrance will have fled. Beneath, is a level
hour-glass which indicates how wearily to him tho hours drag
along, seemingly motionless as the sun, which now remains sta-
tionary. If it has cherished any hopes of tho life that is immortal,
they linger only for a moment over the prostrate glass, and then,
like the butterflies, haste away. We seem to hear his lament as he
exclaims,

" Tlio branded Blavo that tug:* the weary oar,
Obtains thu Subbnth of a welcome shore.
Hid ranHomcd Btripcs arc healed ; hia Dative aoU
Swcetcna tho memory of his foreign toil.
But ah I my sorrows arc not half so blest ;
My labor find -< no point, my pains no rest,
I barter sighs for tears, and tears for groans
Still vainly rol' stones."

This is the heart-ache ^^ ..orldliness, weary of itself — its own
burden. When a man reaches what he has made tho goal of his
existence, and finds that he has really attained nothing that can
satisfy, or in attempting to reach it, has failed, and sees further
effort fruitless, he may well utter his lament, but that lament
should conclude with a curse on his own foUy.

" He builds too low, who builds beneath the stars." Let a
man have an object, equivalent to that of the believer's aspirations,
and let him pursue it to the end, till strength fails, and tongue
falters, and he need not be weary of it. With dying breath he
can promote it by prayer, and he may still have, if spared in feeble-
ness through wasting years, Milton's consolation in his blindness,

"They also serve who only stand and waiU"

i fly moro

)m at once
10 sicklo is
and thoir
is a level
lurs drag
nains sta-
immortal,
md then,
tent as he

-its own

il of his

that can

further

lament

Let a
rations,
tongue
3ath he
feeble-
idness.

Bow doion and ivorship ne, tlie tempter taid :
What a slight homage this to gain a worldl
But can gained world* redeem a forfeit soul f

WHO FOH A U0RS3L OF MEAT SOL® HIS BIRTHJ^IGHT. ■—Paul

[INDOLENT human nature is here seen, sitting down in the
midst of tlie fumes blown from his own lips, to enjoy the
world. Before him lies a cornucopia, pouring forth its
treasures of arts and arms, the fool's cap, before them all. Here
are stars of nobihty, charters, and titledeeds, cannon and banner,
and whatever can attract the taste, or charm the eye, or fire ambi-
tion. But the smoker, with the world for the bowl of his pipe, has
filled it with the prizes of avarice and pride. There are the waving
plumes, and there the purse with loosened strings, from which the
pieces of gold are showering down, wliile his bow and quiver lie
neglected by his side, the easy soul is puffing away at his pipe, and
the smoke rolls aloft and around him, in great volumes, till the
tree-tops are hidden, and the dark veil threatens to enwrap the
dwellings of men. AU things end, or are wrapped in smoke, as
well as the smoker himself.

Above, we see a butterfly flutteiing dangerously near to the
blazing fumes of a pipe formed out of a globe, into the open bowl
of which, a serpent with a death's head is blowing poison that is to

rii^'T

34^)

A r.iFS STirrrr

ill

1 1 1:
I ■ I' I-

be absorbed by a human heart, to whicli the pii)e's stem leads, thus
indicating the shameful fascination, to which the butterflies of fash-
ion yield, and the manner, in which, by means of poisoned fumes,
the serpent art of the Evil one blows poison into the human suul.
The fumes of worldly gratification, are blown up by the powers of
darkness, and are fatal to spiritual life.

Beneath, we see thi'ee pipes, on which severally are inscribed
Anjentmn (Silver), Honor (honor) and voluptas (pleasure). The first
of these is crowded to its full capacity, and at its top is tied with
purse-strings. The second is elaborately wrought and carved, and
is supplied with laurel leaves. The third is constructed of a hu-
man heart, about which the symbols of ease and pride are en-
twined.

Thus all worldly pleasures and grandeurs are seen to end in
smoke. By a breath, they are kindled and consumed, and all the
results they leave behind them, are fumes and ashes. Take each
by itself, and see how like smoke, it vanishes away. The merchant's
wealth is perhaps held at the mercy of the tempest. The cargo
of the vessel, that holds it, may be sunk by the breath of the storm.
Ask, and answer with the poet —

" What's fame ) A fancied life in other's breath."

And as to pleasure — such pleasure as the world aflfords— even while
it is enjoyed, it is vanishing away, and "the banquet-hall deserted"
shows how quickly it has fled, leaving perhaps, only reproachful
and stinging memories behind.

On a memorable occasion, that great statesman, Edmund
Burke, standing in the place from which his predecessor, had been
snatched away by sudden death, exclaimed, " what shadows we
are, and what shadows we pursue !" Eminent position, and high
honors, gave place to the obscurity, silence, and ignoble tenure of
the grave. The world's cornucopia of wealth is but food for
smoke. Worldly ease can enjoy them, only by taming them to

, I

A LIFE STUDY.

t4i

leads, thua
es of fash-
led fumes,
iman suul.
powers of

iuscribed
The first
tied with

rved, and
of a hu-

e are en-

smoke, and the smoke which it breathes, is but the fumes of its
own vanity and folly.

And yet for the privilege of sitting encompassed for a little
while in this smoke, men toil and sti-ive, turning life itself into a
bondage, and storing up, what must ere long vanish and consume
away, and leave behind it, only a repulsive odor, or perhaps become
the medium of conveying Satan's poisonous breath to the human
lieart. Verily, we may well exo\ahn~Qmm grave Hervitum est qmd
lecis earn parit.

to end in
id all the
ake each
Jrchant's
le cargo
.0 storm.

>n while
Jserted"
'oachful

Idmund
id been
ws we
id high
aure of
od for
tiem to

fi^;l

i ;i'i

i I

(

Feeblf, trembling, wrak and worn
Fearful, weeping, bleeding, lorn,
Unto thee, for help I call ;
Take me, hold me, ere 1 fall.

■IN MY (DISTRESS I C^IE<D UNTO THE LOR<X>. AN0 HE HE ARID ME. '

HE relations of the world to the soul are so numerous and
varied, that it is difficult, if not impossible, to bring them
together in a single view. It is a hollow empty skull,
show without substance, promise without fulfillment, so void of real
weight and worth, and so full of vanity that it may be accounted
lighter than a feather. It is also a mask, hiding from the eye
whatever it covers, cheating the beholder into the belief that it is
itself a reality, when it is only a painted display. It is, moreover,
a serpent's egg, producing incarnate tempters, possessed of the
cunning and malice of their great prototype.

Here we see it, while two serpents are issuing from it, one on
either side. Both, at the same time, manifest their temper and
aims, by turning their forked tongues and hissing jaws toward the
soul of man, which they seem to regard as their helpless prey.
The soul has flung down its bow, and by its side lies the broken
arrow that had, perhaps, been venturously or mischievously di-
rected against the skull which harbored the serpents. Now it
sees its folly, and with horror depicted on its features, turns its
face away from the threatning monsters, while its hands are thrust
toward them, as if to prevent their nearer approach.

:'!

£40

A LIFE STUDY.

IIM

Ih!I!

It is to this result that the soul, which has simply trifled and
dallied with the world, comes at last. What had been an idol, be-
comes a hollow mockery. What had been a mine of treasure,
turns out to bo but a mere musk. What has been accounted a toy
proves to be a viper's egg, and tho soul fuids that its sportive, ven-
turous folly has simply released fi'om the hold where they were
confined, the vipers that frighten and threaten to desti'oy it. Sur-
prised, a ghost with fear, trembling with terror, it can only depre-
cate its doom. Its arrow lies broken on the earth, its bow is
thrown aside, and even if it were otherwise, of what avail would
they be against tho kind of foe which it has to dread.

But what is the lesson thus tragically, and impressively
taught ? It is the heedlessness of the soul, and its need of wisdom
to deal aright with a false and ensnaring world. Had it known
that world, it would never have idolized it. It would never have
made it its toy. It would never have trifled with it, breaking its
arrow upon its skull, and startling the serpents from their den. It
would have known better than to take the mask for a reality, and
to judge the world by the face which it presented to the eye of
sense.

But this wisdom is not to be gained by the eye. It must come
from the instructions of experience, and the teachings of a divine
wisdom, and it must pass through the ear into the soul. '* Take
heed how ye hear," is the admonition that is addressed fcj those
who would not be fatally deceived, and at last betrayed.

If we look below, we see the lesson presented in emblem.
The ear is the gateway to the soul that must be kept with all vigi-
lance. There is the key that should be turned at the right mo-
ment, to open or close the ear to the voices that are addressed to
it. Let no deluding whisper, no false counsel, be suffered to enter,
but only the precepts of wisdom, the music of truth and duty, and
the calls of heaven.

rifled and
I idol, be-
treasure,
ited a toy
tive, ven-
hey were
it. Sur-
ly depre-
1 bow is
il would

'essively
wisdom
known
er have
king its
en. It
ty, and
eye of

it come
divine
"Take
> those

Ij *:
llf

iblem.
1 vigi-
it mo-
sed to
Bnter,
', and

■pp

linw mika in acomt tlumtn'r ; f'olitfd vj>
H'itliin a liny seed, harvi sis of death ,

Knouyk In fi'.l the world with sighs and tfari.
Await onf. heedless act that sets them free.

'■i

"CURSE<D la THE OROUNO FOR 'I'HY SAKE —Jehooah

MOTTO beneath this picture, wo see as the key to its inter-
pretation. Uniciim malum crevit in omne malum. " A single
evil has grown into all evil." Man's original tran.sgi*es-
sion was a seed that has covered the world, with the harvest of its
curse. On a background of tornado, blazing lightnings and balls
of fire, the globe is seen, sniittrn and rent by the lightning, blazing
with flames kindled by it, and bur.stiiig with pent-up, brutal
forces, displaying their sa\uge nature and infuriate passions. Cen-
tral among them is a face, only half human, in which stupidity
and sensualism evidently triumph, while grouped around it are
forms which typify human propensities and passions, from thn
pride of the peacock, to the ravening of the vulture, from the l)ug-
nacity of the cock to the stealthiness of the cat, from the gluttony
of the swine to the ferocity of the wolf. Here all find their cen-
tralization in human depravity, and represent the conflicting ele-
ments, which that depravity has let loose. A single sin distuTDed
the original hai*mony, and every variety of mischief is the result.
What a contrast to that scene above, from which there comes a
broad blaze of light and glory, pouring through on opening in the
sky

teo

A LIFE CTUDY

fcjuch is tho grand precedent of guilt which confronts u.s, nt the
portals of human history, and which has been copied a thousand
times, in human experience. Tho first transgression is like the
first drop, that bears before it a grain of sand, removing it from the
dam that confines the pent-up waters. The path is opened for
other drops, till the out-rushing torrent sweeps to desolation and
death nil that stands in its way. So with that embankment of
principle and conscience, that holds back the passions, and keeps
them in check. The least encroachment opens a gap, that may bo
fatal. The little sin that seemed half excusable, for its littleness,
has proved the seed of a great and ever-sproading banyan tree of
woe. What multitudes, from tho depths of infamy and despair,
might verify all this by the recital of their experience !

Feebly does brutiilizod human nature discern these truths.
They do not lie within tho range of its willingly contrasted vision.
But outside the scene of mutual repulsion, which at first attracts
the eye in the picture, we see tho wreathing of the primeval curse.
The four elements, earth {(rrnt), air («■;•), fire {ignin), and water
(aqua), traced in words on the 1 order, are all disturbed, and each
displays its curse. The earth produces the deadly serpent, with
his forked tongue, though tho covenant of grace has pierced his
head with the arrow. The air, through tho lips of fierce old Boreas
pours forth his biting blasts, whether of heat or frost. The fire
blazes and rages with towering and siu-ging flames, while the
water, in sheeted torrents, gives premonition of tho coming deluge.

Meanwhile, thorns and briars, with venomous beasts, and
winged monsters are fitly called in, to complete the grouping of the
picture.

Above, two of these monsters are seen, glaring with ravenous
jaws upon the memorials of human apostasy. There is the pome-
granate branch, with its apples, suggestive of Eden's fatal fruit,
the ancient shield, so shaped that its darkened cavity represents a

us, nt the
I thousand
i liko the
t from thu
penod for
lation and
ikmeiit of
md keeps
it may bo
littleness,
n tree of
I despair,

le truths,
ed vision^
it attracts
val curso.
ad water
and each
ent, with
erced his
d Boreas
The fire
rldlo the
J deluge.
Lsts, and
ig of the

A LI^'E STUDY.

pel

grave, wlule, ho serpent coiled about tho spado, suggests the sen-
tence that doomed man to toU, and leaves hinx still exposed to tho
subtle arts of the tempter. Beneath, suspended in a basket, is a
-nged death's head, waiting to be loosed from its cage, and to fly
abroad on its fatal mission. Altogether, the result is n.anifest
The sm of man has brought in death and discord, and unutterable
woe. Hecamu.t rebuke the brute, for he has already brutalized
inu^seK All tho discords of tho world find their prototype in tho
discord of the human soul. What meets the eye, where beasts and
birds of p.ey contend and devour, is but the emblem of what guilt
has already introduced into that lost Eden of the human spirit, for
nature, disordered and disorganized by sin, is only a too faithful
mirror of what is exhibited to the all-beholding eye, in tho unre-
generate and uusanctified heart of man.

ravenous
le pome-
al fruit,
resents a

yff

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'fr"

Vtil I'll/ terrors -iliin lln- Mat'
Of their ovfrpotceriiig rays.
£ltr my tnul, inbtinitnmaif,
Sinki ilrtpairing whilt it prayt.

•S^

■■00<Dl3j^ C0NSUM:N0 F:RE -Paul.

UPEESTITIOUS foar ia a natural growth of the depraved
heart of man, or if originally an exotic, it has been intro-
duced and fostered by conscious guilt. It boars fruit in
misconceptions of God, and misinterpretations of his providence,
attributing to him a character quite akin to the truth, and seeing
a flaming sword in the very finger of love.

In this emblem, we see the distorted image which God's prov-
dence presents to the fearful eye. It appears as a savage demon,
with gnashing teeth, horrid mien^ eyes flaming with vengeance,
while in its hand it grasps the lightning, which it is hurling in
wrath at the head of some urtseen victim.

But all this imagery is the production of the foreboding which
guilt excites. It exists only in fancy, and a fancy disordered by
sin. The lowering clouds, from which Providence seems to snatch
thunderbolts, are but the dark firmament of a guilty conscience,
and the lightnings themselves are the blaze of light, which flashes
thsough the chinks of human consciousness from the throne of the
groat Judge.

1«

tCl 4 LIFE STUDY

Tills i.i confirmed by what we see aL'jve. Tlioro is the dove —
the eiiibleui of iimocence, souring downward from tho skies, and
making its way through the inverted rainbow-arch of heaven to-
ward this lower world, and yot it is all unharmed. The arrows are
flying thick around it, and yet th(?y do not harm it. An unseen
hand, an invisible guardianship, turn them from their designed
course, or bend and shape them so that they are harmless. Not a
wing, not a feather of the wing, of innocence is even ruffled.

How is this ? It is one of the mysteries of grace. As we see
below, the heart that is marked with the sign of tho cross jjours
forth its tides of sorrow, or rather tho heart of Una who was nailed
to the cross pours forth the toiTents of love that quench all the de-
vouring flames of guilt, or at least forbid them to extend, or do any
harm. Tho torch still exists, but it cannot injure a leaf of the
plant, on which tho streams from the cross-marked lieart fall.

It is in tho soul itself that the hope or fear, of security or
terror is found. The terrible specti'es of wrath and judgment
pass before its eye. It trembles at the form of an angry Judge.
It mistranslates his providences on eartli, and fails to perceive that
what demolished r>, chjsen idol, perhaps saved a soul from a fatal
snare. " We know that all things work together for good to them
that love God." " Behind a frowning providence, God hides a
smiling face." What seems wrathful or afilictive may be in truth,
but the chastisement of a father's hand. What appeared an ir-
remediable misfortune, is but the blow that severs the threads of a
net, in which the soul might have been entangled.

It is only persistence in evil that justifies tho guilty fears of the
soul. Then, indeed, Providence may well seem to wear a demon's
form. Then the heavens may well gather blackness, and the
angry lightnings 's\iy leap forth from their frowning folds. The
trembling earth may seeja itself to be in sympathy with the soyl's
terroi', and the darkened sky may symbolize the shadowed finna-

fi LIFE STUDY

SS5

ment of its thought. But all this only illustrates how terrible in-
finite goodness and purity may become when sin has taken posses-
sion of the soul. Then, indeed, darkness covers the face of the
earth and of the heavens, and the wisdom of God appears a terrible
avenger.

i*;:

•J

rf-

m^^^^M

And w oiirtr.lves compelled,
Errn to the Iff th and/oreliead of our/auUt,
To give, in erid-nce.

V V

■ JUDGMENT. ALSO, WILL I LAY TO THE LINE, ANT) ^lOHTEOV! ■
NESS TO THE PLUMMET. AN<J) THE HAIL SHALL SWEEP
A WA Y THE F^FFUOES CF LIES •— Isaiah.

jjEHOLD the guilty one ! He flees in haste to hide liimsell'.
The instinct of guilt is thus led to show itself. He
shuns observation. He dreads the human, and may w«^ll
tremble at the thought of an all-boholding eye. The fancies f»f
romance cannot surpass in strangeness, the stories of guilty fright.
Accusing cries have been heard, when there was nothing to utter
them, but the stony lips of prison walls. The stops of pursuers
have been hoard, when only a leaf rustled, or a rill munnurod.
A stranger's look has riven the soul, as though the gaze of an ac-
cusing witness had transfixed it. The (>alm recital of damning facts
has driven the color from the cheek of the criminal, and smitten
him insensible, as though his own conscience could not bear the
lingering process of civil justice.

In this picture, we see an image of guilt, driven forth from its
last refuge, in the cavernous depths of the earth. Then ho had
hoped for safe concealment. But the globe itself is rent asunder,
and its flying fragments threaten to fall on the criminal's head.
Full of fright, with his hands lifted as if to guard him, from the
sight of the scene that nishes upon his gaze, he is left exposed,
without a place to flee for reftige, while the blazing lightnings
above almost blind his vision.

Wliat has done all this ? No foe is visible. From an unseen
source, have come the signals of hastening and inevitable retribu-
tion. The heavens above are covered with frowning blackness,

)

i'i

9SS

A LIFE STUDY

from which the snarp, keen lightnings blaze. What piled their
massive mountains of wrath ? What stored them with tiery ven-
geance? It is the criminal's own deeds that have done it. The
soul has its own firmament, and it is the still small voice within,
more terrible than volcanic shocks, that thunders out the sentence.
It is the soul's guilty forebodings, that give it articulate expression.

But why is this ? The soul of man here betrays in its own
experience, that the grasp of eternal justice is upon it. Its fears
start at the whisper of an invisible monitor within, which simply
speaks as God bade it speak. It trembles, because the very eai'th
seems to shake under the tread of guilt, but God has made that
tread like a volcanic touch.

Thus the secret of guilt is safe nowhere. It carries the tempest
and the lightnings with it. Its very firmament is roofed with
them, whether at the equator, or at the poles ; whether in the cave^«
of the eartli, or on the mountain tops. How different the expe-
rience of the heart conscious of purity, and winged with the hope
of immortality. See its emblem above, beneath the arch-surmoun-
ted cross! There, feeble as it is, it abides secure. No lightnings
blaze around it. No weight can crush it. It is eafe under the shel-
ter, that is like a pavilion of rocks. God is himself, its security
and strength, and beneath tlie cross, nothing can harm it.

It is true, it may be assaulted, as we see below. The arrow of
the unseen foe has fallen near it, but so far from being alarmed, it
rests quietly and securely under the shadow of the cross. This
g^ves it wings : this gives it rest.

"The croM— it takes our gailt ifvruy,
It holds the fainting spirit ap ;
It cheers with hope the gloomy day,
And cwceions every bitter cup.

It makeH the rowani spirit I rave,

And nerves the feeble arm for fight ;
It takes Its Jo rors from thn ptrnvi',
And gilds the bed of dcatli with light."

piled their
tiery veii-
e it. The
ce within,
I sentence,
xpression.
n its own
Its fears
ch simply
ery eai-tli
nade that

9 tempest
led with
the caves
he expe-
the hop(»
lurmoun-
ghtning^
the shel-
securitv

arrow of
inned, it
a. Thia

J'llljp.f^'

I s

'i.:i

/fi thee iirtst ; tliy word hath power
To still the tempest at thit hour.
In lliee is health : the sin-sick soul
By thy prescription is made whole.

X5 ^vM^r K J j

-STRIVE TO ENTER IN AT THE ST.H.VT GATE. --J.sus

jLL success wortliy of the name, is subject to certain con-
ditions. He that will not work, neitlu-r shall ho oat.
Here is moreover a right and a ^vr(,ng, that can never he
made excliangahle. No art of soi)histry or skill can do more than
make the worse appear the better reason.

If wo turn to the picture, we shall see some of these truths
illustrated. A youth with doubting look, is Ustening to the voice
of an unseen citeaker, who communicates to him an unpleasant
message. There he stands, leaning against a world, that is rolled
up against a very narrow gate, through which it can no more pass
than " a camel through a needle's eye," and his face is turned, so
that he does not see the gate. Nay, the world, which rises above
the level of his vision, obstructs his sight, so that even if he looked
to the gate, he would only discern the top of its portal. With the
simplicity of inexperience, but with the disinclination to ettort or
self-denial common to man, he would f-iin find an ea.sy path to hap-
piness. He is absorbed in considering the new phase of the pro-
blem which is presented by the words of the speaker, and so fixed
is his attention, that he does not even notice his pet rabbit, feeding
harmlessly on the grass at his feet.

■f
If

■JOS

A LIFE STUDY.

V'Mt through that gate, there is a narrow way, steep, winding,
and difficult, up which a tortoise is seen slowly and wearily climb-
ing. A very humble piety, that can only creep, is content thus to
plod its way, and with greatest ease has it passed through the con-
tracted gateway. But that path leads onward and upward to an-
other, and more glorious portal — the pearly gates. By the narrow
path only, can one enter the path that leads to the lofty entrance
t4) the heavenly mansions, and hence the message of mingled love
and reproof; erras, hac itur ad illam ; " you make a mistake. By thia
you must go to that."

It is evidently an unpleasant journey. Sadness, with a shadow
of mingled doubt, is depicted on the countenance of tho youth.
Ha has some very weighty reasons for wishing the message false.
Be is leaning against the world, and he makes it his idol. He
woidd fain take it with him, but he cannot take it along through
the narrow gates, and if ho could, he would still be unable to roll
it up the steep ascent.

There are moments perhaps, when he is half persuaded to
leave all, and enter for himself the strait gate. He seems to whis-
per —

" Come my fond fluttering Imuri !

Como Htrugglo to bo free ;

Thou and the world must part,

However hard tt be ;
My trembling spirit owns it Just,
But cleaves yet closer to the dusi."

Thus he wavers, hesitating between earth and heaven, between
the ti'easure here, and the treasure above. Beneath his feet, is pic-
tiired the broad way that lures him. Through its narrowed passage,
worlds may meet and pass. There need be no sacrifice or self de-
nial there. But alas ! it is a steep descent, and dark shadows ga-
ther over its ever steepening slope.

Above, the world — which he that would enter at the strait gate

A LIFE "TVDY.

sen

must choose— is seen surrounded with a heart-shaped thorny wreath,
while beneath it *'io flowera are commingled with thorns. Yet
there is a bright and radiant lialo about tlmt thorny wreath, which
gathers not about the worlds beneath. It seems to illustrate the
words of the Poet —

" Tlio path of «orrow, and that path alone,
Lcodi to the world where Horrow ia unknown."

It may cheer the hopo of the desponding, or doubtful, who
hear the command—" Enter yo at the strait gate," for it gives assur-
ance that the very storms, that must be met by him that enters it,
will be sanctified, and self denial will be assured of its crown.

*r*r«.

"■

Hfe.:^¥

^npP'^

Tlifre i'.» a fnuntnin JiUeii wilh bloml,
Drawn J'riiin Immnniirl't veint,

Ami linnert /ilnniiiil limealh thatjlnoil,
Lose all their yuiltij ttains.

FOR HE V/Aa CUT Obm' OUT OP THE LANT) Ol<' THE LIVINO.
FOR THE TRANSQRESSION OF MY PEOPLE WAS HE STRICKEN."

Ia:iiah.

IJT ia only '* the living water," that can slako tho thirst of
tho soul. What it draws from earth and earthly objects,
is only tho water of brackish and stagnant pools — irritating
and provoking its thirst, instead «if allaying it. And y<>t, it need
not bo dependent upon these, for tliero is accessible to it, through
divine grace, a fountain from which ho that drinks shall never
thirst again.

Such a fountain is that which has been opened on Calvary.
It is tho love, tho redeeming lovo of Christ, gushing forth for the
world's life, from all the bleeding wounds of him who " was found
in faBhion as a man." Hero lie is presented before us.

"Scu from liU teat, liUliiuids, his side,
Borrow ami lovo flow miiiglctl down."

Above, wo see the n(!ed of tho Soul, expressed by the thirst of
a wounded human heart, in which tho arrow is infixed. The source
of its wounds is seen in a world where, instead of a cross above,
there is a cross below, and one so composed of arrows, that, ap-
proached in whatever direction, a barbed point is still presented to
view. Such is this world to tlie soul, confronted with the barbed
point, whenever it would lay hold on the world, or worldly treasures.

1 .

BH9

4 LIFE STUDY.

It cannut handle theso, without Hubjectiug itself to an infliction
from tlio pain of which it muat bo rehoved, und can only bo rolioved
by tlio hualing stroains that aro sucn flowing ft)rth at throe diUbrent
points from the fountain of the crous. Iluro indtH>d, tlie tlireefold
blessing and rofrouhment of the soul is to be sought — and found
in mercy, peace, ai^d joy.

If we look below, wo see an open well, over which a hoart-
shaped bucket is suspended by a rope, which, passing over a pulley,
is mado fust to a cross, at a httle distance off. If ere it is manifest,
that the heart by means of the onlinnnros, which nre attached to
the cro8<». may bo elevated or depressed, drinking its fill fnira" the
wells of salvation," and held, by moans of ordinances, and cross
conjointly, directly over the fountain from which its wants are to be
supplied.

Christ indeed is the fountain of life. He is the well of " Uv-
ing water," deep, sufficient, inexhaustible. What science, ond Phi-
losophy, and human sagacity have in vain essayed to give, he gives
abundantly. Tliey can only stifle for a moment, tlie cravings of
the soul that pants for God, like " as the hart panteth after the
water-brooks." The temporary alleviation which they afford is
only followed by a still more intense thirst.

But there is a fountain that is inexhaustible, a well of salvation
deep as the infinite love of Gk>d. It is for us to draw from its
cooling and refreshing treasiires. Prayer must grasp the rope, and
in drawing that down, draw the water of life up.

But the bucket is the heart, emptied of itself and the world,
to be filled with the love of Christ Only as we feel our poverty
and emptiness, shall we be prepared to receive of Christ's infinite
fullness. Only as we realize our ginful pollution, shall we long
for the cleansing streams.

4 I

TROVE AL'j TirVOS: HCL<D FACT THAI' WHICU :a OOOO ■-raui

ACH soul is called upon to niako a mostniomontous clioico.
Itniayofton eeom to bo a (hoice botwe^en pleasuro and
duty, between coniibrt and hardship, between what tho
world can give and a lot of self-denial ; but is really, when all veils
and masks are stripped oU", tho choice between death and life. To
one who knows what it really is, tliere in no occasion for hesitation
or doubt.

Here the soul is represented as having made its choice. It has
turned its back upon sin and tho world, and set out on its ]»ilgrini-
age to tho better land. But the associations from which it has bro-
ken away are calling it back. Memories of pleasurable sin, ni^o
it to linger. The world puts on its most winning sniilo, urd ease,
wealth, and appetite, and earthly friendship, all combine to urge
it to change its purpose, and win it back to their old circles. Tlie
soul hears their voice. It turns to look upon them, although reso-
lute not to yield to their charm. Even whilo it looks, it is still pres-
sing on, but its very attitude, with its hands pointing onward and
upward, indicate that its purpose is fixed, that the object of its
highest reganl is before it, and that all with which tho world can
tempt, is of no account by ilie side of Christ and the attraction of
his cross, and the glory of his crown. Better to hurry on and
walk by his side on tho way to Emmaus, and sit with him in sweet

) !!

»70

A LIFE STUDY.

communion at the lowly foast, than bo entlironed with tho richest
uiid greatest and most prosperous of tho world.

The choice is made — the choice of "the good part," yot it is
not the choiceofpassionorof sense. To many it seems inexpUcable.
It is uniting one's self — in their view — with an outcast, with One
who Ims not where to lay his head, while the door>? of a palace are
thrown open to it, and it is invited to become ito occupant.

But the secret is explained by tlie fict, that the oilgrimsoul
waists by faith, not by sight. The world's invitations really repol it.
Under a mask of beouty it sees the hoUowness and en-.ptiness of all
its promises. Tho W(»rltt is really a sin-blighted wovld. lieoutiful
to the outward eye, it is yet to the eye of tlie spirit — as we see be-
low — a world of then s and thistles. All its paths of pleasure are
beset with thorns, and strewn with them, and the soul, symbolized
by the winged cross, is repelled by a true discernment of what they
are. It would flee away to a better, purer, brighter world, where
sin may not enter, and thorns and thistles never grow. Even the
invitation to which it listens, is drowned in the language, louder
and deeper and more truthful, which every scone of sinful pleasure
utters, and which we read beneath — ami, " Depart," for this is not
ycvr resi.

And this is re-inforced by the attractions of that heart of love
which is seen a Jove, let down from heaven, and canopied by the
gloiious croivn. That heart is really a powerful tiagnet, drawing
to it everj'thing of a Kindred nature. Tlio soul, represented l)y the
winged cross, w attracted by it, and yields to tho attractioi?, and its
language is expressed in tho words beneath. J "en/, " I have come."

"Judtna I nin,wlUioulonu plea,
But that thy blood wm shed for mc,
And that thou btd'at mc come to tbeo
O, Lamb of Oud, I come."

;lio richest

," yot itia
xpKcable.
with One
)alaco are

grim soul
>f repel it.
lesa of all
lieoutiful
e see be-
isure are
uibolized
hat tliey
il, where
Even the
9, louder
pleasure
'his is not

; of love

by the

drawing

I by the

and iH

come."

■(

aL.

1^ 1

P.'iAY V/:TH0UT CEACINO. ANCD in EVKRYTHINO OIVE THANKS.'

Paul.

HEN tlio truo blessedness of tho soul is to bo oonsidorod,
it must not be judged by triinsient moods. It is sonio-
timea "bettor to go to tlio house of niouniiiig than to the
house of fl'iistiug." One that walks downcast, may see, U[ion the
grains of sand beneath his fei-t, tho relleetion of a light froTii
heaven inexpi'essibly glorious. It is to the huinblo that tho richest
promises of infinite grace are made.

Hero we bco ono apparently dejected, yet with clasped hands,
kneeUng in prayer, while tho light about his head shows, that the
sun of righteousness really shines upon him, lh«>ugh he is only
roofed, apparently, with a firuianient of stars. Before him is a
heart, leaning, as if from fooblonoss, pierctMl with arrows. It rep-
resents his own conscious weakness, and tho paintul wounds that
have been inflicted upon it by " tho fiery darts " of tho wicke<l one.
Ho has no help in himself. His bended knees and clasped hands
attest tho energy and agony of spirit, with which he pours forth his
petitions to the great invisible Helper.

971

A LIFE STir:.-))'

I
I

■ « I I

And is he not to be pitied ? Who, for a moment, would sup-
pose that ho was rather to bo envied i' And yot "the High and
Holy One, that inhabiteth eternity," has declared his special regard
for the liumblo and contrite spirit, and promised graciously to visit
and refresh it. Ho has done it, as thousands can attest. But that
is not all. He is not only true to a promise made, but he delights
to fulfill that promise. If we look above, we see the lofty walls and
massive battlements of " a city, which hath foundations, whoso
maker and builder is God." And yet, while the soul on earth is
kneeling, heart-pierced, and heart-bleeding, and heart-broken in
prayer, and in its dejection is almost ready to give up all for lost,
there is seen, flying high over those lofty walls to the very court of
the Eternal King, a dove that bears with it a message with the
simple stamp of a human heart upon it, the most grateful message,
and the richest offering that it can procure from this world — tlio
only thing that is worth bearing, and the only one that it delights
to bt'ur to the throne of the Highest. Wo know it is welcome there.
The dove is prayer, winging its flight upward; the heart is the
shaded, saddened, but humble and contrito heart that sends it. '

The fruits of a broken-hearted liumility are seen upon either
side. On the right, is what the penitent soul turns its back upon
— the world, tempting it by its beauty ond sweetness, its fragrance
and verdure ; on the left, its own future experience is depicted in
the butterfly emblem of immortal hope, feasting upon fruit and
flowers, to be found about the thorn-wreath, while the fools-cap
beneath the crucifix-world shows the triumph of a gracious spirit,
over all tlie vanities of earth.

To complete the lesson, we need only to look l)eneath, and see
the strung bow and the quiver, from which an arrow has been
drawn and discharged. At the base of that quiver is a heart, and
it is the heart — pierced, perhaps, and bleeding — that is the base of
the activity, and heroism, and endurance of the Christian soldier.

jM I.Ih'iC HTUDY.

t^iyr

Ho ™e, fe„ h„ k„eo., his pi„„ed heart rejoicing i„ „„ h„„,i„^
l»WBr of <bv,n„ grace, „„d,vi,h full p„r,„so .o do „„,! endure a!
never before Now from „ f,,,, quiver, the «,ul will draw forth it,
arrowy and.., how .hall ever ho ..rung. I. will fig,., .he good
M. of f„,.h, manfully ,o «,„ end. I. .„„,1 find ,l,a. L dark ho^
wa, .ha. ,„ wh„.h Ood led i. „,y.fcri„„»ly in.„ ,,, „„„ .,„,„, J

r Ti " "■" """ ""»°"''''" »'"'i"'«»». i» which hi,

.toeng.h should be mad., porfoct.

#>-'

'■ EVEl^Y MANS WORK SHALL HE JKAOE IJIAUIFKST ■-Piu.

HERE is Ruoh a tliliif? n» Bolf-rownrdinp toil, and thoro is
also a Holl-rownrdiii^ devotion. Indci-d, tnit- i>i»«ty is ovrr
its own rowurd. Toil itsidl' Itct'oiuos ii jdoasun' \\\wn it is a
tributo of lovo or jn-aiso.

Tiiis is horo ilhistratod liy tlio iticturo ol' a soul, jumviiij; I'ortli
its (Minu'st, {^lowiii{5 desires — dosircs tliat Kooni to the «>yo aliiio.st to
fluiuo a« they aru ntterod. They fall, indeed, upon the heart, pierce
it, and wake its Hloej)in}>; liri's. The residt is that it, too, is in-
flamed with lovo, u lovo that niouutH up toward huaveu, ruuiinding
us of thu lines,

" UlviTB lo tlic iiciiiti nin,

Norwiiiy 111 iill lluir courBr ;
Kii'K itHocMiluiu Ki'i'kM the Htm,

Ilutli ii|)(H!il tlit'iii to tlirir Hoiiri'i'.
Ho II luul tliut'n l.orii of Ooil," Ac.

Onn roRUlt of this is pictured above. There wo boo a Horn an
lanip, with th<» llanie risin;:; from the wick of a rn)8s, indicating; the
8t»'a(ly uniformity of the iiro of love which in the soul mu.st never
go out, and the imu)nsumable nature of the soul's allections which
bum without wasting away, and at the same time feed an
illuminating llanio, the light of which falls full upon tho butterfly.

r.ro

A LIFE i^TVDY

emblem of iiumortul liopo. But this butterfly is licart-shaped, in-
dicating the liuiuun tentiornn.'ss by wliich it is chunictemed, and it
pours furth, also, teur-drops oi'pmittMit Borrow, which shiijio tlient-
Helves into jewrls n.s they full. So prt'cioua are the drops of con-
trite sorrow, from tho hi'iirt nninmtcd by the hope of ininiortulity,
when tliat hope is lighted up and luiido visiMo, or oven glorious, by
tlie ilauio of the soul's desires kindling around the cross of Ohrist.

But there is also another result to be noted, Avhich is syui-
bolized b«'neath. Tho firo of the bouI's devout love is hero seen in
a conser, which, while it sends up its sweet incense to lieuvon, is
covered by a gnito which sn[tport8 the «trong vessel of tho refiner
in which ho is purifying tho spirit, and purging awuy its dross ;
and this process is to go forward, till tho wingccl heart, which is
seen sctaring above, cim look down on tho molten mirror beneath,
and 8oe its own image reflected there.

And this is tlio glorious result to 'which all tends. The breath,
of the soul's own devotion is to feed the flame that lights the incense
and heats tho furnace — the incense that is to be its swec^t and fra-
grant offering, and the furiuice in whif^h its own dross is to be
purged awuy, until, from the smooth surface, it can itself bo seen
pure, free from spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing.

It is true that God worketh within us to will and to do. Tho
lire that burns, and all the laws that control it, aro His. Tho trib-
ute of tho incense, and the metal itself which is to bear his image,
aro his. ]5ut he has made the soul itself responsible for those
breathings of prayer and praise which call down tho iiro from
heaven, and which blow up tho llame of devotion, and aninuite it
in the human heart. liOt this be done — done oven anew — and de-
votion is the pori^otual Konmn lamp, lighting up the hope of im-
mortality that glistens through tears, and heating the furnace in
which tho soul's dross shall be finally and forever puiged away.

Iiapod, in-
!0(1, and it
ipo tliom-
[»i of con-
iiiortulity,
•riouM, by
of Christ.
I is syni-
Boi'u in
"iivon, 18
3 rofinor
i dl•n^ss ;
wliic-li is
boneath,

> breath
incense
md fru-
8 to be
bo seen

. The
to trib-
iinage,
tliose
) from
iiate it
rid do-
)f in»-
ace in
away.

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Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

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LO'

IN^

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" WHO AGAINST HOPE BELlEVEl) IN HOPE.- Paul,

ERE we have presented to our view, a most expressive em-
blem of the relation of the soul, not so much to the body,
as to the carnal nature that is fitly associated with it. We
see the grim form of a skeleton, its lower limbs crushed or wasting
away, but the upper portion assuming an attitude of ease and quiet
indifference to all things within or without. The head rests against
the skeleton fingers of one arm, which is supported by a notch in
the rock to which the elbow is adjusted while the other arm is
supported by the wrist braced against the ribs, and the whole ex-
pression of the figure is that of perfect composure, forbidding all
prospect of movement, or change of position.

Meanwhile a child, the youthftil emblem of the immortal
spirit, is imprisoned in the skeleton, as in a cage from which it is
struggling to be free. We see it reaching out its hand, if possible,
to grasp some object by means of which it may attain its desire.
But the effort is vain. It cannot reach even the cold hard rock,
upon which the skeleton-elbow rests, and it cannot break through
the ribbed bars of its cage. It needs no great effort of imagination
to fancy that we hear the soul, in ouch circumstances, exclaiming,
" O wretched man that I am ; who shall doliver me from the body
of this death ? " It is even thus tliat the ojipressod spirit sighs for
deliverance from that carnal nature to which it is bound, or rather
within which it is imprisoned. When it would soar, its wings are

A LIFE STUDY

fTiuiiped and confined by the walls of its prison-Jnouse. The con-
stant burden of a sinful and depraved nature bears it down to the
earth, and this burden, even after long and frequent effort, it finds
itself unable to shake oS.

And yet, this is no singular or rare experience. ** The whole
creation groaneth and travaileth together in pain until now." It is
waiting and longing for its complete deliverance. Indeed, if we
see above, the world itself may be compared to a globular skeleton,
the living element within it struggling to be free, and vainly beat-
ing like an imprisoned bird against the bars of the cage.

Looking below, we see a skeleton hand thrust up from be-
neath, and through a chaplet of flowers, grasping the wing of a
struggling dove, emblem of innocence, and holding it fast. It i.s
thus, that even those who are personally guiltless, are involved in
the consequences of the primeval curse. The hand of death is laid
upon the wing, as it were, of every moving thing that has the
power to soar, and holds it fast in its relentless grasp.

Whatever may be said of the design of God in leaving the
soul to struggle, oftentimes, almost helplessly, against the carnal
nature, we can readily see the importance of the lessons that are
taught by that struggle, and the spirit in which the soul should
welcome the prospect of a final triumphant release. It is not in
vain that it is left to groan and strive beneath the burden. It
needs to know and feel what that carnal nature is, and what an
enemy it is to peace and hope. It needs, too, tho discipline of the
effort for deliverance which it is constrained to put forth, that under
the conscious feebleness of its endeavors, it may look up to (iod,
and seek at his hand the freedom which can be wrought by his
omnipotent grace above. Let tliis be done, and ere long the sigh
is exchanged for the song,

" Then are we free ; then liberty, like day, *

Breaks on the kouI, and by a light from heaven
FlrsB all the foculties with glorious Joy."

: •/ THE ©^ Y OF PR08PEHITY BE JOYFUL. BUT IN THE CDA Y OF
AQVERSITY CONSIDER --Solomon.

SAINTLY sufferer, reduced from prosperity and abundan(,.c
to affliction and want, was observed to bo apparently as
happy and cheerful as he was noted for being, in what
the world would have called, his better days. Ho was asked the
reason of this. His reply was memorable-" Before, I enjoyed God
in all things; now, I enjoy all things in God." How kindred a
spirit like this to that which once breathed forth the precious
words-" Whom have I in heaven but thee, and there is none upon
earth that 1 desire beside thee."

We have here a picture of the Soul enthroned in the great
heart of Love, resting there peaceful and content, its outspread
arms and open hands indicating its consciousness of its royal do-
main, insomuch that whether high or low, rich or poor in the es-
teem of men, it has a wealth, proportioned to its desires, to which
nothing need be added, and from which, nothing can be taken
away. Its countenance betokens inward peace, and at the same
time the assurance that it has nothing to fear. Perhaps we are
warranted in imagining that its eye now rests upon that grand
warrant of faith and charter of hope, "we know that all things
work together for good to those that love God."

It is that assurance, addressed to the beUeving spirit, that
sanctions the idea suggested by the emblems that we see above.

rca

A LIFE STUDY

I '

lit'
I '*

iii

i '

There U the ink-stand, crowned with a heart, Avhile two pens cross
one another as they rest upon the former, intimating, that it is at
the soul'3 option to take what pen it will, and write down what it
chooses, as tlie inventory of that treasure, — infinite and inexhaus-
tible — " all things are yours."

* " Ho looks nhcad over the ample field
Ut N:itun', nnd though poor perhnpii,
Compared with those vrhoee mansions glitter in
His Bight, calls the delightful scenery all
His own.

Are they not his by a peculla'- right,
And with an emphasis of interest his,
Whose eyes they fill with tears of holy love,
Whose heart will praise, and whoso exalted soul,
With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love
That planned and built and still upholds a world,
Bo filled with beauty for reheliious man."

Such a soul, proprietor under God of the wealth with which his
love endows it, can say like the lofty minded philanthropist, John
Howard — " my happiness is not dependent on heres and theres."
It has tasted of such joys as the world knows nothing of, and com-
pared with which the most rich and varied pleasures the world can
offer, are of no account. It turns aside therefore from the stag-
nant pool to the living spring, from the empty show and pageants
of this visible scene to the sweet and yet sublime realities which
it has learned to prize in communion with heaven.

Beneath, we see a letter sealed with the impress of a heart
that encloses a cross on which a butterfly has aUghted. The seal
indicates that the deUberately chosen portion of the soul is to share
with Christ that burden of the cross, which is inseparably associated
with the hope of immortal life. In the fixedness of its choice it
can say — as we see stamped upon the letter — munde vale et vale,
" 0, world ! farewell and farewell."

at
it

i'f

iSmr^*-''

For /if on hniiryilnu hatli /<-f/,
And drunk Ihf milk of Paradisr.

(Coliridgp

'7i-

-yT

•• nV My FA THER S HOUSE Af^E ItANY MANSIONS. ■■-Jsbu.

lOOKING upon tl.ia picture, we see it is designed to ropro-
I sent the two diverse and opposing forces, to the action of
which the soul of man is subjected here on earth. We
see the spirit spreading its wings in order to soar aloft, and it has
akeady begun its upward iliglit. But by a chain, which it cannot
break, it is held down fast to the world, and can, therefore, only
nsefar enough to show toward what it aspires, and at the same
time manifest the reaKty and strength of its bondage.

There is, indeed, a power in the soul's earthly connections and
associations, which counteracts the force of its better, and higher
aspirations, and chains it fast to a lower sphere. It may, indeed,
sing to itself,

" Know my soul thy full salvation,
Rise o'er sin and fear and care ;"'

and yet the very attempt brings it to a consciousness of what it has
to contend with— earthward tendencies, inherent in the union
which exists between it and the body. It must contend with "pas-
sions every hour at strife;" with appetites and sensibilities which
give to sensual and visible objects an exaggerated and unwarranted
power. When on meditative wing it would soar upward to the
world of light, images of worldly pleasure, visions of worldly hope,

mimm

A LIFE CTUDY

momorios of worldly stilioiiu^s, prospocts of worldly ^Jjiiiii conio
thronging around it, and obHtruct its way, or cloy its wings, till it
it) roudy Homotinies to dtrnpond and duupair.

And yot, this antagonism, inherent in the compound nnd de-
praved nature of umn, is not without its use. It has lessons for
the soul, full of instruction, teacliing it at once its ciipabilitios and
its infimuties, and impelling it to that wrestling with opposing in-
fluences, which is necessary to its heavenward progress, and its
emancipation from the power of time and sense. "We may see this
illustrated as we look above, and see the string of a kite, made fast
to the world, while to the tail of the kite, the w eight of a cross is
appended. There are cates whore this fleshly nature is so kept
in subservience to the spirit, that it even seems to contribute to its
upward flight. The soul is disciplined by the partial bondage in
which it is held by ** things seen and temporal," whicU appeal to
the senses and appetites, while even every heavenly wind that
breathes upon it, carries it upward with still more earnest and
loving desires, whispering,

" RUo my houI, and xprcad thy wtngg,
Tliy butter portion trace ;
Rise from transitory things,
Toward hcaren, thy native place."

But in that case the cross must be appended to the kite ; the
soul must know that it is to bear its burden, and to follow Christ.
Else it would only attain to a fluttering flight, and soon fall hope-
lessly back again, or even be dashed to the earth.

But tliere is still another lesson to be learned. We see below
the butterfly made fast to the world, and yet struggling to break
the cord by which it is bound down to it. It is the hope of immor-
tal life within the soid, aspiring to its native skies. It cannot be
content to alight and abide below. It belongs to another and
higher sphere to which it is impelled to ascend.

A LIFE STUDY.

ro;

And yot, all its htrongf li and energy am un«fi„ul to tl.o task
of breaking the cord. It risos to a certain point, but thoro inH
limit to ita flight. There must bo for it a divine help, if it w<.uld
secure it, release. A divine hand must sever that cord and enmn-
cipate the spirit, and that divine hand must be recognized in the
heavenly grace in which the soul triumphs at last, exclaiming, as
the cord IS severed, and the burden of the flesh and its appetites is
left behind,

" I mount, I fly ;
O grave, where is thy victory I
O dtuth, whcro ia tliy iting ) •»

There is no doubt also that there are considerations which
may legitimately draw the soul backward to earth-the need of
labor and self-denial, for a sinful world-the cares and anxieties
that may befall perishing souls, the ministries of love and pity
which are here to be discharged ; and in such a case the soul nmy
be hke Paul, "in a strait betwixt two,"even while it has «' a desire
to depart, and be with Christ, which is for bettor."

■^^ipBPiiW

Serene will Of our (lays and bright
And happy will our nature be,

M'hen lore ts an unerring light,
And joy its oivn security.

Woidbworlli.

pU-!'*«r-^

.^,

-BESm FILLECD WITH THE FRUITS OF RIOIITKOUSNESS -Paul

|AID the psalmist, "Itia good for me tliut I have been
afflicted," but of all afflictions there are none wliich are
so fruitful of good to the soul as those which humble its
pride, and mortify its sinful affections. Tlien the apparent loss is
a roal gain, and only gain. The pain and smart of surrendering a
perverse will are but the agony of the birth to a new life.

Here one is seen contemplating the shrub, with its fruit, that
has sprung up, rooted in a heart that has been smitten and pierced
by the arrow of conviction. That heart, instead of being slain, and
becoming as a dead thing, puts forth the evidence of a new life. It
sends up a stem from wliich fairest fruits are seen to depend, which
the soul itself may pluck and eat. These fruits are the medita-
tions, and hopes, and even raptures, wliich the spirit, cast down in
its own esteem, experiences in leaning upon Christ.

If we look above, we shall witness the transforming power
which the humbled soul seems to be invested with, even on earth.
The whole broad face of nature is covered with abloom and beauty,
such as it never wore before, while above, and surmounting all, the
very leaves, and stalks, and thorns, shape themselves, as it were,
unconsciously, into the form of a cross, as if to put the soul in per-
petual memory of its crucified Redeemer, and teach it that,

"Tliere'B not a plant or flower below,
But makes bis glories known;"

iii

ii'l

■H

te4

-'! LIFE STUDY.

t i:

or in the sweet worJs of Keble,

" There's not a strain to memorj- dear,

Or flower of classic grove ;
There's not a sweet . ote warbled here,
But minds mo of Thy love."

On either side, we see the same symbols which •^e meet else-
where, indicative of the sacrifices and the hopes which attend upon
the life that has experienced tlie convicting power of the truth J
while beneath, we are reminded of the tree of life, by the multi-
plicity of the fruit borne by a branch that draws its life from tho
knowledge of Christ. If there are not "twelve manner of fruits,"
there is a wonderful diversity, unfolding the rich experience of the
renewed heart — that heart that was smitten, but has been healed
by the great physician. There is the fruit, symbolized by '' the key
of knowledge;" by "the bottle," in which God treasures up the
tears of his saints, attesting his guardian and sanctifying grace ;
by the robe of righteousness, in which the new-bom soul is clothed
from Christ's wardrobe ; by ;He chair, in which it sits to judge the
vanity of tJie world ; by the hour-glass, through which it is seen to
understand the meaning of a fleeting probation ; and by the leaves,
which set forth the bread of heaven upon which it is fed.

Thus, the smitten heart, like the smitten rock of the wilder-
ness, pours forth streams of blessing. It is a fountain which grace
has opened, the rivulets of which will make the desert smile. It
experiences a repentance not to be repented of. It can even exult
in all its pains and anguish. It can say,

" O Lord, to me in mercy give.
For sin the deep distress.
The pledi^e thou wilt at last mccive.
And bid rae die in peace."

Its wound is its wealth. Its pangs are sanctified. The world,
that is seen in the rainbow light of tears, is a world more beautiful
than meets the eye of giddy mirth. The flowers that are watered
by a divine sorrow, bloom with an amaranthine fra^ance.

■wip— — — I—

Tkere i.s a calm for those, who weep,

A rest for weary pilgrims foutid ;
And while the mnuliiering ashes shri,
Low in the ground.

Montgoraery.

■ THE WHOLE HEAD IS SICK. AN® THE WHOLE HEART FAINT. "

Isaiah.

|N the present scene, the soul finds itself subjented to condi-
tions of struggle and' hardship wliich often seem to it
almost intolerable. It is not only that there are discord-
ant elements within itself, or that the world is "no friend to
grace," but that the very union, which subsists between it and tho
body, seems to subject its vanity, and impel it to sympathize with
" the whole creation, groaning and travailing in pain together uutU
now. It is in reference to this that Cowper says,

" Chains are the portion of ruvolted man,
Stripes and a dungeon ; and his body sencs
Tho triple purpose. In that foul,
Opprobrious residence, lie finds them all."

Here we see the soul held a prisoner in the hollow framework
of a globe, and yet stretching out its wings, restless as the impris-
oned bird, in its eagerness to be free. But it is a prisoner still.
Turn where it may, it is still confronted with the bars of its cage.
It is a prisoner to things of time and sense. It is under the neces-
sity of providing for the wants, or of holding in check the lusts
of the perishing body. Again and again, it is made to feel that it
is its slave and drudge.

But sometimes the world is to it— as we see above— like a
spider's web, in which its butterfly wings are entangled, till its hope
of immortality grows weak and exhausted, and can only flutter to

I 1

pes

A LIFE STUDY.

\ ■

little purpose. Or, if it has, indeed, set its affections on things
above, and aspires toward its unseen heavenly blessedness, it finds
itself hampered — as we see below — by a thousand untoward in-
fluences that shape themselves into a cage, where its hopes are
cramped and imprisoned, and where it finds itself unable to abide
content. The heart, indicating the seat or object of the affections,
is outside the cage, and the prisoner can never rest till it can reach

it.

It is thus that the innate and irrepressible longings of the soul

testify at once to the original dignity of its nature, and the hard

conditions to which, in connection with its union with , the body, it

has been reduced by sin. It can be content here, only as the caged

bird is content, by the suppression of its soaring instincts, or that

discipline of despair which comes from the vain beating of its wings

against the bars of its cage. To urge it to be content with earth,

is to urge it to suppress that instinctive restlessness, which is forever

reminding it, " This is not your rest,"

" The 8ouI uneasy and confined at home,
Rcfts and expatiates in a life to come."

It looks abroad, and feasts the eye of its eager hope on the pros-
pect of final and complete deliverance. Meanwhile, its experience
is a prison experience. As it flutters from one side of its cage to
the other, it seems to pass back and forth, from reason to faith, and
faith to reason ; from doubt to confidence, and from confidence to
doubt; from fear to hope, and from hope to fear, till weary of
merely changing its perch, it sighs more and more earnestly for its
full and complete redemption, from the thraldom oi sense and sin.
How does this remind us of Blair's description of the sanctified
spirit, longing after the unseen blessedness,

" High in his faith and liopcs, boc how he reaches
Toward the prize in view, and like a bird
That's hampered, struggles hard to get away,
Whilst the glad gates of Bigii tare wide expanded
To let new glories In , the first fair fruits
Of the fast- oraing harvest."

Sharp misa-y hath wont him to the hones.

Sliiikspcarc.

-UTS BOT1II.Y PRESENCE IS WEAK. '■-F„ul

IHEEE are many depressing influences ngainrt wluoh ,he
soul under its burden of fle,h must necessarily strive
We can scarcely be suprised that one like Paul shoul.l
bng to be dissolved and to " be with Christ." "Thespiriti, indeed
-lhngbuttheflesh.,weak." Such is the „„t infrequent experience
of many that would Rladly watch with the Master, through " the
hour and power of darkness," but fall asleep at their posts

We see an illustration of a certain phase of this experience
here The soul is represented as doomed to a most uncongenial
hab.tat,on-to tenant the bedy, and drag about with it the shell of
a snrnl. The conscious sadness of its lot is depicted upon it, fea-
tares, when it would willingly fly on its heavenwarf career, when
It would fa.n leave doubt onddifflculty and danger behind it, it can
only ^ep along at a snail's pace. The weeks and days and hours
drag heavily, and with a most reluctant acquiescence does it submit
to Its hard conditions.

Tho question rises at once, why is this so ordered? Why must
thesonl orawlos it were, on its heavenward journey, and make

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_fl LIFE STUDY

stich slow progress from the desert earth to the ever-groon Paradise
of God? Why must it drag along with it such crushing burdens,
bo imprisoned under bondage to sense, be subjected to anxiety and
doubt and fear; or as it toils upward, feel the sand yielding be-
neath its pressure, and leaving it to an almost tread-mill experience.

Perhaps the partial answer afforded by the symbol above, may
be far from satisfying, but it is still true, that as the butterfly feeds
upon the rose, while yet the rose is combined with them ; so the
christian's immortal hope feeds upon the bloom and fragrance of
what grows oftenest in the thorn-bush of trial and affliction.
There is a mystery in all the divine dispensations, but it is a mys-
tery that is only a veil of infinite wisdom — a wisdom which in this
present state, we might be unable to appreciate, even were it un-
folded to us.

And still another partial answer is suggested by what we see
below. There is Mount Pisgah, from which the soul by faith
gazes forward to the heavenly Canaan, and its summit is surmoun-
ted with a radiating and star-gemmed crown, which intimates the
future and unseen glory that is yet to be revealed to the soul.
This present life is necessarily toilsome, if it climbs to that eleva-
tion from which the prospect can bo enjoyed, and how few would
have a longing for its enjoyment, if here on earth every desire
were satisfied, and no afiSiction or crushing burden was experienced !

"But he Ttrho know what human hearU would prove ;
How Blow to learn the dictates of his love ;
That hard hy nature, and of stubhorn will,
A life of ease would make them harder still ;
Called for a cloud to darken all their years,
And said—" Qo, spend them in a veil of tears."

Thus the very burdens of life that retard its progress, may become
sanctified discipline. It is not for the soul to murmur that it is
doomed to crawl, when it longs to soar. There may be lessons to

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soa

be learned, and blessings to be secured, while prostrate in the
dust, that would be sought in vain on lofty and outspread wing.
Ever, is it wisest and best to bow our wiUs to the will of the high-
est, and to rebel against no condition or burden, which he may see
fit to impose. In the great vineyard too, where all kinds of toil
are needed, it may be that snail's work is to be done, and it may bo
that we are the ones to doit, and yet if we doit faithfully and
well, we may rest assured that we shall not faU of our reward.

\o pnniinn flrref, nr i.iw ili lirf,

lldn i/iii nchrit the laUinncf qj' the llnmr ,
Hack- Id ill (lod Ih'. living _flre

Htvcrlt, uncloudtti as it came.

■Sk

THAT T HA<D WIN03 LIKE A (DOVE. THEN WOUL<^ I FLY
ylWAV, ANCDiSE AT RECT "-0arid

OU find, that a strange contrast between human folly and
the divine wisdom ia exhibited in the study of the methods
by which men have sought to obtain the salvation whirh
the soul — often unconscious of its real condition craves ! Here we
see the height of human attainment sot forth in a striking manner.
Human nature, under the curse of sin, has been reduced to a rude
misshapen stump, on which we can only discern the skeleton features
of its humanity ; and the feeble, dwarfed life that is in it shoots
forth in a few weak branches, from which the leaves have already
fallen, and which, ere long, will snap under the slightest pressure.
By means of these limbs, the soul, provided with heart-shaped
wings, that express simply the aspirations of an unrenewed nature,
has mounted up to a height from which it will venturously attempt
to fly. It has taken its own chosen portion, its idol world, from
which it cannot part, and bound it securely to its feet. And now
it stretches at once arms and wings. We need not linger to watch
and learn the issue. We know full well what it will, what it
must be. The soul will be precipitated upon the rocks and stones
beneath, or be plunged inextricably into the marsh or theseo.

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A LIFE STUDY.

It will sink miserably disappointed, and become the victim of its

own amazing and inextricable fully.

It is ever so, when man would reject the divine plan, and invent

a way to save himself. He cannot climb to the skies, nor can he

devise wings to soar thither. He that would be exalted must first

he humbled, while he that strives only to exalt himself, is sure to

be abased.

It is the humbled heart — as we see above — half sunk out of

sigh tin the vapors of obscurity, over which the crown of ste-rs sheds
its lustre and its glory. On that heart, there rests the weight, not
merely of death's skeleton jaw, but of the cross, and that cross
bearing upon it a wreath of thorns. But the starry crown surmounts
this, showing that between the soul and its final glorification there
only intervenes the experience of the cross, and the common lot of
mortality.

The motto beneath gives emphasis to this thought. Fides que
coronut adaras, "and faith crowns at its altars." Where the sacri-
fice is offered, the reward is assured. Even at the altar, the crown,
elevated aloft, is yet descending to rest on the humbled heart.
Angel spirits hovering over lowly and obscure dwellings may, with
spiritual discernment behold there, whom, under their earthly
disguise, void of all show or pomp, they may address, " All hail,
ye who are even now made kings and priests unto God." Assured
of his favor, of how little account is all earthly distinction, or all
the elevation that can be obtained by earthly platforms ! Men may
climb the stumps of human ambition, and bind the world fast to
them, but as they let go, as they soon must, their feeble hold from
the leafless decaying branches, all their artistic wings, and cunning
devices cannot save them from a disastrous fall, or fatal plunge.

To humbkr functiont, awful Power !

I call Thee. I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour ;

Oh .' let my weakness have an end !

Wordaworth

••BE NOT OVERCOME OF EVIL, BUT OVERCOME EVIL WITH GOO<D.

Paul.

VERY different impression is made by the same objects
upon the minds of different beholders. One will be
attracted by what repels the other. One will embrace
what another turns from with loathing or contempt.

But the contrast is never more striking than when the world,
in its varied aspects is the object presented, and the carnal mind
and the renewed spirit are the spectators. As we see them here,
one is seated upon the ground, tricked out in his fool's cap and
finery, contentedly gazing upon the worlds of sense that lie before
him, himself too indolent for any greater exertion than to raise his
hands to his head, acliing perhaps with the effects of his surfeits?
to enable him to look more steadily upon the hollow cheats — serpent's
eggs — by which he is deluded, and which, though as yet he knows
it not, are ready to burst and pour forth their viperous brood.
If he should deign to glance at the heaven-aspiring spirit near, it

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fi LIFE STUDY.

would be only with a sneering, scornful or contemptuous look.
He evidently does not, and in his present mood and position, cannot
see the huge serpent that has raised his head over two of these
globes, indicating plainly enough what terrible tenants may hold
possession of those over which he keeps guard.

How different with the renewed soul, that, instead of finding
satisfeictiou below, extends its hands and spreads its wings, as if it
would leave this desert of sin, this vale of tears, this serpent's
nest, and Hy aloft to its home above. Emphatically does it feel :

"TbiB world can never give
The bliss for which we sigh."

A glance beneath reveals to it the vanity of all merely earthly
hope. A broad beam of light, bearing its own thoughts, and
alluring its gaze upward to its source, falls upon these worlds, and
as it goes blazing through them, makes their hoUowness transparent.
One of these indeed, is already broken open, and freed from its
venomous tenant, is discerned to be a n ere skull. It cannot sus-
tain the hope of an immortal spirit ; it has given way beneath its
pressure, and is manifestly a hollow mockery. There is the ser-
pent too, with his stealthy, noiseless movement, watching perhaps
the opportunity to strike his fangs in the flesh of his victim, and
there is carnal pleasure, the representative of the worldliness which
the renewed soul turns from with inexpressible loathing.

No wonder it gazes upward, and longs to soar away to a more
congenial sphere, and be at rest. Here sin and sense would bind
its wings and make it their drudge. Here it sees trash and tinsel,
while the true riches are an object of scorn. Here it breathes an
atmosphere of vanity, and its ears are greeted with discords, and
it finds none to sympathize with it. It is conversant with sights of
vain display, with broken promises and hollow hopes, and it longs
for the sinless paradise and the heavenly communion.

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811

Nor need it long in vain. The law of God— both tables of it-
is comprehended in love, love to God, and love to man. These are
the two wings of a hallowed obedience, and on these the soul may
soar heavenward. Then indeed, it shall be as the dove seen below —
with the sign of the cross on either wing. It is by virtue of
Christ's own signature upon the soul, that it is warranted in its aspi-
ration to soar to him. Nor is there presumption in tho attempt
The soul that follows him here, in bearing the cross, shall rise t^i
share with him his heavenly triumph, and enter into Ixis rest.

(

Gnatntsi and goodness are not means but ends !
Hath he not always treasures, always friends,
The good, great vian f

Coleridge.

j^Sh^

^«

" I HA VE FOUGH T A O00<D FIGHT. I HA VE FINISHED MY COURSE.
I HA VE KEPT THE FAITH. ' '-Paul.

jHE dove vainly seeking rest as it flies over the face of the
deluged earth, is only an emblem of vain effort of many
a soul to find rest in worldly things. It tries one thing
and then another, but one is a rolling log, and another a floating
carcase. There is no visible ark, within which the soul may find
shelter and repose, till it is divinely revealed to the eye of faith.

In this picture we see an illustration of human experience,
that has tried one method after another to find solid footing for the
spirit. It stands at last, high above all the shifting phases of the
world, where the winds of adversity or prosperity, that are contin-
ually turning the vane beneath, can no longer affect it. It looks
down on the globe beneath its feet, on the lofty walls and battle-
ments of a royal domain, on the broad luxuriant fields and gardens
which show the fruit of careful culture, but on the whole horizon,
the most conspicuous of all objects is Mount Calvary, its three
crosses still distinctly visible in the distance.

Thus firmly supported, that experience which now glories, and
glories only in the cross of Christ, has become truly christian. It
can fix its eye unwavering on the mark, and calmly poise its arrow.

314

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*:^

and deliberately draw its bow, to secure the prize of its high call-
ing. No storms can shake it. No sinking sands threaten to swal-
low it up. The cross that supports it rests itself upon eternal
foundations.

Above, the instability of the world itself is illustrated. A
butterfly alights on the cross that crowns it, and takes possession,
of it, while it is itself transformed into a balloon, which lighter
than air, needs to be ballasted by a death's head, to keep it from
floating away. Thus the weight of the thought of mortality, must
be attached to the ambitious scenes of men to keep them from being
lifted to a dizzy height, and kings like Philip of Macedon must have
men to charge them daily, " Bemember, O, king, that thou art
mortal."

Beneath, we see a dove, emblem of the loveliness of the inof-
fensive christian spirit, resting upon a cross that surmounts the
globe. At its feet, on the globe, we rtad the inscription — In cruce
stat aecurua amor, " Love stands safe on the cross." This is verified
as we see the flying arrows directed against it turned aside, bent
or rendered pointless, confirming the assurance — "No weapon
formed against thee shall prosper." The arrow may be barbed or
poisoned. It may be aimed with superhuman skill. Invisible
spirits may exult in the accuracy and force with which it is hurled,
but there is a certain distance around the cross, where the dove-
like spirit finds repose, which it cannot penetrate. The cross itself
is encompassed with an atmosphere into which no hannful thing
can intrude, and with the cross above it, even worldly powers and
influences, that issue forth from the globe, shall be controlled and
subdued, by the power of the cross, till they shall even arrest the
flying arrow, and help bring down every lofty, proud, fluttering
thought into obedience to Christ, or subject it to the supremacy of
the cross.

liil

■'^AY UNTO ^AY UTTE^ETH SPEECH. AN(D NIOHT UNTO NIOHT
SHOWETH KNOWLEQOE •'-©au-d.

HE thought of God which the soul of man entertains, comes
infinitely short of the unspeakably glorious and over-
whelming reality. Sometimes terror and the apprehen-
sions of conscious guilt, give it form and coloring, and then it is
inexpressibly terrible. Sometimes love and filial trust throw their
sunlight over it; and then it becomes, not less awful or majestic,
but transcendantly beautiful and attractive. What was once Uke
the frowning folds of the black cloud, blazing with lightnings, has
become like the magnificent mountains of massive gold, piled on
the distant horizon, on which the eye rests delighted, as though
they were the heights that reflected the near splendors of the celes-
tial glory.

Here we see the soul almost dazzled by the insuflferable splen-
dor that pours down upon it from the throne, and apparently

813

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shrinking from that blazing effulgence \vhich puts out the stars.
Yet, with hanila lifted, ready to screen its overtaxed vision, it can-
not but look upward to tho source of all its light, and hope, and
joy, while its fool's-cup lios nGgloctod and discarded, at the foot.

Well it may bo so, for tho serpent is seen to have taken pos-
session of it, nor has yet withdrawn altogether from vhe shelter it
affords. Tho soul may look upward with fear and trembling,
indeed, but still with a holy trust ; while it can look downward
only with horror and an agonized outcry for help. That help is
only in tho Lord its God.

But how Hhould it approach Him ? How may it dwell in liia
light? He is tho infinite mystery of the universe. His three-fold
subsistence — do ibly symbolized above, to make it emphatic, and
recognized in his very name, the plural Elohim — is invested with a
circling radiance, to which the wings of seraphs may approach, but
into which even they may not penetrate. The mystery is wrapped
about in light unapproachable, and the soul sinks back appalled by
the lightnings of its beams.

And yet. He may be approached. The soul may draw near to
him, downcast, trembling, and still hopeful, and trustful. It may
come with a heart transformed to an inverted harp, indicating its
voluntary humiliation, and when every string rings with praise of
the sacred name, and the flowers the soul loves all bloom with the
crowns that it stands ready to cast at His feet, fear and terror may
be banished. For the High and Holy One, that inhabiteth
Eternity, will delight in fulfillment of his own promise — to stoop to
hmnan weakness, and accept the homage which humble hearts are
ready to offer.

Then shall God be indeed near to the soul, not by the insuffer-
able terrors of his presence, but in the sweet condescension of his
love. It is his glorious light, perhaps, that almost dazzles the
soul's vision, that drives away every harmful thing, forcing the

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313

serpent to uncoU himself from the fools-rap, and spood away
to his native darkness. It is the light, pouring down in a broad
beam from the smile of his countenance upon the soul, that will
link heaven and earth together, and become a kind of Jacob's
ladder, by which the thoughts and aflfections of the gracnous spirit
shall mount upward to the throne, and abide unappallod, amid the
unutterable si)leudor8.

III

A thcutand glancei ttrike the skies,
The floor o/ Uis abode.— Watim.

-LOOK CDILIOENTLY. LEST ANY MAN FAIL OF THE GRACF CF

OOCD."-Paul

pRE we see an illustration of the power of the cross upon
the heart. The soul is seen holding forth a cross surmoun-
ted and consecrated compass, upon the face of which we
see the trembling needle pointing to a cross resting on an aiTow-
pierced heart, and that cross encircled by a rainbow, and a yet
more distant effulgence, so shaped as to be directe d toward the
four points of the compass. The heart that bears the cross more-
over rests upon an elevated level, far above the rough and rugc^ed
surface upon which the soul stands, so that the eye, to bo]iou"it,
must be lifted up, as it were to another sphere, to the heavenly
country.

That compass is the heart, and the needle indicates its once
wavering affections, disturbed by the thousand attractions of
worldly objects, now allured by honor or fr,me, now drawn by
wealth or pleasure, and again deranged by inordinate desires.
It can never settle or become fixed, till it is brought under the
power of that heart-supported cross, the polar star of faith and
hope. Then it is at rest. It wavers, it even trembles in uncer-
tainty, no longer.

But if we look above, we see still another phase of the soul's
sanctified experience. There we see the cross Uke a sun, radiating

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A LIFE STUDY.

its Ifoams, and at the same time exerting its attractive powiu-.
There too is tho moon rejoicing in its light, and paying back thu
tribute of its indebtedness.

"Tho BtUl commandrcBs of the silent night,

Borrows her beam from her bright brother's eye :
His fair aspect fills her s' nrp horns with light,

If he withdmw, her flames arc quenched and di ."

But most significant of all, the compass, with its pointer directed
to the cross, is now seen to have assumed wings, to speed its flight
heavenward, attracted by the cross of its exalted and glorified
Lord. All its aspirations and desires are upward. It would mount
and soar away to the very presence, and the fullness of light and
glory to be found in the cross. We may seem to hear the prayer
that is breathed from its lips, and rustles in every stroke of its
wings.

" Eternal God I O, thou, that only art

The sr. fountain of eternal light,
And blessed loadstone of my better part,

O, thou, my heart's desire, my soul's delight !
Reflect upon my soul, and touch my heart,

And then my heart shall prize no good above thee :

And then my soul shall know thee ; knowing, loye thi-c :
And then my trembling t oughts shall i ever start

From thy commands, or swerve the least degree.
Or once presume to move, but as they move in thee."

As the flowers below, with their heart-shaped leaves, turn
toward the sun, unfolding their beauty in his light, and drinking
in the nourishment of his beams, so the soul turns to the cross, and
unfolds its beauty to its radiance, while it drinks in life and strengtii
therefrom. It is the cross of Christ that changes its darkness to
noonday, that sustains its bloom and lends to it all its glorious
hues.

3wor.
kthu

cted
ight
ifiod
)unt
and
lyer
' its

im
iig
Qd

tii
to

H '

■•MY HEART IS PTXE^, O LORD, MY HEAI^T IS FTXE0 ■—(David

|OME lessons there are which the soul learns, which are
thenceforth ineradicable, incorporated, as it were, with its
own being. Experience has engraved them on the heart,
like letters on the bark of a young elm, and time only expands
them, till under the majestic canopy of foliage, they are clearly vis-
ible to every eye that will read.

Such a lesson is found in the loveliness and preciousuess of
Christ, as a Saviour, inseparable from the hopes, trust, and affec-
tion of the soul. "To us who believe," says one apostle, "he is
precious;" and "what shall separate us from the love of Christ?"
exclaims another. The voices of the two witnesses seem to find a
common and harmonious utterance in the emblem before us.

The soul is seen, in its meditative hour — the nighttime, as
indicated by the still starry night — leaning its head against, and
clasping its arm around, the cross, while this cross is supported
upon an arrow-pierced heart that rests — as the soul itself stands —
in the midst of a bed of lilies. There is no need of uttered words,
80 long as the very attitude of it, and its relation to tho objects
around it, seem to say, " My beloved is mine, and I am his ; he
feedeth among the lilies."

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■4 LIFE STUDY.

■' 1 *

ill

V'l

" Christ and his cross be all one theme," expresses the delib-
erate choice of the renewed soul in its meditative hour. Upon these
it must dwell. These it must cherish.

Here, as in other pictures, the sacrifice and results of this
attachment are seen in the emblems suspended on either side, while
beneath, we behold the butterfly, with both wings expanded, and
each wing marked by a distinct cross. The union of Christ with
the soul, an union henceforth inseparable, is the source of its new
and eternal life, the root, as it were, of a hope full of immortality.
The wing that soars, bears upon it the stamp that seems to say,
"God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord
Jesus Christ."

How beautifully has Quarles expressed the fervor and strength
of the soid's attachment to him, on whose bosom it loves to lean,
and in whose words it finds the promise and assurance of all that
it most desires,

" If all those glittering monarchs, that command
The gerrile quarters of this earthly hall,
Should tender in exchange their shares of land,
I would not change my fortune for ihcm all.

" Nor time, nor place, nor change, nor death can bow.
My least desires unto the least remove ;
lie's firmly mine by oath ; I his by yow ;
He's mine by faith, and I am his by love.

" Ho 1b my altar; I his holy place ;

I am bis guest ; and he my living fooii ;
I*m hlB by penitent e ; he mine by grace ;
I'm bis by purchase ; he is mine by blood.

" Be gives me wealth : I give him all my tows ;

I give him songs ; he gives me length of days ;
With wreaths of grace he crowns my conquering brows ;
And I his temples with a crown of praise, ,
Which hu accepts; an everlasting sign,
That I my best beloved's am; that he is mine."

YEN as a quiet, calm, and pleasant water will show
unto us, if wo look into it, the very inuigo and like-
ness of ourselves, as if it were a glass, but, beinp^
moved, stirred, and troubled, it doth not so ; so,
likewise, our own hearts, if they bo (|uit*t and not
troubled with horrors, nor distempered with fears, will
plainly show us what wo be, so that we may eas'ly know
ourselves and not be deceived, but, being filled with fea's, tossed
with terrors, and overwhelmed with troubles, they car not do so.

As the mariner on the sea doth cast the best jewels and most
precious things, if they overload his ship and put it in danger of
shipwreck ; even so we, in this our pilgrimage, must cast from us
the most precious things we enjoy — if it be our eye or our hand —
if they hinder us in the race of godliness, and do press' us down so
that we cannot go on cheerfully as we ought.

As those who keep clocks a'-e wont every day to wind them ;
80, in like manner, we must set apart some time of the day for the
elevation and raising up of our minds to heaven, by meditation on
God's Word and prayer, lost our hearts should so far descend,
through the weight of the cares of this world, that our course in
godliness should be hindered and stopped.

fi LIFE STUDY.

1^ .

J '' :■«

As the Bun riHeth first, and the. the beasts arise from their
dens, the fowls from their nests, and men from their beds ; so,
when the heart sets forward to God, all the members follow — the
tongue will praise Him, the foot will follow him, the ear will attend
Him, the eye will watch Him, the hand will serve Him ; every one
goes liko a handmaid after hor mistress.

Like as that woman who would have her dough leavened, if
she lay lior dough in one place and the leaven in another, loseth
hor labor ; even so he who would have his heart sanctified, com-
forted, and enlightened, and will not give it to God, greatly
deceiveth himself, for tho tempter then cometh and keeps them
asunder, and soizeth upon the heart, which he finds alone.

If thou shalt cast into a censer odoriferous and sweet
pomander balls, the whole house will be filled with a sweet savor
and pleasant perfume ; but if thou shalt cast into it brimstone,
all tho huuso will be full of a most horrible smell ; so, in like man-
ner, if tliou shalt put into the heart of some man, good and whole-
some counsels, and shalt instruct him with godly admonitions, and
shalt open unto him the fountain of the truth, thou shalt bring to pass
that there shall proceed out of his heart a great savour of a most
sweet smell ; but if thou shalt fill hiiu with evil and wicked coun-
sels, and shalt persuade and draw him to impiety, hatred,
treachery, and all abominations, thou shalt be the cause of an
intolerable evil — there shall come out of his heart a most poisonful
savor, wherewith not only his own heart, but where he abideth,
shall be hurt.

■J

EEE Bcola Cordis is WTitten across a heart, over whioh
angels hover, bearing cro\m and palm — thus intimating
M-Iiut may be attained by way of honor through this
school— while the heart leans against a tomb, intimating the solemn
conditions and surroundings of study. School of the Heart, richest
m knowledge, yet where least is accinired, school where the most
important of all information is dispensed only to be least regarded,
school where tuition is free, yet a school almost deserted for the
dearer one of experience.

The fool's eyes wander to the ends of the earth, and daintily
feed on many delights ; the wise man turns his gaze within, and
finds "work enough at home." Knowledge and wisdom are not

A LIFE STUDY

the flame, we may have all knowledge yet live a life of tolly, and
ilio as the fool dioth. Understanding of thine own heart it is that
transforms vain erudition into heavenly wisdom. "Keep thy heart
with all diligence, for ont of it are the issues of life." Not thine
intellectual nature, not thy physical part, is it that dotennines thy
happiness lu-'ro and hereafter, but thy soul.

Turn In, my mind, wander not nbroad :

Here's work enough at home ; Iny by that load

or scattered thouKht that cloi{* and cumbers thee :

rU'Humo thy long neglected liberty

or Bcir-examlniitlon; bend thine eye

I:iwurd; consider where thy heart doth lie,

How 'tis affucteil, how 'lis bunled; look

Wli;ii thou hast writ thyself In thine own book,

Thy (jonsclcnco; hero get thou tliymlf in "chool;

H''ir-kiiiiwlcdgc, 'twixt a wImo man and a fool,

Dcitli make tho dlflfbreiK'c ; lio that neglects

TliU learning, sldeth with li h own defects.

'Ti!< yet pchool-llmo; an yet tliodoor'H not shut,

Ilaik liDW the MiiHtcrr calls. Come, Kt us put

I'p our requests to him, whose will alone

Limits his power of teaching, from whi ■•

Returns iinlcarn'd that hath once a will

To bo his scholar and Implore his Hkill.

Great Searcher of tho heart, -whose boundless sight

Discovers secrets, and doth bring to light

The hidden thlnirs of darkness \ ho alone

Perfectly know'st all things that can be known ;

Teach me to Know my Heart • » ♦

Tx>rd, if thou wilt, thou can'st Impart this skill :

And as for other learning, take't who will.

\,V2^^gwp?>«(J^2:^AV>f^

TlIK I fFECTION OP THK HkaIIT.

WHY HATH r.AT-atJ FILLK'-T) 7V7:;:.? HEART -Acts 5 . P.

EEB we have a fearful reprosentation of the original temp-
tation in the garden. Eve stands beneath the tree of the
knowledge of Good and Evil. In her left hand she holds
an apple, which she has not yet tasted ; in hor right she holds up
her heart to the Old Serpent, who, folded about the tree, loops
himself over a limb, that he may bring his head close to the open
heart. Eve's head is inclined in deep attention, but lo ! as he
breathes his deadly temptations into the heart, it bursts out all
over with a brood of smaller serpents, that are seen protruding
their heads, while just below them the sting of the Old Serpent's
tail is about to enter. Our first mother but represents every
t'^mpted soul. We too, take into our hands the apples of temp-
tation. We too hold up our hearts to the subtle tempter, and

1 -1

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8 A LIFE STUDY

while we listen all ra,pi; to the syren voice, do we note that a brood
of snaky, vices is swarming forth, and the very sting of death
entering our souls.

When that which God hath told thee not to touch or taste, looks
pleasant to the eye and very desirable, beware ; for —

" Whll'Bt thou incUn'at thy volcc-invelgled enr,
The subtle serpent's syren song to hear,
Thy heart drinks deadly poison drawn from Hell,
And with a vlp'rous brood of sin doth swell."

Take to thine own heart

strange dialogue between the

tempted soul and Satan, that hath been often repeated since thu
eartli's first glad days.

THK SOUL.

Yes, good it is, no doubt, and good for meat,

But I am not allowed thereof to eat.

My Maker's prohibition, under pain

Of death the day I eat thereof, makes me refrain.

THE SERPENT.

Faint-hearted fondling ! can'st thou fear to die,

Being a spirit and immortal ? Fie.

God knows this fruit once eaten will refine

Thy grosser parts alone, and make thee all divine.

TUB SOUL.

There's something in it, sure ; were it not good.
It had not in the midst of the garden stood ;
And being good, I can no more refrain
From wishing, than I can the fire to burn, restrain.

THE SERPENT.

So, thou art taken now ; that resolution
Gives an eternal date to thy confusion.
The knowledge thou hast got of good and ill,
Is of good gone, and past ; of evil present still.

TnE Tmm Awav of the Hemi.

THE HEART "-Ho,^ i:U.

jTOK in pl,W,„f d„wnb,„eath.he»hadsof a fair spread-
mg tree .h„ sleeping, ri„ner gives up her heart to two
«nged demons, ia the form of beasts. The demon of
lust wears the appropriate fo™„f agoat; the demon of debauch.

.og Lust only g™,p, the soul, but gluttony not eouteul with
l.»Uutmg .t by touch, flUs it with his loathsome vomit, and his vT^

fi LIFE STUpy.

^l ',

tail curls with impish joy. Christ looks on with despairing gesture,
wliile the overturned vase indicates a hopeless state. A single
picture yet so widely appUcable, just where life seems sweetest, it
may be most dangerous, just where the flowers grow thickest, ser-
pents most do love to lurk. How soft and gentle the first app-
roaches of sensuaUty, how maddeningly enticing the first experiences.
Oh ! we but sink in slumber, slumber that we need, beneath whis-
pering leaves and cooling breezes, propped on yielding beds so
cosily. Yes, and imps of darkness are clutching thy soul ; Christ
is despairing of thee. " Let him alone, joined to his idols :"

While thou Host Bonking in security,

'1 hou drowii'st tliybelf in sensual delight,
And wallow Vt in debauched luxury,
Which when thou art awoke and scest will fright
Thine heart with horror.

While thou dost pamper thy proud flesh, and thrust

Into tliy maw the prme of all thy store,
Thou dost best gather fuel for that lust,

Which, boiling in thy liver, runneth o'er,
And frieth in thy throbbing veins, which must
Needs vent, or burst, when they can hold no more.
But oh, consider what thou sholt confess
At last, that misery and wretchedness
Is all the fruit, that (-prings from lustful wantonnesfl.

Whtl'st thou remember'st not thy latter end.

Nor what a reckoning thou one day must make,
Putting no difference 'twixt foe and friend.

Thou suffer'st hellish friends thine heart to take ;
Who all the whilo thou triflest, do attend.

Ready to bring it to the lake
Of fire nnd brimstone ; where thou shalt confess,

That endless misery and wretchedness
Is all the fruit, that springs from stupid heartleBBness.

Thk Vanity op the Heart.

■'^"'^y S.1AI.Z BS ff.-S RECOMPENSE. --M ,,1:Sf

KB heart fe here represented as ffled „.ilh the fire, „f
amb*„„; a grinning d.„,„n rejoicing in hi, i,.fe„„

for^ J'"''' ■"■»'*«"«»«- '-"""'.'W, till as fr„„ a flawing
orge, he sparks spnng forth from a burning fountain. T„ ,h!
m^antjet. daneethe various ohiects of vaulting earthly de.i.!
n.e fan and nsclclace syn>boli^ ta^„„, ^ ^^^ J '

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4 LIFE STUDY

life with many ; tlie violin suggests dancing, and all kindred amuse-
ments, the crown and sceptre, kingly power, the trumpet and ban-
ner, military renown, the cross-tipped, miniature world, all the
allurements of earth ; -while the bubbles that float amid them all
indicate their utter emptiness and vanity.

Christ stands aghast. But the poor soul, all filled with rapture,
sees not the bubbles, is not troubled by the look of the Saviour.
Her hand is raised in perfect adoration of the gorgeous array
above her.

How humiUating, how true, all the noble aspirings of the soul
perverted to ignoble ends ; all the grand instincts of worship pros-
trated before idol shrines. Alas, for aheart, thatshould yeanri afterthe
infinite, and be filled only by the God that made it, deeming itself
blessed by dainty fare, or soft clothing, or mortal homage. And
that still deeper and more unfathomable depth of degi'adation,
where men unable to attain themselves the objects of their per-
verted desires, almost worship those who have attained them.

How one learns to sympathize, with Quarles, in his rough indig-
nation and fierce denunciation :

The bane of kingdomo, world's disquicter,

Hull's heir-apparent, Satan's eldest son,

Abstract of ills, refined elixir,

And quintessence of sin, Ambition,

Sprung from the infernal shades, inhabits here,

Making man's heart its liorrid mansion.
Which thciugh it were of vast extent before.
Is now pufifed up, and Bwclls still more and more.

See how hell's fueller his bellows piles,

Blowing the flre that burnt too fast before ;

See how the furnace flames, the sparkles rise

And spread themselves abroad still more and mon^ !

Sue how the doting soul bath fixed her eyes

On her dear fooleries, nnd doth adore,

With hands and heart lift up, those trifling toys

Wherewith tbo devil cheats her of her joytt !

TuE Oppkession of the He\et

Luri:e SI . S4.

Two masRy weights, surfeiting, drunkenness,

Lik-o miglity logs of lead, do so oppress
The heav'n-born hearts of men, that to aspire
Upwanls tlu-y have nor power nor d.sire.

p»~gM t„„ot6 the prominence given to Gluttony „,

I an opp^,»„ „f the heart in fti, d^^^^. ^^ ,,^^^ . ■

flat beaten to the board," by a mighty pile „f dishe, a

:: thr d-°?"*- '' ™'"'" "^ ^ '"-'^^ °' "^- <^ ^^ '

.ate that mordmate eating enforce, drinking, and the overloaded

A LIFE STUDY.

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stomach demands some stimulant to spur it to its fearful task. A
dragon-shaped imp clutches the handle of the decanter, while he
profl'ers a full cup to the eager debauchee. There is a sting in the
demon's tail, but the sinner seems too busy to observe that one
hand is on the topmost dish, the other outstretched for the
"flowing bowl."

We would not abate one jot of aught that has been pleaded for
temperance in drinking, but we would fain broaden the temperance
movement, and teach men to see the sin and danger of surfeiting.
Thousands who . habitually eat too much, who cloud their intellect
and pervert their moral sense with gluttony, yet pride themselves
upon their temperance, and despise tlie poor sot that rolls in the
gutter. Intoxicating drink slays its myriads, but wo do\ibt if the
full trencher is not doing a wider and a deadlier work among us.

A certain temperance advocate of our acquaintance, himself an
invalid through inordinate eating, on(;e invited a drinking friend
to dine with hun, and after dinner, plead with him to abandon his
evil ways. He was met with the cutting reply. *' Charlie, you are
not the man to talk to me, for you are the greater sinner ; I break
nature's laws by getting drunk, but only now and then at long
intervals ; you break the same laws thrice daily, and mark the
consequence, though we are of the same age, and have the same natu-
ral gifts, your constitution is broken, you suffer continually, while I
only have a headache now and then. You are more intemperate
than myself.

Hark to Quarles's picture of a glutton and drunkard :

Thy body is disease's rendezvous,

Thy mind the market place of vie ■.
Tlio devil in thy will keeps open liou e :
Thou UvVt lis though thou would'st euticu
• Ilell-torments unto thee,

And thine own devil be.

The EETUKinNG of the Heart.

•REMEMBEIR, THIS. AN<D SHEW YOURSELVES MEN. BRTNO
IT AGAIN TO MIN<S, O YE TRANSGRESSORS,' '-laa. 40 : 8.

SOTJL here wanders in sin, though it has no pleasure in
wandering, holding on in its work of evil, though its
heart is no longer in it. This is intimated by the heart

left behind on the ground. In this wretched career it is arrested by

Christ :

Return, O wanderer, return, return,

Thou art already gone too far away.

It is enough : unless thou mean to bum

In hell forever, stop thy course at last and stay.

■■

A LIFE STUDY.

He then points back to the deserted heart as if ho would say, " See,
thou hast loft thine own best convictions, the nobler part of thee
behind. Thou art running a wretched race, though thou knowest
it8 wretchedness, ever nearing a bitter end, though foretasting its
bitterness. " But the soul makes answer :

Shall I return to the. t Alas 1 have
No hope to bo received : a runaway,
A rebel to return I Madmen may rave
Of inercy-miracleB, but what will justice say ?

'il ■ !:

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That a man should thus, as it were, run away from himself —
leave his heart behind him — seems at first absurd. Will not a
man do that which ho knows will be best for him — is not ignorance
the true root of evil '? A man thoroughly sound, morally as well
as mentally, doubtless would follow his nobler convictions, would
act up to the height of his knowledge. But sin means spiritual
mania, means that a man shall do that which he abhors himself
for doing, hurried into it by some inexplicable hallucination. He
who first comes under an evil habit, is conscious of the power of
shaking it oflf, he even flatters himself that he is his own master
long after he has become a slave ; but to most, to all in fact, who
sincerely try to reform, there comes a time when they learn, that
they are under an aUen and hostile power. Every struggle only
tightens the noose about the poor ensnared soul.

Is not the drunkard a lunatic, does he not as consciously and
deliberately injiire himself, as the demoniac that "cut himself with
stones," in the gospels? Does not every form of sin contain the
same awful element ? Is there any cure, but to return unto Christ,
and unto our own better selves, that side with Him ?

The PoimiNG Out of the Heart.

■POUR OUT THINE HEART LIKE WATER BEFORE THE FACE
OF THE LORQ. ■—Lam. 77 : 19.

HE soul is pouring out lier heart like water before Christ,
who contemplates the outpouring in pleased attention,
with folded arms. What is the use of confession? Wliy
should I tell my sins only to deepen my shame ; why should I
unfold my nobler aspirations, only to prepare for myself confusion
of face when I fail to attain them ? And yet, this opeu-heartedness,
which seems so useless, is somehow a necessity of our nature. It
does not at first seem possible that there should ever be a volimtary

Uh ■

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A LIFE STUDY.

confession of crime. What good can it do the criminal ? It certainly
doea not diminish hia crime. But how many instances does criminal
history alibrd of men voluntarily giving themselves up to justice,
and revealing deeds that, but for their unconstrained divulgence,
would never have come to the light.

Nay, take even the unwersal consciousness and confession of
iniquity on the part of our race ; why these altars and sacrifices of
every religion and of every tribe ? Is not man free and proud,
why then does he not proclaim himself sinless ? Is there not some-
tiling wondrous in tliis great world leper veiling itself before
Jehovah, and crying unclean, unclean, through the pure universe
of God. Here we have the secret of the wondrous vitality of the
Roman confessional; men must confess, and if driven from God
and Christ, by t)ie repelling sublimity with which their own fancies
have invested them, they will confess to the priest.

Let this sweet leading of nature guide thee to Jesus. If you
could say perhaps Nvith Quarles :

A plaguo of leprosy o'erspr adeth all
My powers and faculties: I nin unclean,
I am unclean ; my liver broils with lust;
Rancour and malice overflow my gall ;
Envy my bonos doth rot, and keeps me lean ;
Rcvcnsieful wrath makes mo forget what's Just :

Mine ear's unclrcumcisod, mine eye is evil,

And hate of goodness makes mo partly devil.

K 80, then the Savioiir answers :

Why dost thou hide tliy wontifls? why dost thou hido
In thy close breast thy wishes, and so side

With thine own fears and sorrows ! Like a spout

Of water, let thine heart to Ood break out.

The Contbition of thk Heabt.

•'A BROKEN AN^D A CONTI^ITE HEART. QO-aJ, THOU WILT
NOT <^ESPTSE- ■■—Psalm 51 : 17.

F you bray a fool in a mortar with a pestle, his folly will
not depart, but should the fool bray himself, in earnest
resolve to be wise, there is more hope. Here an awakened
soul, anxious for wisdom and seeing what pernicious things fill her
heart, is beating it in a mortar, beating it with all earnestness, so
that the obnoxious contents are seen coming out through the

•0

/I LIFE STUDY

1 \

bt.ttoiu of tho mortar. Christ, standing by, evidently approves the
deed.

There is a strange despotic instinct in the conscience, which
shows it was born to empire. Who lius not felt the tierce desire to
take vengeuucu on one's self, Avho has not ft>lt a sort of grim satis-
faction in self-denunciation, who has not felt a deep relief undiT
the punitive consequences of sin, because they relaxed the fell
wruth of our own natures. It was not Christianity, but human
nature, that peopled the deserts of Egypt with self- torturing monks,
that set Simeon Stylites upon his pillar, and filled tho ascetic roll
down to our times.

It is only when this instinct is misguided that it is dangerous.
Wlieu it prompts us to cast ourselves low before our Master, with
hearts broken by a sense of sin, when it keeps us humble, despite
exaltation, then in its true office it ennobles, even when it seems to
degrade. In humbling and breaking our own hearts, we but save
ourselves the far more fearful visitations of divine providence.
Grod's sure march must bring us down, sooner or later ; the heart
must be rendered broken and contrite, here or hereafter. To us
is left the choice whether it shall be in this laud of hope, or in
that land of despair.

In mine own conBcience then aa in n mortar,
I'll plnco my heart, nnj bray it 'here ;
If grief for what is past, and fear
Of what's to come, be a BuflScient torture,

I'll break it all

In pieces small
Hin Hhall not find a shred without a flaw,
Wherein o lodge one lust ngimist thy Inw.

The Humiliation of the Hkakt.

"the patient inspirit, 13 better than the prouo

IN SPIRIT. ••—Eccl 7 :

HIS 19 a companion piece to the former picture ; there the
sinful soul pounds ita own heart, forcing from it various
vices ; here Clirist takes up the incomplete work. The
sinner can never cleanse himself. See the difference of ofP.cieacy
in the means used. The sinner with weak hand, wields a puny-
pestle; Christ with strong arm, works a powerful screw. The
lieart is squeezed flat beneath it, and the poor soul, prostrate upon
the ground, watches the piteous process, rejoicing in suffering.

Slack not thlnu hand

Lord, turn thy Bcrew about : '

I( thy preflB stand,

My heart may chance «llp out.
Oh, quest it unto nothing, rather than
It should forgot Itself, and swo'I again.

£S

uFE STUDY.

Criminals tell us of the relief felt in arrest and even in punish-
ment. Conscious they were paying the penalty of their crimes,
in some sort expiating them, they felt a strange sort of peace. So
the sin-stained soul, conscious of its guilt, rejoices in the judgments
of God, that promise purification. Extfjrnal anguish gives inner
peace. Through suffering they see hope. Sharp and thorny road,
leading to wide fields of angels and light.

There is in the truly converted soul a holy fear, a sanctified
anxiety, accompanying all sinful indulgences, even where the zest
is keen, and the flavor delicious. The morsel is sweet under the
tongue ; yet it is known to be poison, and welcome is the bitter
medicine of afiUction, that tones the moral appetite, and makes it
reject all such dangerous sops. Our souls learn to rejoice in trib-
ulation with a certain anguished bliss and to say :

Bo let it be,
Lord I nm well content
And tliou bIihU see

The time is not mlsupeiil.
IThifh thou dost then bestow, when thou dost quell,
Ai.d erush tho heart, where . -".'.e before did oweli.

The way to rise

l8 to descend let me

Myself d 'spisc,
And Boasccnd with thee;
Thou ihrowest them down that lift themselves on high,
And raise them that en tl.c ground do lie.

The Softening of the Heabt.

This loy, marble lu'jirt, like wax will melt,
Sjoii an tlio fire of heavenly lovo Ih felt.

'■'^OD UAKKTH r.Y.i; HEART 30 FT ■—Job 03 ■ 23.

crush the heart is not enough. Pound it in the mortar
of remorse and contrition, then lot the humiliating judg-
ments of Christ crush it flat as a powerful screw, still the
work is not done. Vice may be driven out, yet the virtue that is
left may be hard and repulsive. Goodness may wear porcupine
quills. A work of softening must bo done. The heart must bo
made gentle ; it must be filled full of tenderness. This none but

A LIFE STUDY

Christ can give. The engraving showa us a heart held up to the
Sun of liighteousness, and melting beneath his rays, as the drops
falling down beneath the heart indicate. The poor soul shelters
her eyes from the blinding radiance, but gladly lifts her heart to
the gonial, penetrating, life — giving warmth :

Mine heart is like a tnnrbic Ice,
Dutb cold und hard : but thou cun'st in a trice
Muit It liko wax, great Ood, if from above
Thou kindic in it once thy tire of love.
#

We all know the fable of the Sun and North Wind, trying
their power upon the traveler, which should make him throw off
his cloak soonest. We know which proved most powerful, gentle
sunshine or conquering, blustering cold. But do we i ,ct on our know-
ledge ?

Nothing is so resistlessly powerful as the outshining sun of love.
The natural sun's rays, falling so softly that they do not hurt the
tender eye, yet daily bend the mighty shaft of Bunker Hill Monu-
ment like a reed. This was discovered, by actual experiment of
scientific men, a few years ago. Think of Sunshine swaying that
column against ^hich the Hurricane hath so often vainly set his
great shoulder. So God's spiritual sun can sway and soften the
flintiest souls •

Although mine heart In hardnces pass

Both iron, steel, r.nd braes,
Yea, the hardest thini; tha' ever was;
Yet If thy fire thy Spirit accord,
And, workinif with thy word,

A blessing unto It afford,
It will grow liquid, and i ot drop alone,

13'Jt melt itself away before thy throne.

The Oleaksixg of thk Heakt,

o jerusale'r wash thy heart fi^om wickedness

THAT THOU MAYEST BE SAVE^D. ■-Jc-r 5 ■ 14

HE heart, pounded in contritions mortar, screwed down in
tlie crushing press of God's judgments, and softened by
the genial rays of the Sun of Righteousness, needs only
to be washed in the blood of Christ, to be every whit clean. Here
riirist stands, fountain-like, while from the nail holes in hand
and foot, and from the spear thrust in his side, pours the life giving
floodj The soul chooses the jet from the heart, and in it holds her
polluted heart. She first wearied herself out trying to cleanse it
herself.

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Jl LIFE STUDY.

Ob endlcsB misery I

I labour bUII, but still in vaia

The 8taln8 of sin I see
Are fixed all, or dyed in gralo.
There's not a blot
Will stir a jot,
For all that I can do ,
There is no hope.
In fuller's soap.
Though I add nitre too.
I many ways have tried,
llavo often soaked it in cold fears;

And, when a timi' I spied,
Pom-ed upon it fcaUlingtonrs;
Have rinsed and rubbed,
And scraped and sciubbed,
And turned it up and down ;
Yet can I not
Wash out one spot ;
Its rather fouler grown.

Then at lust she saw the utter vanity of trjdng to purify her
heart, when she herself was impure.

But am I not stark wild,
That go about to wash mine heart ;

With hands that are defllcd.
As much as any other j)artl

Full of this new thought, she looks about her, and speeds to the
true fountain of cleansing.

Then to tliat blessed spring,
Which from my Saviour's sncrcd side

Dotli flow, mine heart I'll biing;
And then it will be purifled.

Although the dye,

Wherein I lie.
Crimson or scarlet were ;

This blood I know.

Will make it as snow,
Or wool, both clean and clear.

The lesson of the picture is open to all ; cease trying to wash
thine own heart with thine own foul hands ; cleanse it in the blood
of the Lamb, fountain ever open for sin and uncleanness.

wash
I blood

TuK Mirror of tiik Heart.

■MY BON. 0:V3 :.!E THINE HEART/ ~I rov S5 : t'T.

OW, patient soul, hold up thy heart, all orushed and
cleansi'd, to the mirror of Christ's heart. There is that
heart, that stretched forth wounded hands, praying,
" Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do ;" that
heart which yearned toward all men, and cried with all-embracing
invitation, '* Come unto me, all ye that labor and an^ heavy laden ;"
that heart which only pierced and bleeding feet could serve, and
that rested only in infinite self-sacrifice. Hold up thy heart, and
compare it ; see thine own soul as in a udrror.

■i II

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A LIFE STUDY.

There only can you learn what is in man, whether of guilt or
glory ; there only can you tell what ia acceptable unto God. There
only can you tell whether you have obeyed the Scripture motto,
and given your heart uuto God. How many have deemed their
hearts right, and their lives irreproachable, till they first saw them-
selves in that mirror; first saw themselves, not as others saw them,
for that too, is a false view, but as they really were — as God saw
them ; then they abhorred themselves, and repented in dust and
ashes.

Here in the heart of Christ, we have the true monitor of con-
science; the only reliable code of morals; the only effectual, spiritual
impulse ; the only guarantee of steady progress ; the basis and test
of civilization. How shall we bring our hearts into accord with
his ? How shall we give him our hearts ?

Lord of my life, mcthinkH I hear
Theo fiay, that thcu ulono to fear,

And thou alone to love,
Ib to bestow mine heart on thee,
That other givinj; none can bo,

Wh"reof thou wilt approve.

Should I not love thee, blcf<acd Lord,
Who freely of thine own accord

Laid'st down thy life for me ?
Forme, that was i ot dead alone,
But desperately transcendent gr wn,

In enmity to thee;
Lord, had I hearts a million,
And myriads In every one,

Oi choicest loves and feiirs,
They were too Httle to bcHtow
O'n thee, to whom I all things owe,

I should be in arrears.

The Sacrifice op the Heaet.

■' THE SAC-:j.^ICFS of GOCD are a broken heart. ■-Fsa. CZ ■ ir

|KIN for skin, all that a man hath, will he give for his
^ soul." To give what one has, h not so difficult as Bonie
^ deem it-giving one's self, not one's possessions-that is
the arduous task. If salvation were for sale, how many would
deny themselves to buy it! Catholics build grander cathedrals
from the pockets of servants, than Protestants from the resources of
their masters. Why? Because men will give anything for salvation,
but themselves. Yet is the sacrifice of the heart to God, the initial

:^ii' ISi

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A LIFE STUDY.

stop, and tlic oasonco of Christianity, To exalt self was the beginning
of Bin, to tako God from tho contro, and make a satellite of him,
nay, to set tho whole vast Universe spinning about ourselves,
making all iiitorosts subordinate to ours, and seating ourselves on
tho throne*, was tho essence of our transgression.

If this bu so, then the first step iu our restoration must be one
of conscious saci-ifico. We must come down from our fancied ele-
vation; wo must acknowledge practically the infinite superiority of
Ciod, by making him tho centre of our being and eflbrt. It is this
innor self-offoring, that gives value to all external acts of denial.
]Jurnt ofierings, and the fat of rams, wore as nothing to God, save
us they spoke a heart bowed and broken in Ills presence.

ISelf-sacrifico is the only road to success in living — taking life in
its true and broad meaning. To attempt to bend the laws of the
Universe, and the purposes of the Eternal, to our own low ends, is
to court disastrous and complete failure ; to sink ourselves iu God,
to come in harmony with his whole system, is to insure tho grandest
triumph. The smoke and savor of tho sacrifice wont up toward
lieaven ; so through self-denial we climb, rising ever liighor through
humiliation.

lionl, be my altar, onnctify
Mine heart thy sacriflcc, and let thy 8|,irit
Kindle thy flro of love, tha I,
Bill-nine with zeal to magnify thy merit,

May hoth consume my Sinn, and raiHO

Etirn.al trophies to thy praise.

The Weighing of the Heaet.

THE LOn<D 'S'ON^ERETH THE HEA^T. ■■—PHOV. SI S

HE Soul is in despair ; she hath clone all that she could.
She brayed that foolish heart in the mortar of contrition,
till folly was driven forth, Christ aiding in the -work with
the ponderous press of his judgments; then having washed it in
the blood of the Lamb, she offered it a living sacrifice, and rejoiced
that Jesus received the poor broken thing. But he knew the tamo-
less vanity of man ; ho knew that oven in the blessing of Con-
version, there is a hidden danger. Vanity may enter in, ])y the
door God's mercy has opened. Is not my heart something worth,
why Christ values and accepts it ?

Jl LIFE STUDY

But tho Saviour will havo none of this, ho would awakou tlie
proper humility of n sinner saved by grace. lie liaa accepted, he
does value that heart, but only out of his infinite compassion.
Come, cast it into these scales, put over against it tho law cf God :

My bnlai'CCH nrojust,

My luwa nil cquitl weight ;
Tho buitm la Htruii);, anil thou may'it trust
My Biciuly hand to hold It etntlght.
Wore Ihlno heart equal to iho world In Bight,
Yet It wore nolliina worth, If it should prove too light.

AVm

Lo! it kicks the beam; what is the matter with this heart, that
seems so vastiubulk, "equal to the world in sight?"

HiMvch It, and thou eholt find

It wants integrity;
Aud yet is not so thoroughly lined,
With singlc-uyed sincerity,
As Itshould be: some more humill y
There wants to make it weight, with constaney.

Whilst windy vanity

Doth puff It up with pride,
And double-faced hyp crisy,
Doth many empty hollows hide;
It Is but good in part, and thiit but little,
Wavering unBtal>lne^B nvikes its resolutions brittle.

But what shall this poor soul do? Can she do anymore? Is
she not at her wit's end ? Nay, listen further to Christ :

Butir thou art ashamed

To And thine heart so liirlit,
A d art afraid thou shalt be blaincd,
I'll teach thee how to set it right.
Add to my law my gospel, and there sco
My merit's thine, and then tho scales will equal be.

The Trial and Defence op the Heaut.

•the finin'7 pot t3 for silver, an0 the' furnace fot^ oold :

BUT THE LOR^ THIETH THE HEARTS."— Pr-ov. 17 : 3.

[|HE poor soul sits, with anguished countenance, folding in
arms all powerless to protect, a heart, which has been

"' mado the target of all the assaulting engines of evil. The
devil draws his arrow to the barb, and leans forward to get a truer
aim; the world, in likeness of an earth-crowned, gaudy woman,
with body backward thrown, gathers her whole strength to hurl
her javelin ; while the lust of the flesh stoops from on high, in the
form of the god of love, to send his dart, tipped with infernal fire,
into tliat poor defenceless heart. The soul is evidently utterly

A LIFE STUDY

dospondont. Sho (loos not soo vbiitwo boo. Bohiiul her iv shining
ouo stands, and strutcdit's out bol'oro her u shield — tho hoHsoH
theroof an) tho Cross and Crown, and nailprints, and spiuir ; shiold,
forged Ity Christ, in tho I'urnaco of his own agony; shield, proof
against all tho fiery durts of tho adversary. Sooliow tho arrows
fall, quenehed and broken, while behind tho unseen bulwark, the
boul sits shuddering, and wondering that sho is not struck through.
Why this fierce and fearful trying of tho heart'i' God would
tfst it, and IIo would purify it. Tho process may bo jjainlul, but
tho result is glorious. Wlien tho gold oro is crushed in tho \io\\-
dorous niills, and plunged into tho sweltering firo, tho process does
not seem pleasant; and if tho gold had voice and sensibility, it
might cry out against tho needless cruelty. '* ^^^ly all this torment 'f
Have I not lain content through tho ages in this quartz 'i Why tear
mo from my life-long homo ?" lUit when tho bright gold flashed
forth in all its purity, free from all dross, wondering at its own
matchless sheen, it would say, " Ah, I see it all now, and I rejoice
even in what I have suffered."

Tf, in tlio composition of thine li ait,

A itubborn stcfiy wilfuine»« liavc part,
Tiiat will not bow and bend to me,

Savo oniy in a mi-re formality

Of tinBol-trimmcd hypocriey,
I care not for it, tliough it show as fair
As tho flrst blush of the sun-gilded air.

The IjEVELLiNa op the Heaiit.

••aLADNES3 FOPx THE UPHIOHT IH JfEAF/I -f'jrj, 07 .- a.
Nny, yot I liavo no' done: one trlnl tnoro
Thine hcnrtmuBt unilorgo, bcforo
I win accept of It:
Unless I Bcc
It uprl){lit be,
I cannot think it lit
To 1)0 admitted to my sitjht,
And to part ko of my eternal light,

EBE we Imvo a level. From the upper pai-t of it ha»}ifs a
plumb-line, wliif^h passes directly throuf^li the centre of
the heart of Chi'ist, thua adjusting the level. Beneath,
is a sinner's lieart, whicli Christ on the one side, standing, and the

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soul on the other, kneeling, strive to t(;st and correct. The position
of the soul, and the altar boforo it, iiitiiuato that this wt)rk is done
most appropriately in prayer, or at least in a prayerful spirit.

The heart of Chririt, is the true test and revoaler of the hearts
of men. He not only knew what was in man, but showed it forth.
In liiH death, the sword pierced theeoulof Marj', that the thoughts
of many hearts might bo revealed.

Dost thou wish to know whether thine own lieurt stands plum) •
with the lovol of uprightness ? Try it with the heart of Jesus.

Caii'Rt thou Siot Ri. how thino heart turns aside,
And luaiiH toward tliyBcIft How wido
A distanro thcru is huru f
Until I Bce
llotli 8idc» agree,
Alike with mine 'tis clear,
Tlio middle Is not where it hhould be ;
Likes BomcthiiiK better, though it lookii at me,

1, lliat know best how to dlsposo thoo,
W'juld have thy portion jioverty,
I^st wealth nIiouUI make tlive ]>roud.
And nio forgot ;
nut thou liast set
Thy voice loory nlourt
For riches : and iinleKg I grant
All tliou wishest, thou complain'-', ui want.

I, to prevent thy iiurt by climbing higli.
Would liave tlieo be content to llo
Quiet and cafe ))('low,
Where peace doth dwell ;
Ihlt thou doft swell
Witli vaHt dcRlreH, as though
A little l)la8t of vulgar lircnih
Wero better tlmn dellvcmnce f om death.

I I

Mighty Father, help ns to submit to the test, and then give
ns thino aid, that we may bring our desires into perfect harmony
with His.

The Enliohtknino op tub Hkakt.

"THEY LOOKED ON HTM. ANiD V/ERE LI0HTErP:O •'-r.rT S4 : B

ATUKALLY our liglit is darkness ; oiirRonls, vast fotmtnina
of shadow, ray forth only gloom ; tlio emanations of intel-
lect and pliilosophy, that wo often deem so transcendontly
radiant, aro but faint flashes alonj? the cloud-margin, serving to
deepen the gloom. The Sun of Righteousness rises upon this
light- forsaken realm. In every heart, that does not persist in loving
darkness rather than light, ho kindles a littlo of his own divine
radiance.

In the engraving, the snn breaks in full effulgence through
masses of cloud, that seek to stay his coming; lights them up with

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A LIFE STUDY

his own glory, and drags tliem as captives to grace his triumph.
At the same time Clirist is seen, introducing a taper into a dark
heart, which the glad so"id liolds up to him.

All Cliristians are lit by Christ, but all do not shine alike.
Some, like the dark lantern, shut in their light, and let it not so shine
before men as to gain glory for God; otliors, like tallow candles,
burn well when first lit, then gather snuff on the wick, and turn
over, and sputcor, and run to waate with feeble hght; others, like
good sperm candles, burn steadily down into the socket of death,
while others still are as beacon ligi^ts, flaming on lofty headlands,
and arousing nations and ages to the great conflict, and cheering
them t J the great victory.

DarUncHH linth been
My Qoil ami mo between,
Kiko an opaciiUH, OoiiblcHl Kcreen,
Through which nor lltsht nor lieal could posBiigo And.
GroBH ignorance iiath made my mind
And undurBtandhig not blear-oycd, but blind;
My will 'lall that's ijtood is cold,
Nor can I, though I would
l>o vliat I should.

N.>, now I BOO
There Is no remedy
lA'ft ir nivBclf; i, cannot be
That blindniss n the dark should find he way
To blesBodncss altbonith tlicy may
Ima;;ine ihehigli niidniuht '.• noon-diiy,
.A« I have iloii,' till now, they'll know
At last, i.iilo th.'ir woo,
'Twas nothing 'I'v

> !•

The Floweus of the IIeaiit.

"MY BELOVED 13 GONE (Down INTO HIS 0AH<DEN, TO THE

beS>s of spices, to feecd in the gardens and to

GA THE}^ L:L IES. ■ ■- Cant : S

HE great Ilusljiimlinan has l)i'()kon up tlio fallow gi'ouiid
of the heart, with tho stem plougsharo of liis jiKlginciits.
Ho has sown in the t(mr-softpno(l monUl tho seed of his
truth. Hi.s lovo has distillofl upon it tho fructifying dews of grace,
and noTV He cometh to look for tho crop which it shoidd bear
Nor in vain ; the glad sold looks up to an abundance of sweet
flowers, while her Saviour gathers for himself tho fragrant reward
of all his toil.

A LJjrK STUDY

la there n Joy like thin f
What cnn niigmrnt my blisp f
If my bi'lovcd will ncct-pt
A poBy of tliesu fiowcm, ki pt
An 1 coiiac'TiiU'il unto his content,
I liopn hcrcnfto" lio will not n'pciil,

Tliu cimt :uul pains he hath I iHlowi'd
Ki) frcoly ui)0!i mo, that owed
nini nil I liiid lit'foro
And Infinitely more.

Whnt sny'st thou to timt rose,
Tliiit quci'n of lloworo, whoso
Miilden hluslicH, Iroi-li nndfnir,
Outhravo the dainty, morning nii ?
Dost thou not In thosn lovely loaves ' h y
Tho perfect 'picture of that modenty,

T at polf condemniui; sham -faceduoHs,
That Is more ready to con'css
A fault, and to amend.
Than it is to ofTond.

J* not this Illy pure!

Wiiat fuller can pmeure

A white 80 |>erfoct, spotless, clear,

As in this flower doth ni)penr»

Dost thou not in this milky colour vec

The lively lustre of sincerity.

Which no hypocrli-y hath painted,
Nor solf-respc;'tin« ends have tain'ed ?
Can tliere i«e to thy s'glit
A more entire d light.

Or wilt thou have boi'ide

Violets pui pic-dyed ?

Tiie 8U!i-ol)servintf marigold.

Or orpin never wnxiiin old,
Tlio primrose, cowslip, gliiy flower, or pink,
Or any flower, or hcrh, that 1 can tidnk

Thou hast a mind unto' I sliail

Quickly he furninlied with them all,

If once I do hut know

That thou wilt have it ao.

Tm; Watciiino ok thk IIkaut.

•■; SLEEP BUT MY HEART WAKETH --C.^nt t> ■ S.

Whllo tlio soft hand* of nlppp tio up my senRCB,
My watchful heart, froe from all ciich r n'tennon,
SearchPB forthco, inquitcBof all about thee
Nor day nor night, able to be without thee.

HE possessor of the lioart hero sleeps, but tho hoari itself
watches tho while, and with wide open eye observes tho
way tho Saviour goes. Is not this paradox ? Can our
hearts wake while wo sleep, attending to that which our senses do
not note ? On closer scrutiny, I think wo shall find iu this seeming
contradiction a groat truth.

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There is Buch a thing as spiritual instinct, acting without any
prompting from reason, acting without vacillation and without
delay. The soul rejects certain courses of conduct and follows
others, not because reflection and experience have shown that these
aro right, and those wrong, but only in obedience to the instinctive
impulse ; she loves the one course, she abhors tho other, without
thinking. There is no struggle, no conflict, only tho sure working
of instinct. In proportion as a man becomes more thoroughly
upright, more and more of his conduct ceases to bo a matter of
thought and effort, and becomes a matter of nature. What chris-
tian has to be consciously on his guard against murder. He sleeps
so far as the law, "thou shalt not kill,'' is concerned, but his wake-
ful heart repels the least approaches of temptation.

In proportion as obedience becomes natural, and strengthens
Into habit, in one department of our life, are wo at liberty to trans-
fer our energies to some other department. We can rely on the
heart-guard, and shift our vigilance. The philanthropist who com-
menced his work through depth of tender sympathy, finds that
sympathy slowly deadened by familiarity with suffering ; does he
therefore slack in zeal ? No ; the instinct of benevolence has taken
the place of the impulse of sympathy ; he does his work with equal
energy, but with more steadiness and more judgment.

Oh I eonid I lay nalde thifl flcah,

And follow after thco "vith fresh
And free di-BircBl my disentangled soul,
Ravit>hed with admiration, should roll

ItHcIf and all its thoughts on thee ;

And, by believing, strive tosce
What is invisible to flesh nnd blood,
And only by fruition understood,

The benuty of each sev'ral grace,

Tlial ehincH in thy bun-sbaming face.

The WouNmNo of xue IIeakt.

■IE HATH BEHT H:S BOW, AN<D SET I.fE AS A MARK FOf{
THE ARROW ■-Lam. 3 : IS.

A thou8 ind of thy Btrongcst ehaftB, my Light,
Driiw up n^airiHt tliis heart with all thy might,
Anil Hlrlko it thnmgh; tlioy that In docnI do siand
Of cure, nro lioalcd hy thy wounding liand.

UCn is tho oxcoeding beauty of Quarles' troatmont of this
subject, that I can do nothing more than transcribe it.
The soul, bowed in anguish by tlie power of her pierced
heart, yet cries to the Saviour who hath discharged tho arrow :

Nay, spare me not, dear Lord, It cannot be
They should be hurt, that wounded are by tbcc.

A LIFE GTUDV

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Flrnt, lot the nrrow of thy piercing oyo,
Wlio»o light outvlfth tho itnr-Bpanglud sky,
Btriko thruiigh tht< dnrknvBH of my mind,
And leave no cloudy mist behind.
Lot thy ro8plendciit rnyn of knowledge dart
Bright beaniH of undurRtundIng to mit.c heart;
To my ein-shadowcd lieart, wherein
Itliiek ignomnco did first begin
To blur thy bcauteour image, and deface
Tho glory of thy celf-sufllclng grai e.
Anil let tho Bhnft of thy Rharp-pointcil power.
Discharged by that Rtrcng hthat u ii devour
All dIffieultit'R, and incliiio
Stout opp >Hitloii to resign
ItBHteely RtubbornesH, Bubduo my will ;
Mako It hereafter ready to fulfill
Thy royal rlghteouitnegR,
Ah gladly as I munt confess
It hath fulfilled heretofore th' unjust,
Profane and cruel laws of ItH own lust.

Then let that lovo of thine, which made llieo leave
The bosom of thy Father, and bereave
Thyself of thy tran^cendent glory,
(Mutter for nn eternal story !)
Btriko through mine afTectlons a. I together ;
And let that sunshine clear the cloudy weather,
Wherein th^y wnnder without guide,
Or order ns tho wind and tidu
Of floating vanities, transport and toss them,
'Till Bclf-forgotten troubles curb and cross them.

Lord empty all thy quivers, let there be
No comer of ray spacious heart left free,

'Till all bo but one •wound, wherein

No subtle sight-abhorring sin
May lurk in secret uncspled by me.
Or reign In power, unsubdued by thoe,
Then, blessed archer. In requital, I
To shoot thlno orrows back again will try ;

By prayers and praises, sighs und sobs.

By vows und tears, by groans and lirobs,
I'll sec if I ciiii pierce and wound thinr licart,
And vanquish thee again by thine own art.

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The Union op the Heart.

■•T WILL OTVE THEM ONE HEART. ■-Ezo'k. 11 : 19.

j|HE soul and Christ clasp liands ; her heart and his are bound
fast together by cords which are drawn ever tighter by
the united efforts of both. So closely are they thus united,
that both hearts are surrounded by the same halo of glory, the
sinful heart equally with the pure heart of Christ.

This is the goal toward which the longing desires of Christians
tend — to perfect union with Christ. Herein, it seems to me, fai
more than in doctrinal exactness, lies the true secret of spiritual
success ; to have the mind that was in Jesus, to have cur liearts
thrill with his heart, to feel as he would have felt in our places.

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But how shall wo attain unto this I lossednoss ' Can wo not take

tho pool's udvic'o ?

Then tliou muni not count nny onrllily thing,
Howovor K>ty luid KlorlouHly Kct forth,

Of ftny wurtn,
OomparoJ with mc, that am niono
Til' etornal, hlt{li, und lioly Uno:

Hut )ilucu thy love,
Only on me nnd tho things ohovu.
Which true content and endlenx ci infort brtnsr.

Thon note; these hearts are bound together with thn cords of
love, and both pull at the ends, und work in harmony with clasped
hands. Clirist's loving me is not enough. Infinite were his
yearnings over Jorusaloiu and her children ; yet wa.s her house
left desolate, and her children's carcasses givena prey to the gathered
eagles of Roman revenge. lie, doubtless, loves every soul of man,
yet all are not saved. If he alone pull on the cord of love, it is all
drawn back to himself, nnd no one blessed. Wo nmst take hold
and pull vigorously; wo too must love, and so divine attraction, no
longer neutralized by sinful repulsions, does its work, and two hearts
become one.

Lovu U tlio loadntono of tlio heart, tho (jlue,
Tho cement, nnd tho Bolder, which ulono

Unites In one
Tliinus thiit hofon? wero not the sai.ie.
But only like ; Impartg the name.

And nature loo,
Of each to the other: nothing cnn undo
Tho knot that's knit bv love, If It be t' ue.

The Ekst of tue Heakt.

■■RETUP.N UNTO THY REST, O MY SOUL ■- Pa. 110: 7

HE soul sits contentedly in humility on the earth, for her
heart is clasped in the Saviour's arms, in tho clouds of
heaven, and hia peace rays out on every side. While yet
on earth we can find content only by fixing our hearts on some-
thing beyond earth's influence. The world might well answer to
her disappointed and grumbling worshipers — " why do you com-
plain ? I have done what I could for you — why do you expect
peace and rest of soul from me ? What I give you is subject to
abuse, and liable to be lost, and, even if diligently kept through
life, must be resigned at death. Besides, it is not such as the soul's

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i- T'l

appetite craves; only the great Father always has bread to give ; I
must often give a stone instead." In this world, we are in the
midst of heaving waves, and can only find rest for our hearts, by
placing them on the rock — Christ Jesus.

But there we can find it. In the Southern Ocean, there rise,
here and there, strange, circular coral reefs, which enclose, in a
continuous ring, a portion of the sea. Outside, the startled billows
leap, and fling themselves on the barrier, and roar and fall back,
the terror of ilie proudest vessels. Inside, the still waters mirror
the heavens, and in their depths are the coral gardens, mimicking
all floral beauty in flintlike material. So the soul, out of Christ, is
tossed, amid the weltering waters of a sin-disquieted world, at the
mercy of every shifting wind of fortune, every storm of calamity,
every reef of despair. But in the encircling arms of Ilis protection,
there is perfect peace. Let the sea roat, and the waves thereof,
they cannot shake that soul ; he is lifted into the still air of heaven,
and regards the mutations of earth, almost as do the cloud of wit-
nesses.

On Thco, then, as a euro foundation,

A tried corner-stone,

Lord, 1 will strive to raise
Tlie tower of my salvation, and thy praise
In hee, aa in my centre, Bliall
Tlie lines of nil my loiigini; full,
To tlioe, as to mine anchor, surely tied,

My ship shall safely ride.

On thee, as on my hcd
Of soft repose, I'll rest ray weary head. '

TuE B.VTnijfa op the Heakt with the BLooor Sweat.

• Christ's bloody sweat immortiil blessingB gives,
As by its daily sweat man's body lives.

"/ WILL CLEANSF, THEIR BLOO&, THAT I HAVE NOT CLEANSE^.'

Joel S : SI.

HE drops falling from the brow of Christ ropresent the
blood-drops of agony in Gethsemano ; the cup in the
cloud is that of which Ho prayed, "Let this cup pass from

All this thy God hath done for thee,

\nil now, mine heart.
It is iiiijrli time thiit thou shouldst bo

Acting thy part.
And meditating on his blessed passion,
Till thou hast made it thine by imitation.

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In this bloody sweat we have' an intimation of our Saviour'a
horror, not of death, but of sin — it was the settling down upon him
of the burden of a world's iniquity, that crushed it forth. There
he saw the beginnings of his Father's aversion, which culminated
in His forsaking him, even in the agony of the Cross. These drops
are the prelude to, " My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken
me ? "

Into this spirit of hatred of sin, must Ave, too, enter. Hero
must we hold our hearts under the magic rain, till they are trans-
formed into the same image. But thiough punty is the only road
to abhorrence of iniquity, and wo are overspread with the sores of
pollution.

Poioon posBCBseth every vein ;

The fountuiii is
Corrupt, and iill the streams unclean;

All is amiss ;
Thy blood's impure, yea, thou thyself, mine heart,
In all thine inward powers, polluted art.

And it may be that purity shall come to us only through
sufferings. We, too, may liave hours of agony, even when all
about us seems serene and juy-giving, hours like Christ's agony,
girt about with fair trees and flowers, in a lovely garden of the
Orient. Shall we not welcome sufferings that only. ennoble us?
rejoicing in losses that leave us richer, in humiliations that lift us
nearer heaven, and in light afflictions that prepare for us a far
more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. By the sweat of our
brows, our bodies live — by the sweat of His agony, our souls live,
and enter upon everlasting joy.

The New Wink of the Heart out of the Press op the Cross.

RclioM, Uie Cyprian clusters now are pressed;
Aeeept the wine, it flows to malvo thoo blessed.

■■WINE THAT HAKSTST GLAT) THE HEART OB' MAN.-

Psa. 104 : 15.

Christ, the true vine, grape, cluster, on the cross,
Trod the wine-press nlone, unto the loss
Of blood and life. Draw thankful heart, and spare not ;
Uere's wine enough for all, save those that care not.

NDER the fearful pressure of God's wine-press of wrath,
the blood is forced, iu streams, from the side and liands of
Christ, and is caught in the opening of the heart by the

loving soul.

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Shall he, that is thy cluster and thy vino,

Tread (ho wine-preas alono,
Whil'st thou Btjuid'Ht looking on I Shall both the wine

And worlc bo all his own t ^

See how lie bends, crushed with the straightened screw,
Of that fierce wrath that to thy sins was due.

The school of the heart, that began with the Bad lesson of
temptation and sin, ends here with the awful, yet gladdening lesson
of the Cross and salvation. Here we see with what difficulty the
devil, that entered in so lightly, is east out. He came in, pleasantly
disguised, an apple, fair to look on, to bo desired for wisdom's sake ;
he goes forth with the agony of Calvary, and the blood of the
Anointed one.

Yes, faithful soul, hold thy heart under, and catch the spirit
of that infinite self-sacrifice ; then put thyself beneath thine own
cross, the cross that he, thy Saviour, hath placed upon thee, and
strive to bear it as patiently as he bore the one placed on him.

Although thou can'st not lielp to bear it, yet

Thrust thyself under too,
That thou mayStfeel some of the wciglit and get,

Although not strengtli to do,
Yet will to suflfor soincthlng as he doth.
That the same stress at once may squeeze you both.

Here we must close our School of the Heart in this book ; in
the world this school closes only with life. Death it is, that shuts
to the door, and dismisses the scholars. May these few lessons
utir you to study on in the depths of your own soul, in the vicissi-
tudes of your own experience, and may your success be such, that
the Master may give you the prize of life.

•'The Spirit and the bride say, come. And lot him that
heareth say, Come. And let him that is athirst, Come. And
whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely." — Eev. 22 : 17.

A summer's season followa winter weather :
Suffring, you shall be glorified together.

.1 I

^^xdt'

LIFE MIREOES.

t^^^ '^' '^ ^''^i^ «f «ie Israelites, in their travels through
' IT^^ ^^"^ wilderness, that they wandered like pilgrims,
^;^h ''''*^'''"* house or Lome; they fought like soldiers,
jC ^^'" ^''**^^^ «^ the Lord, and they called upon the
^ name of the Lord their God, who heard them in the
midst of their distress. And thus it is that every good
Christian is to order his life : as a pilgrim, not seeking
high things for Iiimself, but, having food and raiment, therewith
to rest contented ; as a Christian soldier, not to be ashamed to con-
fess the faith of Christ crucified, but to fight manfully under his
banner against tho three arch-enenaies of mankind-the world the
flesh, and the devil; lastly, as the true servant of God, to tread
often upon the threshold of His sanctuary, to frequent His ordi-
nances, to be always in such a frame of spirit as to bless and praise
and magnify and speak good of His holy name.

It is said of the ship Ar^o (the then sovereign of the Asiatic
seas), that being upon constant service, she was constantly repaired
and as one plank or board failed, she was ever and anon supplied
with another that was more serviceable, insomuch that at last she
became all new, which caused a great dispute amongst the philos-
ophers of those times, whether she was the same ship as before or
not. Thus it is that, for our parts, we have daily and hourly
served under the commands of Sin and Satan, made provision for
the flesh to fuUfil the lusts thereof, drawn iniquity with cords of

6 A LIFE CTUDV.

vanity, and sin, as it wore, with acartropo, anddaily, liko Ephraim,
increased in wickedness, insomuch that there are not only some
bruises and blushes, but, as it were, a shipwreck of faith and
all goodness in the frame of our precious souls. What, then,
remains but that avo should die daily unto sin and live unto
righteousness ; put in a new plank this day, and another one
to-morrow ; now subdue one lust, and another to-morrow ;
this day conquer one temptation and tho next another, be
still on tho mending hand;' and then the question needs not bo put
whether we be the same or not. For old things being put away,
all things will become new ; we shall be new men, new creatures;
we shall have new hearts, new spirits, and now songs in our mouths;
be made partakers of the now covenant, and at last inheritors of
the New Jerusalem.

If a traveller hath but enough to bring him to his journey's
end, he desires no more. We have but a day to live, and perhaps
we may be now in the twelfth hour of that day ; and if God give
us but enough to bear our charges till night, it is sufficient ; let us
be content. If a man had the lease of a house or farm but for two
or throe days, and he should fall a-building and planting, would he
not be judged very indiscreet ? So, when we have but a short time
here, and Death calls us presently off the stage, to thirst immoder-
ately after the world, and pulldown our souls to build up an estate.
were it not extreme folly.

Our life which we now live should be by faith on the Son of
God.

Sg^^^^SSSg'^^'^^

4-^

Created lialf to vise, or half to fall,
Groat Lord of all things, yet a prey to all ;
Solu jiidijo of truth, in cndlees error hurled,
The glory, jest, and riddle of the world.

' I AM FEARFULLY AN<D WON<S)ERFULLY MA<DE. "—Psalm ISO : 14.

^^ t'l

jE have in this impressive picture, the first of a series of
hieroglyphics representing the ooixrse of human life from
the cradle to the grave. You behold a candle, perfect in
form, and placed in a beautiful urn. It ia composed of matter,
cordid and inert, and in its present condition useless, because it
gives no light. Such was the human form, moulded from the dust
of the earth, before the Creator breathed into it the breath of life.
Such, too, ia man as fallen, ignorant and depraved, before the light

M
■I

if V

B Jl LIFE iSTUDY.

oi rovolation has dawn»Kl upon his mind, or his soul lius boen
renewi'd by tho Holy Hpirit. His natural powora may bo fully
developed. Ho may possess skill in tho arts. Ho may build cities
whose domes and turrets rise as monuments of his genius. Ho
may invent and construct the machinery by wliich tho waters of
knowh^dgo are drawn from Nature's d»'(«p wells ; luit all liis facul-
ties will lio employed to little purpose, so lonj? as tho pull of spirit-
ual (liirkness liangs over them. You seo two buckets suspended
from a wheel in mid air, and an architectural pile in tho gloomy
distance, but all is dark and silent. TIio picture muuIs light and
life. Man, in his natural state, needs tho li^ht and life which
God alone can impart. Hois ignorant of his origin and his des-
tiny. Flesh and blood cannot reveal these things to him, nor are
tho dim rays of natural religion sufficient to guide him in tho path
which leads to happiness and Heaven. Ho gropes in darkness,
feeling after God, if haply he may find him, but his weary steps
lead him into labyrinths of error, where he stumbles and falls.
la despair he cries, "when shall I arise and tho night be gone?"

"Thus HfeleBB, llghtlcsB, worthlcBs, fliut begun
That gloriouB, that proBumptuoua thing cuUud man."

c^kb^ij ftlo^fSiT-

xiQC^?

Our birth ta nothlnif but our di'iith begun,
As tapers waste tbut instant tlicy taku fire.

■ A NT) MAN BECAME A LIVING SOUL ■■-Oenoais g ; 7.

pARK tho contrast botween this picture and the preceding.
Instead of tho gloom, of darkness and tho stillness of
death, •we behold the cheerful glow of life. 'J'lio taper
is lighted, but whence came the fire ? Wo know not how tlve can-
dle is formed, much less how it is illumined. The divine hand that
furnishes the flame is folded in a dark cloud of mystery. We know
that we live, because we think, and feel, and act. The blood cir-
culates, the heart beats, the pulse throbs, but what, and whence,
and where is that principle which we call life, that sets in motion
the complicated mechanism of the human body, so fearfully and

fi'.',ii

li.,

!'''■■■

•1 .■ H-

A LiFK STUDY.

■l\\

wonderfully made ? Man cannot unravel the mystery of his being.
His life is threefold ; physical, sustained by food, intellectual, fed by
kno-.vledge, and spiritual, imparted and nourished by the Holy
Spirit.

In the foreground of this picture, we see two tablets, on which
the recording angel waits to write the history of man's life, thus
teaching us that life is a sacred trust, and connected with solemn
responsibilities. On the right of the urn are two faces ; thus man
looks heavenward and earthward, for he has interests in botli
worlds. Thus also hope peers into the future, and memory turns
to the past. Their faces are very different in their expression ;
the one, calm and peaceful, is the symbol of a contented christian
life, the other, sad and sullen, portends a career of giiilt and shame.
Who can tell when the candle is lighted, whether it will burn to
cheer and illumine the world, or merely to attract the foolish insect
to its destruction. On a branch of the tree, you may discover a
dove, the emblem of love and purity, bending over the scene, a
token of that divine benevolence which gives us life, and that
human charity which sweetens its sorrows and lightens its burdens ;
and a symbol, also, of that divine Spirit who broods over the dark-
ened soul, as he moved upon the chaos of old, and wakens it to
life and love. Thanks be to God, for the life and immortaUty
V' nought to light through the gospel, which teaches man how to
live and how to die.

" Our better nature plneth— let It be I
Thou human pouI— Eirth is no homo for thee,
Thy Btairy rest ]a in Eternity."

Troops of unknown diseases, sorrow, age,
And death assail him with successive rage.

■' AND THE WINCD C^^I^RIE^ THEM AWAY.' -Daniel S .- 36.

OW frail is human life— a vapor, a breath, a flickering
flame.

" At best a brief delight,
A Bun Bcarcc brightening ore It siniis in night. "

Sorrow and danger meet the child on the threshold of its earthly
existence. The taper so recently lighted, and burning with a
gentle flame, is suddenly assailed by '« sorrow with her full-mouthed
blast." " Man is bom to trouble as the sparks fly upward." We

A LIFE STUDY

\l\

come into a world of disease and suflTering. The child's first utter-
ance is a cry. Beneath the cloud is a portico, indicating that life in
its very beginning is exposed to danger. The flame unable to resist
the blast, bends over, and with irregular heat wastes the candle
itself. Trouble and sickness not only imperil life, but diminish the
vital forces by producing a feverish flame both unsteady and
destructive. Nor is there any way of escape. The walls of the
nursery are no protection from the envious winds. A mother's
arms cannot shield her darling from the destroj'er, who gathers
by far the largest number of his trophies from the tender, fra-
grant buds of infancy : the wind passeth over them and they are
gone.

To what rude blasts of temptation also are the young exposed in
this age of abounding iniquity ! The flame of mortil principle
suddenly assailed, too often yields. The passions, which seem so
well controlled, bend to the blast, and with irregular fires consume
the vital powers, and defile and dei: *roy the beautiful ura itself.

> i.M„

" What war so cruel, or wliat Biigu so Borc,
As that which Btrong temptation doth apply
Against the fort of reason evermore,
To hring the soul iii'o Captivity."

But there is One, who was in all points tempted like as we are, yet
without sin, and He is able to succor the tempted. There is no
earthly refuge from trials. The taper cannot be placed where the
blast will not reach it, for in this world we must have tribulation.

'The path of sorrow, and that path alone,
Leads to the land whore sorrow is unknown."

But the hand that lighted the candle still remains concealed in the
cloud, and holds the winds in its firm grasp.

Out, ye impostors I
Quack-salviiig, cheating raountebanljB— yonrslsill
Is to malce sound men siclf, and siclc men kill.

' YE ARE ALL PHYSICIANS OF NO VALUE. ■-Job. 13 .- 4

|HE lighted taper is now exposed to a new peril. The urn
has assumed a different form. The ears of serpent shape,
the starry zone above with the astronomical signs, the
pecuUar dress and expression of the old man, with the snuffers in
one hand and a fanlike instrument in the other, denote the pres-
ence of an astrologer, whose hidden mysteries and magic arts for-
merly obscured the science of medicine. The healing art has

■^ I

A LIFE STUDY

. I ■■

IS ,4

become more eimple and practical, ar U therefore more valuable to
suffering humanity. But the world ia doctored too much, and
especially by ignorant or unprincipled pretenders, who force their
nostrums upon a too confiding pubHc. Many a taper which would
have burned with a moderate flame down to the socket of old age,
is trimmed by unskillful hands, until in an evil hour its light is
snuffed out. Nature has her laws, and always resents unnecessary
interference. The vigorous flame must have pure oxygen ; it dies
amid unwholesome vapors. There is no secular profession more
useful and noble than that of a good physician ; none more con-
temptible than that of an avaricious quack, who takes advantage of
the anxious fears which disease always excites, and trifles with
human life. The same despicable class of physicians is found in
every walk of life. They prescribe and offer their remedies for
all the domestic, social, political and religious evils under which
the world groans. Their prescriptions almost rival in number the
recipes of the pharmacopoeia. Reader, beware of all deceitful
panaceas whether for the body, or for the soul. Man's fatal malady
is sin:

" The fruitful parent
Of woes of all dimensions."

The great physician is Christ, and the only effectual remedy is
his blood, that cleanseth from all sin. Philosophy, science, all the
wisdom of this world, and all the pretended revelations of those
who profess to commune with the stars, or with the spirits of the
departed, are useless medicines for a sin-sick soul. The balm of
Gilead alone can heal every hiunan malady.

" Physician of my fainting soul,
One word of thine shall make me whole ;
One touch— one timid touch of thee,
Shall set my long-bound spirit ' -e"

^^^'^^m^i

With his broad tegit thrown aroui.d,
Unmoved shall I maintain my ground,
Though all the fiends of hell combined
To harass and confound my mind.

|HE picturo now presented is beautiMly sugfrestive. The
gemus of evil is sHUin the cloud, with cheeks distended
by h,s efforts to blow out the light, but his envious breath

hoMs a screen around the flame, and effectually protects it. The
suush.ues mthe sky above, shedding his rays upon the viUal
sp™ on the other side of the placid strean.. Ever^hing be W
peace and security. The only e.bleu. of danger I the foolishfly

I
I

fi LIFE STUDY.

that seems bent on its own destruction. Sad indeed would be the
condition of man in this world with no better safeguard than his
own skill and foresight, with all his precautions he is constantly
exposed to danger. If we take the experience of a single day how
often might we say, "There is but a step between me and death."
But that one stop is enough for safety, because "Ho will give his
angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways. They shall
bear thee up in their hands." How often iu the day and through
the night, do angel hands hold the screen of divine protection
between the Candle and the blasts, which might extinguish its light
in a moment. Fatal accidents, as they are termed, are daily
occurring, but when wo consider how many dangers surrround us,
and what a frail thing life is, we are amazed that so many escape.
Who can survey his past life, and not see the marks of a special
Providence. Yes, even the hairs of our heads are all numbered.
He who gave us life guards the treasure for us. A taper lighted
and exposed to the storm is a picture of man without divine protec-
tioi .. But the child of God can take comfort iu the assurance that
the arms of infinite love are around him, and no power can snatch
him from the embrace of his Father. The same angelic care is
exercised over the spiritual life which Satan endeavors to destroy.
His poisonous blasts cannot touch the flame, for it is protected by
the screen of paternal love held by the hands of angels, for "are
they not all ministering spirits sent forth to minister unto them who
shall be heirs of salvation !"

" How had this slender Inch of taper been
Blasted and blazed, had not this heavenly screen
Curbed the proud blast, and timely stepped between."

ill

AU hiiil, thou viewlcHS one whose lonulywings

Sweep o'er the Earth, unw. aried and sublhne I
Mysterious agent < t the King of kings,

Whom conquerors obey, and man calls Time.

■IS THEJ^E NOT AN APPOINTED TIME TO MAN UPON EARTH. --Job 7 : 1.

EHOLD our helpless taper again in peril. The angel
with the screen has departed and an enemy has taken his

' place. The gnomon marks the passinghours. The candle
is more than half consumed,and the sun, though still shining brightly,
is fast dechning toward the Western horizon. Death stands with his
arrow in one hand — and an extinguisher in the other, ready to
put out the trembling flame. But what holds him back ? Time
grasps the skeleton arm, and both gaze upon the hour glass,

jl LIFE STUDY

' ; 'Ih

watching for the dropping of the last sands which will be the sig-
nal for time to spread his wings, and death to do liis work. Death
has been watching that flame with jealous eyo, from the first »
moment of its existence. lie holds his extinguisher over every
lighted taper, for " Death has passed upon all men." He is the
relentless enemy. What is death, but the end of life's consuming
work ? We begia to die as soon as we begin to live, and the
struggle ia short, and is sure to end in the victory of deatli over
this mortal life. Wliy then does he hasten to extinguish the
light which must so soon go out ? Why so eager to seize with
violence the prize that will ere long foil into his hands ? *' Insa-
tiate archer!" So far shalt thou go, and no farther; thou canst
not speed that fatal dart, till God's appointed time release thy hand.
0, how comforting the thought that my times are in his hand.

" I'll go and come, nor fear to die,
Till from on high, He tails mo home."

Death puts his extinguisher upon many a bright flame in its early
glow, but he cannot defeat the purposes of God. Doddridge when
an infant was given up to die. Moses was left to perish in the
flags by the river's brink. Death was sure of his prey, but Tine
triumphantly held up his glass full of the sands of life. God's
purposes were to be accomplished. Go forth then to duty, even
though the path lead through danger. Man is immortal till his
work is done. But the hour must come at last, and to the Chris-
tian also.

" Death is the crown of life ;
Wcro death denied, poor man would live in valn^
Death wounds to cure ; we fall, we rise, we reign ;
Spring from our fetters, fasten to the skies.
Where blooming Eden withers from our sight.
This king of terrors is the Prince of Peace."

Shine fortli, eh no forth, Eternal Light,
Ana penetrate the lieavy night,

That presses down the soul.

■^OREV-r, THAT Wn:Cff WAS MA^I, GLORIOUS I-TACD NO GLO^Y IK
THIS RESPECT. BY REASON OF THE GLORY THAT EXCELLETH. "

S Coi'. 3 . 10.

HIS taper gives no light. What has happened to it?
Is this picture an illustration of the fearful truth that " the
light of the wicked shall be put out, and the spark of his
fire shall not shine?" We think not. The feeble taper still shines,
but it is obscured by excess of light from the bright beams of the
sun. It is high noon, and the solemn bird of night has sought his

A IdFE aruDY.

:[!' ,

retreat in the hollow trunk of that old troo. The glorions kinpj of
(lay is on liis throne in llio h(>avons, and the tapor lights vanish.
What is liuinan wisdoin, compared with that infinite knowledge
tliat searches the heart, and comprehends all the events of time
and eternity, in one vast thought? What is the might of man,
compared with the power of Him who rolls the planets in their
orbits, and weighs the mountains in bcales, and the hills in a balance ?
What is the glory of human greatness, when compared with the
majesty of that divine Being who sits enthroned in the highest
heaven, before whose elfulgence angels veil their faces ? Human
reason, which wo are wont to extol so highly, is biit a taper light
in the bright beams of revelation. The scintillations of hunian
genius are but the sparks from an anvil. How dark would bo the
condition and prospects of man, with no light from above, no rays
of knowledge, save those admitted from his own intellect. Man is
but a glow-worm, whose feeble light flashes for a moment and is
gone. But how glorious is my Saviour. Even on Mount Tabor,
human eyes wore blinded by his radiance. On Patmos, the seer
fell down as one dead before his glorious presence. The New
Jerusalem shall have no need of the sun, because of the light of
the Lamb. Other light cannot shine when his glory is unveiled.
The wisdom of man is foolishness with God. The lamp of his
truuh obscures all human tapers ; the beams of his glory render all
the rays from earthly suns invisible. I rejoice in this, that my
Saviour may be all in all, for he shall shine on me, and I shall be
like him, for I shall see him as he is.

' »

' Then— transporting (houglit— thy glory
Shall thy risen church cnshi ino ;
Then, while countless hosts adore thee.
Heaven and glory shall be mine."

I ■■

■ n

i'' M

Heavi'ii (locB with us, as we witli toi-chos do;
Not light them for thomselvoH ; for if our virtuen
Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike
As if wo had them not.

■ IF THEREFOR-R THE LIGHT THA T IS IN THEE BE DARKNESS. HOW
ORE A T IS THA T ^DARKNESS. •'—Matt Q : SS.

HAT means this sad and gloomy picture ? The sun is
almost totally eclipsed ; the lantern is entirely dark, and
rests upon a coffin, and a beetle, apparently dead, lies on
the ground. Everything indicates darkness, ending in death. Alas !
whither has the light fled ? Is this a solemn representation of the
end of all flesh, when the candle of life is burned out ? Is this an

If, 1

M V\

.yz r,:Fi7 RTVixY

1 1' :'

; ■

einhloin of doatli? Wo think not; tho flunin ip not yotoxtiiif^uinh-
ed — it is only hidden from view. IJcliold lituo ii rocluMO, rotirtid
from th(5 world, and nhut up in ii nioniistory, whom hin lifo, liow-
ovor virtuous, can have no inlluonco ujjon his follow-nion. liohold
horo a butkslidor, onco u bright professor, but now fur ustray from
holiness — neglecting religious ordinau(!es, and tho duties of charity,
and presenting no bright side to nltriict tho world to Christ. Uo-
liold liero tho useless, dark lantern professor, tho unfruitful vine,
the barren fig troo. Keader, look on this picture, and ask, " Is it
I ?" Tiiero nro a groat many candles hidden ns if under a bushel.
A christian lifo tluit shines with the lustro of sincerity, is beautiful
indeed. "Tho light is sweet," and there is no more cheering light
than that which radiates from a holy lifo. When Christ is formed
in tho soul *;ho hope of glory, his beams will shine through all the
windows by which the .soul communicates with the outer world. A
believer has light within him — tho light of reason, of conscience,
of truth, of tho Holy Spirit, of Christ himself. How can his lifo
be dark? " The lust of the flosh, the lust of tho eyes, and the
pride of life," may dim tho light of a christian profession. But
how awful is such a condition, when men love darkness rather than
light, and are so neglectful of God's Word, that even the lamp of
life itself is to them as darkness.

The Duke of Luneburg engraved on his coat of arms a lighted
candle, with the initials of the words, " Ministering to others, I
consume myself." Such was the hfe of Jesus, and such should be
the life of every follower of Jesus. Christian, the Holy Spirit
illumined thee, that thou mightest be a light to others. " Let your
light so shine, that men, seeing your good works, may glorify your
Father which is in heaven."

(I bo
Spirit
your
your

^Mg>=r^;y''>^i<^^^g^yV^^^

now oft hcnrt-oick nnil gore,
I've wUlieil I wcrcoiKo inoro
A llttlo child.

mATN UP A cmL<D IN THE WAY UK SHOULD 00; AN^

WHEtr H3 IS OuD Hal W'.ZjL NOV DF.PART Fl^OXT IT.''
Provp.fba SS : 6

jlHE procodinjif illustrations have prosentod man in a variety
of rcldtions and conditions, without regard to any regular
progres '"on of time. Tlioao which follow repi'osent
human life as divided into seven periods, of ton years each. All the
candles, except the first, are marked off into spaces corresponding
with these numhers. The ono before us represents the first decade
of earthly existence, the period of childhood. On the left of the
figura, we see the earth, denoting the origin of our bodies, and
their destination ; on the right, a crescent moon, suggesting growth,
while a cradle and a toy upon the ground, remind ua of playful
and helpless infancy.

'^i;

i,;

I'll

',1

f ,

A LIFE STUDY.

An infant ! What hopes and feara, what joys and sorrows
what promises of good or ill what a career of glory or of shame,
are wrapped up iu that littlo germ. Is it a bud that will open into
the fragrant, full blown rose, or is it destined to be nipped by an
untimely frost ? What sympathies are stirred by the sight of a
little child ? We who have half finished our voyage, know some
of the trials that await the young ad\ enturer on life's ocean. Igno-
rant, unsuspecting, helpless, and thoughtless, his infancy consumed
in eating and sleeping, little does he dream of storm or wave.

" We spend
A ten years' breath ,
Before wo apprehend
What 'tis to live or fear a death ;
Our childish droams are filled with painted joya,
Which please our sense awliilo, and, waUing, prove but toys,"

Yet the first ten years of life is the most important period of all
for training. The plant is tender, and will yield to the influence
that bends it in any direction. And now what discretion is needed
to train wisioly ; to discern the natural capacity of the child, to fur-
nish the mind with proper aliment and culture, to mould the charac-
ter, guide the conduct, excite and quicken the mental powers, give
a practical cast to the judgment, and above all to instil the prin-
ciples of true piety. "The nursery anticipates the school, and the
church." Parents should exercise great care in the selection of
nurses and teachers for their children, and should never give them
up entirely to the care of even the best. The mother is the
divinely appointed nurse and teacher of the child, and she will
realize her responsibility when she remembers that

" Childhood shows the man,
As morning shows the day."

Sweet childhood ! sanctified by the example of the Saviour, who
was once himself a child, and afterward took the little ones in his
arms and blessed them.

pur, who
lea in his

Youthisevorapt tojiulifo in ln.stt',
And lose the nieiliu!U in I'uu w'.Ul oxtrcmc.

■FOR CHTLQHOO'D ANdJ YOUTH ARS VAilITY. ' -Eaa 11 „

10.

LAEGE proportion of the human race never finish the
first period of ten years. Heaven is full of infants,
and earth of empty cradles. But time has begun his
second stage, and we behold the bud of childhood bu^'sting gently
and beautifully into the flower of youth. On the left of the figure,
we discover the planet Mercury, the swift- winged god, and on the
right a peacock ; while belo\7, a rash youth is being thrown from a
horse. These symbols denote the activity and bravery of youth ;
the pride and vanity which sometimes characterize that period, and
the heedlessness which always marks a stage of imperfect develop-
ment of the reasoning powers. "It is the fault of youth," said
Seneca, " that it cannot govern its own impetuosity." And yet.

lifM

ilf

A LIFE STUDY

■':h\

!],■*

this is tho proper time for curbing the passions, and obtaining the
mastery over self He is happy who willingly submits to bear the
yoke in his youth. A young man denying himself, and taking up
his cross, is a noble spectacle. Jesus looked upon one who had
almost readied this point, and loved him. The beloved and loving
John said, "/.have written unto you, young men, because ye are
strong." The young men under twenty, in any community, consti-
tute a most important element in its social and moral forces.
Human life has been compared tO a river issuing from a mountain
spring, gushing forth from Tocks, falling into deep glens, and mean-
dering through wild and j icturesque regions, before it widens into
the broad stream. Caln\ in its flow, bearing upon its bosom the
stately vessel, and slrwly pursuing its majestic way to the sea.
The first part of its course, represents youth thundering and dash-
ing headlong over the rocks of temptation, and foaming in its folly ;
but, by and by, the stream will flow calmly along, within its
appointed channel.

What a glorious opportunity has the youth, before ho reaches
twenty years, to mark out his future. How kind or cruel he may
be to the old man, w^.om he expects to become. " Live as long as
you may," says Southey, "the first twenty years form the greater
part of your life." They appear so when they are passing ; they
seem to have been so when we look back to theni ; and they take
up more room in our memory, than all the years which succeed
them. Habits are then formed for life. The process of education,
especially in colleges, is a severe ordeal. It lias been said, that if
a young man can pass through it unscathed, he -s^-ill be safe for the
future. Religion alone, can keep him secure. "Wherewithal
shall a young man cleanse his way ? By taking heed thereto
according to thy word."

"Tliridi? liiippy hu whoai? downy age had been
Reclaimed by gcourges from tho prime of gin ; ,

And early seaioned witli tho taste of tnith,
Remember? his Creator in his youth."

^®^^<;^^^\^)^2^

Can'st thou rejoice— rejoice th.it time flies fast f
That night shall shadow soon tliy summer sunt

■ WHEN I BECAME jS MAU. I PUT A WA Y CHILDISH THINGS. "

1 Cor. 23 : 11.

HIS picture represents the period of life between the age
of twenty, and of thirty years. Not more than one half
of the human race live to pass through this period, and
during its continuance, death mows down rich harvest fields ere
their blossom has given place to ripening grain. The artist has
here symbolized the passions which in opening manhood are most
susceptible, and which need the guiding and restraining hand of
reason and religion. The character on the right represents Venus,
while Cupid's bow and arrows lie on the ground beneath. The
goat, worshiped by the heathen with abominable rites, also symbo-

ji LIFE STUDY.

li/i)H the lower animal nature wliich it is tlie noble ambition of a
gond man to subdue. At twenty, most young men have marked
out tlu'ir path, chosen their life -work, and are putting on their
iirnior for the grand struggle. Ere th^y r(>a(li thirty, many of
their li()i)i's will have been realized or blighted forever. The rash
ardor of youth baa subsided into the more steudy energy of man-
hood, and busiu8s3 relations are formed. Some, beginning ■with an
inherited fortune, become spendthrifts and end their days in poverty.
Others, trained toindustiy and virtue, press on in the race of life,
andwinthe prize of wealth and honor. Some listen to the syren
song of pleasure, and turn aside to drink the Civcean cup that
destroys their manhood, and changes them into brutes. Others,
taking the inspired Oracles as the " man of their counsel," walk in
wisdom's ways, apply themselves with industry to their calling,
cionduct their business with strict integrity and honor, seek to accu-
nmlate without nmking haste to be rich, and consecrate their gains
with themselves to the Loid. Now, also, i ae virtuous young man
seeks a companion to share his joys, and divide his sorrows. He
drinks waters out of his own cistern, and running waters out of
his own well. He rejoices with tlie wife of his youth, and together
they lay the foimdation, in prayer and faith at the family altar, of
future prosperity and happiness.

" What ia the world to there,
I;si 1 omp, its i)IeaBure, and its nonsense all.
Who in c:u:h othor clapp whatvvor fail
Tl\-ih fa icy forms, and lavish hearts can wish'
Truth, (goodness, lioiKir, harmony, and l)VO,
Tho richest bounty of indulgent Heaven."

.Young man, "Tliink of 'living.' Thy life, wert thou tho pitifulest
of all the sons of Earth, is no idle dream, but a solenm reality.
It is thy own ; it is all thou hast to front eternity with. Work then,
even as he has done, and does, 'like a star, unliasting, yet unresting.' "

^^^\\Mrmr-^

Fair time of calm resolve- of sober th ught !
Quiet half-way hostelrie on life's long road,
In which to rest and re-adjust our load I

•'THE RACE IS NOT TO THE SWIFT. NOR THE BATTLE TO
THE STRONG "—Eaal. 9: 11.

HE sun of life is now approaching its meridian. It is high,
hot noonday. See Avith what a large and brilliant flame
the taper burns. On the right is the astronomical sign
of the sun, the emblem of productive strength ; on the left, a SAvine,
denoting the low and groveling uses to whirV .. ri.ir may put him-
self, when he indulges in luxurious eating and drinking. The lyre
of Apollo rests against a tree, prepared for hia use, if he feels

A LIFE STUDY.

inspired to invoke the Muse. What a thrilling history is written
(luring this period of man's life ! He is now fairly launched on the
broad ocean. What storms assail him, what waves rise mountain
high around him. He is in the very whirlpool of business and
of politics. The prospect of wealth lies before him. Ambition
calls to liim from lofty hights. His children are growing up around
him, but he is too deeply immersed in worldly cares to think of
his responsibility to those whom God has given him to train for
immortality. He lives for himself, a sordid creature wrapped in
his own pleasures. "Thousands of men breathe, move, and live ;
pass off the stage of life, and are heard of no more. Why? They
do not partake of good in the world, and none were blessed by
them, none could point to them as the means of their redemption ;
not a line they wrote, not a word they spoke, could be recalled, and
so they perished." When a man assumes his place in the active,
busy, money-making world, let him think of God who gives men
power to get wealth, and, from a feeling of gratitude, and a sense
of religious obligation, cultivate the grace of benevolence. What
he gives to Christ and his poor he keeps forever ; what he hoards
he may lose to-morrow. Success in life depends, humanly speaking,
upon a man's own exertions ; but in a truer sense it is the gift of
God, and may be perverted to evil uses.

" 111 fares that land, to hastening Ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay."

The ruin of the state as well as of the individual is sure, when the
passions of men are all absorbed in objects so mean and selfish as
the accumulation of wealth and position, for the sake of the luxury
and sensual gratification they will afford. " If the heart does not
sanctify our wealth, we may rest assured that the wealth we obtain
will soon corrupt our affections." A rich man at forty, without
religion, without a sanctified hoart, without treasure in heaven, is in
a conditiou of moral peril j for " no man can serve two masters."

\^£)^^\.

TTe who hath never warred with misery,

Nor ever tugsjed with trouble or distresR,
Hath had no tune, norany elianco totry
The stronatli and forces of liis worthiness.

■FIGHT THE GOOD FIGHT OF FAITH, LAY HOL<D 017 ETERNAL
LIFE. ••—! Tim. S : J 5.

HE mere lapse of years is not life. "Tu oat, drink, and
sleep, to be exposed to darlcness and the light — to pace
ri)und in the mill of habit, and turn thought into an im-
plement of trade — this is not life." Life i.s a warfare, and cm-
enemies are numerous and strong. It is a desperate struggle, in
which no quarter can be asked or granted, but happy is the man
who gains the victory. The picture before us now is complicated,
but every stroke of the artist reveals a truth. Behold life's taper
more than half gone, yet see the efforts of its foes to extinguish it

If'

A LIFE STUDY.

boloro tho time. Tho blast of dangor bends the yielding flame, but
cannot put it out. On the right is tho sign of Mara, tho fierce god
of war ; on tho left a lion coavhuHi, the monarch of the beasts, while
a huge sword lies at tlio base of the urn.

These symbols teach various loshons. Man in his vigor and
prime, is prepared for danger and conflict. Passion is still strong
as in youth, only " in niaidiood the great deep flows on more calm,
but muro profound ; its serenity is proof of tho might and terror of
its course, were the wind to blow and the storm to rise." His
experience cpialifii's him to detect tho approach of danger, and tlu?
discipline ho has acquired enables him to copo with his enemies, the
greatest of which, with tho exception of tho Arch Foo of mankind,
is himself. If he has not gained the victory over himself at fifty,
it is probable that ho never Avill. Self-conquest is tho greatest of
all, antl nuikes other triumphs sure ; for ho that ruleth his own
spirit, is greater than he that taketh a city. Tho true Christian,
strong in the faith, is a warrior whom no foe can conquer. His
shield will turn every fiery dart, and the sword of tho Spirit has an
edge that no armor can resist. And now, at the age of fifty, it is
high time to gather some assurances of victory in tho good fight of
faith. Tho meridian of thy life is past. The summer is gone, and
the autumnal fruits are dropping from the tree.

" Timo di-ivotli onward fiict,
And in a little wliilo our lips are dumb.

What is it tliiit will hist »
A'\ things are taken from us, and become
Portions and ] arccls of tho dreadful Past.
All tilings liavo rrst, and ri' en toward tho gravo
In silence; ripen, fall, and cease."

" Look not mournfully into tlio past — it cannot return ; wisely
improve the presant — it is thine; go forth to meet the shadowy
future \vithout fear, and with a manly heart."

Leaves hnvo thetr timo to fall,

And flowers to wither i.t the Nor;h wliul's breath,

And Htars to set— hut all,

Thou hast all Boasoni for thine own, () deatli !

•ANQ \VK all OO PA'DF. as a LF.AF ■■-:.rxi2h64 .■ 6

SOW dimly burns tlio candle now sinco it lias felt the blasts
of life's approaching winter. And yet tlie envious se -pent
hisses at its feeble llame, and v.'ould poison the litle rem-
nant of that life which at first was forfeited through his subtle
malignity. The astronomical sign of Jupiter, the oljjeet of univer-
sal adoration among the heathen, indicates the duty of man, as his
days decline, to withdraw from the cares and strife of the world,
and give up his mind to religious contemplation. And what

A LIFE CTUDY

' M

^■^1

Bohimn thoughts now force thomsolvos upon hin attention. See
how short tho taper has bocomo. "Yet a littlo wliilo is the light
with you." Childhood with its eiinny liours is gone. Youth with
its buoyant hopes has given place to luanhood with its grave
realities, and now old ago is coming on apace. Tho animal and
nervous systems begin to lose their tone. Tho heart " tho first of
man tluit lives, and tho lust that dies," Bonds forth tlio blood with
less energy through the channels of circulation, and debiUty fol-
lows. Seo, death is shaking tho troe. The fruit has dropped oil",
and now ev(!n tho very loaves and twigs are falling under his rude
shocks, fcjoon tho tree itself will full. Uohold tho picture of man
in his decline. How fow realize the value of a happy old ago.
Not more than one-fourth of those born into tho Avorld over rtnich
it, but all who are spared to maturity should so regulate their lives
as not to form disagreeable habits which in ago will make them
miserable slaves. A holy life will ensure a peaceful death, and
God will never forsake his aged saints. They shall still bring forth
fruit. The almond tree shall flourish in lioly beauty.

" IIow puri!
The grace, tho gontleiinHS of virtuous ngc."

The aged Christian, *' a store-house of experience," stands ready
to impart his rich treasures. Happy are thoy who have the privi-
lege and the disposition to learn from such a teacher.

" Life Is not measured hy the time -we Hvc,
'Tls not nil even course of throe score yenr«."

Wliat have we done for God, for man, for ourselves, in treasturefi
laid up in heaven ?

" Our wasted tapernow has hrought her light

To tho next door to-night •,
Her sprlgh!lo8s flame, grown great with snuff, doth turn

Bad as her neighboring nrn ;
Her slender inch that yet unspent remains,

Lights but to further pains ;
And in a silent language, bids her gticst
rri'])are her weary limbs to talcu eternal rest."

"Niglittappeth gontly ntn cnscmont gleaming

Wi th the thin fireliglit, nickorlri'^ fuint nivl low;

By which a gray-hair'd man ia niouiiifiil Orcaming
O'er pIunHiircH gone — a» all life's plonsurt's go ;

Ni^lit call8 liim to lior— and ho Icavrs his duor,

Bilontand daik, and ho rtturns no more."

•'THE DAYS OF OUJi YEARS ARE THREE SCORE YEARJ Am T"N '

PaalmOO: 10.

jjT last the end is come. " And ho died," is -wi-itten of anto-
dihivians whose age reached nearly a thousand years.
"Death hath passed upon all men." Behold the taper
light in its last struggle for existence.

"That blazing taper, that disdained the puff
Of troubled air, scarce owns the name of Fi.uff.'

A bird is bringing fuel to food the expiring flame, wliilo opposite
we see the sign of Saturn, generally represented as an old man bent
with age and infirmity, holding a scythe in his right hand, with a

X in'

I''-!

A LIFE CTUDY.

i ''.a

';: ,.

.Morpont that bitos its own tail, an oinhlom of timo, and of tho re-
vulviuj^ your. Tho tsiin is Kinkiiij^ bohiiul tho hills, on which htaud
thu riiiiiu of nn old custlo. Tho drama of lii'u is about to close,
llowsolonm is tho approach of death. Wo ha\o iiuirkod tho dill'er-
enco in tho fihapo of tho uvn in tho Buceosisivo pictures. Thus man
changes from ouo period to another, us youth decays and manhood
ripons into tho feero and yellow louf, and at last his great change
comes, tho dissolving of liis earthly tabernacle. Tho death of the
body is not an event to bo dreaded by a child of God. It releases
liim from prison and from cxilo, and lets him fly to liis Father's
house. Death is tho rest of tho tired laborer when tho day is done
— tho sleep of tho weary watcher, Avhen relieved from exhausting
duty — tho harbor of tho b orm-tossed nuiriner, tho homo of tho long
absent traveler — the final strugglo in tho great warfare of victorious
life. "The sting of death is ein." But for this, death would
have no terrors. Thanks bo unto God fur tho cross of tho Iledeomer.
By bis death he hath delivered those who through feur of death
were all their lifetime subject to bondage. Tho Captain of our sal-
vation has conquered the last enemy, r.id leads his followers
triumphantly through tho dark dominions of their vanquished foe,
while they sing, *' O grave, where is thy victory ?"

"Sure tho JuKtend
• Oftlio good mnn Is peace. How calm his exit I

Niglit duws full not moru calmly on tlio ground,
Nor weary, worn-out winds expire ho soft."

We have viewed human life as a candle lighted by a divine torch.
We have seen it burn down to its socket and expire. Is this the
end ? If a man die shall h'' live again ? Is there no hand that
can the expired light relume ? Ah, yes, the spark of inmiortality
may seem to slumber in tho ashes of the grave, but it will burst
forth again in the glorious resurrection morning, and burn with
eternal splendor ; for "then shall the righteous shine forth as the
sun in the kingdom of their Father."

BUNYAM.
Ilisntur A I'viuMin.
|T woro impossiblo to gii/o ti^iun tho ryramuls, thoho vast
HopulfhrcH, wliich rise, from the Libyan dL'«ert,wilIu)ut
Bolonm fot'liiif^. They exist, but ■\vhcro aro tlifir buildt'rs V
In thoir nili-nt liojirt thoro is a eopulclire villi a liaiuU'ul of dust in
it, and that is all thatrouiaiua to us of a proud riue of kings.

Historios are tho pyramids of iiationa. They entomb in oldon
chrouiclo, or in dim tradition, pcoph-s vhich onco fired tho world
with thoir fame, men who stamped tho form and prossuro of their
character upon tho livea of thousands.

TlIU MYTUieAI. AND THK UkAL.

But although tho earlier times aro wrapt in a cloud of fidilo ;
though tradition, itself a myth, gropes into mythic darkness;
though iEneas and Agamemnon aro creations rather than men,
made human by the poet's "vision and faculty divine ;'' though
forgetfulness has overtaken netual heroes, once " content in arms
to cope, each with bis fronting foo;" it is interesting to observe how
rapid was tho transition from fablo to evidence, from tho uncertain
twilight to tho liistorio day. It was necessary that it should be bo.
"The fullr.oss of times," demanded it. There was an ever-acting
Divinity caring, through all change, for the sure wiu'king of his own
purpose. Tho legendary must bo superseded by tho real ; tradition
must givo placo to history, before the advent of tho Blessed One.
The cross must bo roared on tho loftiest platform, in the midst of
the ages, and in tho most inciuisitivo condition of tho human iidnd.
Tho deluge is an awful monument of God's disploasui'o against sin,
but it happened before there was history, save in tho Bible, and
hence there are those who gainsay it. Tho fall has impressed its
desolations upon the universal hc^art, but there are scoffers who
"contradict it against themselves." But the atonement has been
worked out with grandest publicity. Thero hangs over the cross

I f'^t'

A LIFE STUDY.

9 ' P

1 i ^ I l'

•■ :i^l;'

the largest cloud of witnesses. Swarthy Cyreiiiau, and proud son
of Rome, lettered Greek and jealous Jew, join hands around the
sacrifice of Christ — its body-guard as an historical fact — fencing it
about with most solemn authentications, and handing it to after
ages, a truth, as well as a life, for all time. In like manner wo
find that certain periods of the world — epoclis in its social pro-
gress — times of its emerging from chivalrio barbarism — times of
reconstruction or of revolution — times of groat energy or of nas-
cent life, seem, as by Divine arrangement, to stand forth in sharpest
outline ; long distinguishable after the records of other times have
faded. Such, besides the first age of Christianity, was the period
of the Crusades, of the Reformation, of the Puritans.

Times of Bunyax.
How much was crowded into the sixty years of Bunyau's
eventful life ! There were embraced in it the turbulent reign of
the first Charles, the Star-chamber, and the High Commission,
names of hate and shuddering ; Laud with his Papistry, and Straf-
ford with his scheme of Thorough ; the long intestine war ; Edge-
hill, and Naseby, and Marston, memories of sorrowful renown ;
a discrowned monarch, a royal trial, and a royal execution. He
saw all that was venerable and all that was novel changing places,
hke the scene-shifting of a drama; bluff cavaliers in seclusion and
in exile; douce burghers acting history, and molded into men.
Then followed the Protectorate of the many-sided and wondrous
Cromwell ; brief years of grandeur and of progress, during which
an Englishman became a power and a name. Then came the Res-
toration, with its reaction of excesses ; the absolution of courtiers
and courtezans ; the madness which seized upon the nation when
vampires like Gates and Dangerfield were gorged with perjury and
drunk wi^'h blood ; the Act of Uniformity, framed in true succession,
to take effect on St. Bartholomew's day, by which "atone fell
swoop," wore ejected two thousand ministers of Christ's holy

A LIU'S STUDY.

Gospel ; the Conventicle Act, two years later, which hounded the
ejected ones from the copse and from the glen. Then followed the
death of the dissolute king ; the accession of James, v.i once a dis-
sembler and a bigot ; the renewal of the struggle botweon prerog-
ative and freedom ; the wUd conspiracy of Monmouth ; the military
cruelties of Kirke and Claverhouse, the butchers of the army ; and
the judicial cruelties of Jeffreys; the martyrdoms of Elizabeth
Gaunt, and the gentle Alice Lisle ; the gloriou^ acquittal of the
seven bishops ; the final eclipse of the house of Stuart, that per-
fidious race, and England's last revolution.

And the men were there ; the wit, the poet, the divine, the
hero, as if genius had brought out her jewels, and furnished them
nobly for a nation's need. Then Pym and Hampden bearded
tyranny, and Russell and Sydney dreamed of freedom. Then
Blake secured the empire of ocean, and the chivalric Falkland
fought and fell. In those stirring times arose Charnock, aiid
Owen, and Howe, and Baxter, Cudworth, Henry, South, Pri-
deaux, Whitby, Sherlock, Tillotson, Stillingfleet, Boveridge, and
Milton — men who could set forth the majesty and beauty of Chris-
tianity with such justness of thought and such energy of language,
that the indolent Charles roused himself to listen, and the fastidious
Buckingham forgot to sneer.

In such an era, and with such men for his eotemporaries,
John Bunyan ran his course, "a burning and a shining light,"
kindled in a dark place, for the praise and glory of God.

Eaklt Life.

He was bom at Elstow, a village near Bedford, in the year
1628. Like many others of the Lord's heroes, he was of obscure
parentage. His youth was spent in excess of riot. At twenty he
married, receiving two books as his wife's only portion : " The
Pract'co of Piety," and " The Plain Man's Pathway to Heaven."

'' ^\^

Si i

'•fi..

4 LIFE STUDY.

i i'i

Conversion.
By the reading of these books, and by his -wife's converse and
example, the Holy Spirit first wrought upon his soul. He attemjjted
to curb his sinful propensities, and to work in himself an external
reformation. Ho formed a habit of church-going, and an attach-
ment almost idolatrous to the externalisms of religion. The priest
was to him as the Brahman to the Pariah ; he could have lain,
down at Ins feet to be trampled on. While thus under the thral-
dom which superstition imposes, he indulged all the license which
superstition claims. He continued a blasphemer and a Sabbath-
breaker, running to the same excess of riot as before. Then
followed in agonizing vicissitude a series of convictions and relapses.
He was arrested, now by the pungency of a powerful sermon, now
by the reproof of an abandoned woman, and anon by visions in
the night distinct and terrible. One by one, under the lashes of
the law, he relinquished his besetting sins : swearing. Sabbath-
breaking ; frt)m all these ho struggled sucessfiilly to free himself,
with his heart alienated fiom the life of God. New and brighter
light flashed upon his spirit from the conversation of some godly
women at Bedford, who spoke of the things of God and of kindred
hopes and yearnings. He was instructed more pei'fectly by "holy
Mr. Gifford," the Evangelist of his dream; and in "the Comment
on the Galatians," of brave old Martin Luther, he found the pho-
tograph of his own sinning and troubled soul. Temptations of
dark and fearful power assailed and possessed his soul. Then was
the time of that fell combat with ApoUyon, of the fiery darts and
hideous yells, of the lost sword and the rejoicing enemy. Then
also he passed, distracted and trembling, through the Valley of the
Shadow of Death, and a horror of great darkness fell upon him.
At length, by the blessed vision of Christ, the glad deliverance
came ; the clouds rolled away from liis heart and from his destiny ;
from this time his spiritual course was for the most part one of
comfort and peace.

A LIFE STUDY.

Ministry, and in Peison.

Bunyan became a member of the Baptist Church under Mr.
Gifford, and when that faithful witness ceased his earthly testimony,
he engaged in earnest exhortations to sinners, and was shortly
urged by the Spirit to the actual ministry of the Gospel. His min-
istry was heartfelt, and powerful, and greatly blessed of God.
In IGGO he was indicted ** as a common upholder of unlawful
meetings and conventicles," and by the strong hand of tyranny was
thrown into prison ; and though his wife pleaded so powerfully in
his favor as to move the pity of Sir Matthew Hale, beneath whoso
ermine throbbed a God-fearing heart hke that which boat beneath
the tinker's doublet, he was kept there for twelve long years.
There, in the day-time, is the heroine-wife, at once bracing and
soothing his spirit with her leal and womanly tenderness, and,
sitting at his feet, the child — a clasping tendril — blind, and therefore
best-beloved. There, on the table, is the "Book of Martyrs,"
with its records of the men who were the ancestors of his faith
and love. There, nearer to his hand, is the Bible, revealing that
secret source of strength w^hich empowered each manly heart.
Within him the good conscience bears him bravely up.

And now it is nightfall. The blind child receives the fatherly
benediction. The last good night is said to the dear ones, and
Bunyan is alone. His pen is in his hand, and his Bible on the
table. There is fire in his eye, and there is passion in his soul.
There is beating over him a storm of inspiration. Great thoughts
are striking on his brain. Cloudy and shapeless in their earliest
rise within his iiiind, they darken into the gigantic, or brighten
into the beautiful, until at length he flings them into bold and
burning words. He is in tlie palace Beautiful, with its sights of
renown and songs of melody, and with its windows opening for
the first kiss of the sun. Chainless and swift, he has soared to the
Delectable Mountains ; the light of heaven is around him.

ill

A LIFE STUDY.

i m

-m

As A Wkitku.

As a contributor to theological literature he is a worthy asso-
ciate of the brightest Puritan divines. His terse, epigrammatic
aphorisms, his array of "picked and packed words," the clearness
with which ho enunciates, and the power with which he applies
the truth, his intense and burning earnestness, the warm soul that
ia seen beating in benevolent heart-throbs, through the transparent
page, his vivacious humor, flashing out from the main body of his
argument, like lightning from a summer sky, his deep spirituality,
chastening au imagination ; all these combine to claim for him a
high place among that band of masculine thinkers, who were the
glory of tho Commonwealth, and whose words, weighty in their
original utterance, are sounds which echo still. No man since the
days of the Apostles has done more to draw the attention of the
world to the matters of supremest value, nor painted the beauty of
holiness in more alluring colors, nor spoken to the universal heart
in tenderer sympathy, or with more thrilling tone. In how many
readers of the truthful " Grace Abounding," has there been the
answer of the heart to the history. " The Jerusalem Sinner Saved,"
has been as "yonder shining light," which has led through the
wicket gate, to the blessed spot " where was a cross with a sepulchre
hard by," and at the sight of that cross the burden has fallen off,
and the roll has been secured, and jubilant, and sealed, and shining,
they have gone on to victory and heaven.

The " Pilgrim's Progress," seizes us in childhood with the
strong hand of its power, our manhood surrenders to the spell, and
its grasp upon us relaxes not when " mingles the brown of life
with sober gray ;" nay, is often strongest amid tho weariness of
waning years. There never was a poem which so thoroughly took
possession of our hearts, and hurried them along upon the stream
of the story. We have an identity of interest with the hero in all
his doubts and dangers. We start with him on pilgrimage ; we

A LIFE STUDY

speed with him to the Gate ; we climb the difficult hill ; wo gird
ourselves for the combat with ApoUyon ; it curdles at the heart
again, amid the " hydras and chimeras dire," of the Valley of the
Shadow of Depth; we look with him upon the scoffing multitude
from the cage of the town of Vanity ; we now lie, listless and sad,
and now flee, fleet and happy, from the cell in' Doubting Castle,
and pass through every scene ghastly or joyful till we walk with
him amid the pleasantness of Beulah; we ford the river in his com-
pany; we hear the joy-bells ringing in the city of habitations;
we greet the angels ; and it is to us as the gasp of agony when
we wake, and, behold, it is a dream. The "Pilgrim's Pro-
gress," was written without thought of others. One of the
most conclusive proofs of the popularity of this wonderful allegory,
is to be found in the versions into which it has been rendered, and
in the imitations to which it has given rise ; there are forty treatises,
mostly allegorical, whose authors have evidently gathered their
inspiration from Bunyan. It has been done into an oratorio for
play -goers; done into verse for rhymsters; done into elegant
English for drawing rooms ; done into catechisms for the use of
schools. It has been quoted in novels ; quoted in sermons ; quoted
in Parliament and Congress ; quoted in plays ; mutilated or
stretched, as it exceeded or fell short of their standard.

There has been a Popish edition, with Giant Pope left
out There has been a Socinian parody, describing tjie triumph-
ant voyage, through hell to heaven, of a Captain Single-eye and
his Unitarian crew ; and last, not least note-worthy, there has been
a Tractarian travesty, in which the editor digs a cleansing well at
the wicket-gate, omits Mr. Worldly Wiseman, ignores the town of
Legality, makes no mention of Mount Sinai, changes the situation
of the cross, gives to poor Christian a double burden, transforms
Giant Pope into Giant Mohammedan, Mr. Superstition into Mr.
Self-indulgence, and alters, with careful coquetry toward Rome,

every expression which might be distasteful to the Holy Mother.

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A LIFE STUDY.

PiT,anTM'.s rnoGnras amono oinTin Natioxs.

No book but God's own has been so honored to lift up the cross
among the far-oflf nations of mankind. The Italian has read it
under the shadow of the Vatican, and the modern Greek amid the
ruins of Athens. It has blessed the Armenian trafficer, and it has
calmed the fierce Malay ; it has been carried up the far rivers of
Burmah ; and it liaa drawn tears from dark eyes in the cinnamon
gardens of Ceylon. It has been as the Elim of palms and
fountains to the Arab wayfarer ; it has nerved the Malagasy for a
Faithful's martyrdom, or for trial of cruel mockings, and tortures
more intolerable than death. The Hindoo has yielded to its spell
by Gunga's sacred stream; and, crowning triumph! Hebrews
have read it on the slopes of Olivet, or on the banks of Kedron,
and the tender-hearted daughters of Salem, descendants of those
who Avept for the sufferings of Jesus, have " wept over it," " for
themselves and for their children."

An Earnest Bible Student.

There is no feature more noticeable in Bunyan's cliaracter,
than the devout earnestness with which he studied the Divine
Word ; when a restless Avanderer after rest, the Bible was precious
to him, and after his deliverance, it Avas his congenial life-work to
exalt its honor, and to proclaim its truths.

As A Preachek.

Bunyan had a high reputation. Sympathy, earnestness, and
power, Avere the great characteristics of his ministry. He preached
what he felt. At first, himself in chains, he thundered out the
terrors of the law ; then happy in behoving, he proclaimed sal-
vation, and the unparalleled blessedness of life by Christ. Instances
of conversion were frequent — many churches were founded by his
labors. Dr. Owen assured King Charles that for Bunyan's ability
he would gladly barter his own stores of learning ; and m his visit
to London, twelve hundred people would gather at seven in the

morning of a winter's working day, to hear him.

1'*;;:

jIEW things are pleasanter and more profitablo than tho
study of John Bunyan's minor allegories. lie had a
great deal of natural humour, and a child's simplicity
and frankness in the indulgence of it, with a keen but good
natured and benevolent satire, and a child's fondness for surprises,
puzzles, and plays. Sometimes, beginning a by-lauo of thought
and fancy, to please himself in giving way to his passion for tracing
similitudes, lie discovered that some useful lesson might be drawn
out for others, by putting his ideas into serviceable shape, sometimes
for grown people, sometimes for little children ; but as it often
happens, the things intended for children prove sweetly attractive
to older persons, leading them insensibly back to the simplicity
and wonder of a child's heart, and making them realize the opening

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A LIFE STUDY.

lines of Henry Vaughn's Eetreate, a poem written while Bun-
yan was passing through the processes of the furnace and the
prison, to prepare lum for writing the Pilgrim's Progress.

Happy thoBO early days ■when I,

Shincd in my angul infancy I

Before I understood thlH place

Appointed for my Hccond race,

Or taught my soul to fancy nught.

But a white celestial thought;

While yet I had not walked above

A mile or two from my first love,

Aud looking hack at that fhort space,

Could sec a glimpse of his bright luce,

"When on some gilded cloud or flower, '

My gazing soul would dwell an hour.

And in those weakei glories spy.

Some shadows of Eternity.

Bunyan's childhood was not so happy in external circumstances
and associations, that he could look back upon it as an angel-infancy,
but he remembered the time when he was comparatively innocent,
and afterward, when he had contracted the habit of profane
swearing, and it clung to him as a collar of steel, he used to
exclaim, " Oh ! that I could be a child agpin, that I might grow up
without that dreadful habit of swearing !" So, in Henry Vaughn's
story —

Happy those early days of anp;-i-infancy,

Before I taught my tongue to wound

My conscience with a sinful sound,

Or had the black art to dispense

A several sin to every sense,

But felt through all this fleshly dress.

Bright shoots of everlastingness.

Those were " white celestial thoughts," that like angels drew
Bunyan "with their loveliness, while he was reviewing some of the

■4 LIFE S'lUDY. 7

passages of his lifo to make a record of God's dealings with him;
drew him on insensibly into the sweet windings of the Pilgrimage
by the River of Lifo. And those wore '* white celestial thoughts,"
that Uke the Shining Ones at the Cross, apparelled Banyan's genius,
when he traced minor analogies between nature and the Scriptures,
and drew lessons from trees and stones, and bits of landscape,
from birds and blossoms, from spiders, toads, and moles, flies and
candle-snuffs. IIo apologized for the rudeness and commonness of
his thonios, and his nmnner of treating them. Tho graver and
more composed of his readers, he said ho would bo catchingwith
bettor tilings than toys, but meanwhile he would fill up somo
snat(;hcs of time, by thus catching girls and boys. This was tho
object of the littlo book ontitk'd ''Divine Emblems, or Temporal
Things Spiritualizcid." He regai'ded these as the shavings of his
shop, or as tho Avhistles that a cunning workman might turn off for
a group of children at intervals, while resting from a great and
steady work in hand.

Paul himself seemed to play the fool that ho might gain those
that were fools indeed, in acting out the madness of losing their
souls by sin and thoughtless vanity. He would become all
things to all men, if by any means he might save somo. So would
Bunyan imitate his example, in a generation of tho world fit to be
covered with one great fool's-cap, or kept in ward in Bedlam. Ho
seemed to see nothing but grown people with childish follies, no
wisdom, nor worth, nor any immortal lesson gained or learned,
nothing of the experience of age but beards and wrinkles, bearded
men acting like beardless boys, chasing the frantic fooleries of the
earth. And while great and wise ministers, with word and pen,
were shooting thunders at them as wide of the mark, or as far
above it, as if one should point a columbiad to shoot a butterfly,
or a humming bird, or a musquito, he would entico them by their

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A LIFE STUDY

playthings, to raise their thoughts to heaven, he would go upon
his hands and knees :

Mikkliig cxperimeiit
Of xmalloBt tliliii;H groat mlBchicf lo | rovunt.
To nlioot too lil^li (loth mukn but children kiizc,
'Tig that which hits thu roan, doth him ninuzc

Banyan's aim was to hit men's consciences ; and if thoy shunned
and despised a saint, ho would play the worldling ; nay more —

Wliorcforo, dear ruador, Hint I nave ihcm ni:iy,
I now with them ll\i! very devil play.

and since they despise gravity, thinking it nothing but moroseness
or hypocrisy, ho would cast his own beard behind a bush, put on a
^\■ag's mask, and like a fool, play with their toys to gain their atten-
tion.

The rhymes are rude, but the language is pure, the emblems
are suggestive, and tho thoughts sacred, instructive, sanctifying.
There are snatches of feeling and melody here and there, both in
Bunyan's prose and poetry, worthy the genius of Shakspearo.
Bunyan never referred to Shakspeare, nor indeed to Spenser, in'
any of his writings, and for many years knew nothing of literature
either profane or sacred, but his Bible and tho Concordance, together
with Fox's Book of Martyrs, and the Plain Man's Pathway to
Heaven, and The Practice of Piety. But, at a later period of
his life, it is curious and interesting to find hhn quoting one of the
devout poets of his age, George Herbert, just as a religious writer
of this day might quote Cowper. He brings the opening of Her-
bert's Temple, the very first stanza in " The Church Porch," to
justify his own poetical playing with Emblems.

"If what tho learned Ilerber. Bays IioMh true,
A verse may find him who a sermon fliefl,
And turn delight into a sacrifice."

A LIFE STUDY

Hearken then to a .versifier who would nmko ti bait of plnasiiro,
and niuy rhynio thee to good. If luon of genius and leisure
would givo thenisolves to a like task, it would bo delightful and
profitable to themselves and to others. So Bunyan arguos, and
introduces his pootioal fancies with great humility. They wore
composed, ho says, only for diversion's sake, and y»'t, lioping some
soul may reap benefit thereby, ho ventures to publish them, bi'ing ^
himself neither poet nor poet's son ; but only a mechanic, led by no
rule or knowledge, but what was gained in his minority in a gram-
mar school.

Bunyan might have been acquainted with the poetry t)f Wither
and Qunrles, as well as with that of Herbert, lie may have seen
Wither'a " Collection of Emblems, Ancient and Modern, tinctured
with Metrical Illustrations," just published in 1(585. Wither
wrote in prison, as well as Bunyan, and was afterward ono of Crom-
well's army officers, about tho same timo Avhcn Bunyan was a pri-
vate soldier, in the Parliamentary Army, at the siogo of Ijcicester-
Bunyan may have met the Poet under arms. But wliether ho
knew him and Quarles, or not, or Herbert, or neither, there was in
all a sympathy and magnetism of tho same genius, awakened in
Bunyan- almost exclusively by the Work of the Holy Spirit, with
the Divino Word in his heart, but turning every incident and
object of life and nature, into lessons of thoughtfulness and beauty.
Bunyan's Prison Meditations and Wither's Address to his muse in
prison may be compared, that one may note tho superiority of piety
and genius above all circumstance, and how " stono walls do not a
prison make nor iron ba^-^ a cage."

"Slio doth tell iim where to borrow

Comf jrt in tho miJBt of sorrow ;

M:ikog tho desoliUcst place,

To her presenco bo a grace ;
And the blackout discontents
Be her fairest ornaments,
In my former days of bliss,

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A LIFE STUDY.

Tier (llvlnn nkllt tnught mc thin,
Thnt from ovury thlnu I iaw,
I could Homo invention draw ;
And r.iUu ploaiuro to her hol«ht,
Through tho nicancHt object's sight,
By iho murmur of a spring,
Or tho luaRt bougliV ruRt'lIng
By a daisy whoso leaves spread.
Shut when Titan goes to bod,
On a shady bush or tree,
She could more Infuse In mo
• Than all Nature's beauties can.

In some other wl8<'r man.
By her help I uIno now
Make thin churlish place allow.
Some things that may sweeten gladness.
In tho very gall of sadness."

From these sweet strains of true poetry, to the description of
Bunyan's prison experience, the change may be rude in form, but
it is grand in thought and feeling, and both utterances are the
carol of a poet's soul. In Bunyan, the saint is u- ^rmost ; it is
the Spirit of God that kindles his fire, and giv ngs to his

genius, and freedom and joy in the prison.

" For though men keep my outward man

Within their bolts and bars,
Yet by tho faith of Christ I can

Mi)unt higher than tho stars.
The prison very sweet to mo

Iluth been since I came here,
And so would also hanging be.

If God would then appear.
Hero dwellsgood conscience, also peace.

Here be my garments ■white.
Hero though in bonds I have release.

From guilt which else would bite."

" When they so talk of banishment.
Of death and such like things,
Then to me God sends heart's content,
That like a fountain springs,

A LIFE STUDY.

'Tli not thu baionoM of tlilx iitate

Cun lildo u« from Uod'i fiici' ;
Ho frequently butli Noon and la'o

Doth visit til wltli Kriipo.
Ood )>nmotlmL'H vUitN ptliun* more

That) lordly pnlikrcH;
Ho often hiiltutli iit our door,
WliuQ he their liouHe doth inU*,"

"The truth and life, of heavenly things,

Tiirt u)) our liL'itrtB on h:i(h,'
And carry an on eagles' wings,

Heyond carnall y. '

Wo cliongo our drossy dUHt for gold,

From death to llfo we fly ;
Wo lot K(> shadows ond tukc hold

Of Immortality."

Know then true valour there doth dwell.

Where men engage for Ood ;
Against the devil, death, and liell,

And bear the wicked's rod.
These bo the men that Ood doth count,

Of high und noble m nd ;
These bo the men th .t do surmount

What you in nutuie find.
First thej' do conquer their own hearts.

All worldly fears, nnd then
Also tlio devil's flory d^irts,

And persecuting men.
They conquer when they thus do fall

They kill when they do die,
They overcome then most of all
And get the victory."

If Wither's lines are the most refined and melodious, Bunyan's
are filled with the grandest thought. The expression of hi.s feeling
was never imaginary nor exaggerated ; but very ftnv men then
living, whether in prison or out of it, could sincerely say, that even
hanging would be sweet, if God would appear in it. Yet this is
true christian experience.

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A LIFE STUDY.

lf!!i;i

" Tiiy (shining grao : i an chcpr,
Tlio prisDH ■wlicif I dwell;
'Tis Pariiditie if Thou art licro,
If Thou depart, 'tis liull."

An unusual combination of common sense as "well as piety, with
imagination and invention, is to be noted in Banyan. The basis
of all his intellectual effort was the Scriptnves ; next to this the
facts of liis own experience ; and then the working of them up by
a vivid imagination, along with the invention of such emblems or
allegories, as would most accurately and completely set them forth.
It ia marvellous to see an inventive ivU'l fervid genius, with sucli
a passion for allegories, holding so fast to the letter and spirit of
the Word of God.

This indeed was Bunyan's wisdom and strength. lie held fast
to the letter, just because ho was so filled with the Spirit. His
love of the Bible, and his ingenuity, in suggesting or discovering
pcjssible and hidden meanings, are seen in his work on Solomon's
Temple Spiritualized, where in threescore And ten particulars, ho
shows the gospel signiiicancc and glory of the worship of God, by
the fathers, and liow God shut up the Jewish Church in types
figures, and similitudes, throng', which it is our privilege to look
directly into the face of Christ. His whole genius and life were
occupied with illustrating and obeying what he found in the written
word. " I dare not presume to say," said he, ** that I know I have
hit right in everything, but this I can say, I have endeavoured so
to do. I have not for these things fished in other men's waters.
My Bible and Concordance are my only library, in my writings."

OHN BUNYAN opens his little Book of Emblems, as
John the Baptist did his ministry, with the wood-cutter
standing at the foot of the tree. The axe is laid at the
root, in John's ministry, and the warning is, that it will l)o speedily
used to cut down the tree, if fruit do not appear in season, after
the warning to escape the condemnation of barrenness. God waits
to be gracious ; but his Spirit will not always strive, and there
must be a limit to his long-suffering.

The great question as to a living tree is, first of all, its growth
from the root — growth or no growth ; :iext, fruit or no fruit.
Growth is a proof of life ; fruit the perfection and object of life.
The perfection of a shade tree is, its foliage ; of a fruit tree, its
fruit. When Christ Jesus came into the world, ho came first of all

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unto his own nation — seeking fruit of the Jew first, and also of the
Gentile. Then was the axe laid at the root of all the trees. Then
did the goodness of God invite all men to repentance ; that, believ-
ing in Jesus, and grafted into him by grace divine, they might
become trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he
might be glorified. They that by faith obeyed the truth, and by
patient continuance iu well-doing, proved that they were fruit-
bearing trees, showing their faith by their fruits, had their fruit
unto holiness, and the end everlasting life.

But because the kingdom of heaven is at hand, and the oppor-
tunity of salvation is given, and the Lord Jesus stands and says,
*' Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden," and men
are warned to flee from the wrath to come, and to bring forth fruits
meet for repentance, therefore every tree, which bringeth not forth
good fruit, is hewn down, and cast into the fire. It is the season
of men's gracious visitation, and cannot be disregarded with impu-
nity. It is the season for the formation of character and destiny
for eternity ; and both character and destiny are manifested and
determined by fruit ; fruit or no fruit — good or evil.

Fruit for God, for Christ — the fruit of faith, gratitude, love —
the fruit of a loving, believing, penitent heart — is the great crisis
and question of a man's eternal destiny. The first question is,
Fruit or no fruit. The appearance of fruit — even a little, ever so
little — if it be true fruit, proves a child of God. God's grace has
certainly been there ; Christ's love has certainly been there ; the
life-giving Word and Spirit have been working there. The next
question is. How much fruit ? " Herein is my Father glorified,
that ye bear vmch fruit ; so shall ye be my disciples. Every branch
in me that bringeth forth fruit, he purgeth it, that it may bring
forth more fruit." He, my Father, the Husbandman, by whoso
order the axe is laid at the root of all the trees. Every branch in
me that beareth not fruit, he taketh away. He striketh with tho

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A L1F2 STUDY.

19,
80

has

the

fied,

inch

ring

ipse

axe, after the warning. If the blow of the Word is disregarded,
then the axe follows ; but for a long time, of the Divine patience,
the axe lieth still, while the Word speaketh with warning upon
.yarning. It is not with God, a word and a blow, as it often is with
men; but God's long-suffering and forbearance are great and
wonderful, and ho waits to bo gracious, and conies again, and
again, and a^ain, with the anxious, loving inquiry for fruit. Is
there no fruit ? How shall I give thee up ? How shall I make
thee as Admah, and reUnquish thee to the burning ? How often
would I have gathered fruit from thee, but thou would'st not !

Sometimes God, with loving, patient care, and tenderness, cuts
with the knife, before ho strikes with the axe ; cuts that he may
not be compelled to strike. He cuts the wood to the heart, and he
prunes the branches, that ho may not have to cut the tree down.
Every form of discipUne, but that of the axe, is used first, for
everything but this may accompany salvation. But the axe is
fatal. It is all over with the soul, and there is no more hope, nor
possibiHty of o-uit, or life, when it is severed from the root — from
the Saviour. For the earth, which drinketh in the rain which
cometh oft upon it, and bringeth forth herbs meet for them by
whom it is dressed, receiveth blessing from God ; but that which
beareth thorns and briars is rejected, and is nigh unto cursing,
whose end is to be bximed.

tp til

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The Sinxeb and the Spider.

I-

SINNER.

[HAT black, what ugly crawling thing art thou ?

'• SPIDER.

I am a spider

SINNER.

A spider, ay : truly a filthy creature.

SPIDER.

Not filthy as thyself in name or feature :

My name entailed is to my creation

My features from the God of thy salvation.

SINNER.

I am a man, and in God's image made,
I have a soul shall neither die nor fade ;
God has possessed me with human reason,
Speak not against me, lest thou speakest treason ;
For if I am the image of my Maker,
Of slander laid on me He is partaker.

I know tliou art a creature far above me.

Therefore I siiun, I fear, and aI^^o love thee.

But though thy God hath made thoe such a creature,

Thou hast against Him often played tlie traitor.

Thy sin has fetched thee down : leave off to boa^t ;

Nature tliou hast defiled, God's image lost,

Yea, thou thyself a very beast hast made,

And art become like grass, which soon doth fade.

Thy soul, thy reason, yea, thy spotless state.

Sin has subjected to th' most dreadful fate

But I retain my primitive condition,

I've all but what I lost by thy ambition.

SINNEB.

Thou venom'd thing, I know not what to caK thee ;
The dregs of nature surely did befall thee ;
Thou was't composed o' th' dross and scum of all,
Men hate thee, and, in scorn, thee Spider call.

SPIDER.

My venom's good for something, since God made it ;
Thy nature sin hath spoUed, and doth degrade it.
Thou art despoUed of good : and though I fear thee,
I will not, though I might, despise and jeer thee.
Thou say'st I am the very dregs of nature,
Thy sin's the spawn of devils, 'tis no creature.

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Thou say'st man hates mo 'cause I am a spider.

Poor mau, thou at thy God art a derider ;

My venom tendeth to my preservation ;

Thy pleasing follies work out thy damnation.

Poor man, I keep the rules of my creation,

Thy sin has cast thee headlong from thy station.

I hurt nobody Avillingly ; but thou

Art a 8elf-murderer< thou know'st not how

To do what's good ; no, for thou lovest evil

Thou fly'st God's law, adherest to the devil.

SINNER.

Thou ill-shaped thing, there's an antipathy
'Twixt man and spiders, 'tis in vain to lie ;
Stand off, I hate thee— if thou dost come nigh me,
I'll crush thee with my foot ; I do defy thee.

SriDEK.

They are ill-shaped who warped are \,y sin,

Hatred in thee to God hath long time been ;

No marvel then indeed, if me His creature,

Thou dost defy, pretending name and feature.

But why stand off? My presence shall not throng thee,

'Tis not my venom, but thy sin doth wrong thee.

Come, I will teach thee wisdom, do but hear me,

I was made for thy profit, do not fear me.

But if thy God thou will not hearken to, •

What can the swallow, ant, and spider do ?

Yet will I speak, I can but be rejected,

Sometiaies great things by small means are effected.

Hark, then, though man is noble by creation.

He's lapsed now to such degeneration

As not to grieve, so careless is he grown.

Though he himself has sadly overthrown,

A LIFE STUDY.

And brought to bondage every earthly thing,
Ev'n from the very spider to the king :

This we poor sensitives do feel and see ;

For subject to the curse you made us be.

Tread not upon me, neither from me go ;

'Tis man who has brought all the world to woe.

The law of my creation bids me teach thee ;

I will nut for thy pride to God impeach thee.

I spin, I weave, and all to let thee see

Thy best performances but cobwebs be.

Thy glory now is brought to such an ebb,

It doth not much excel the spider's web.

My webs becoming snares aud traps for flies,

Do set the wiles of hell before thine eyes ;

Their tangling nature is to let thee see

Thy sins, too, of a tangling nature be ;
My den, or hole, for that 'tis bottomless,
Doth of damnation shew the lastingness.
My lying quiet till the fly is catch'd.
Shews secretly hell hath thy ruin hatch'd.
In that I on her seize, when she is taken,
I shew who gathers, whom God hath forsaken.
The fly lies buzzing in my web, to tell
How sinners always roar anddiowl in hell.
Now since I shew thee all these mysteries,
How can'st thou hate me, or me scandalize ?

SINNER.

Well, well, I will no more bo a derider,

I did not look for such things from a spider.

SPIDER.

Come, hold thy peace, what I have yet to say,
If heeded, may help thee another day.

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A LIFE STUDY

fl^'

) • 1

Since I an ugly ven'mous creature be,

There's some resemblance twixt vile man and me.

My wild and heedless runnings are like those

Whose ways to ruin do their souls expose.

Daylight is not my time, I work i' tli' night,

To shew they are like me who hate the light.

The maid sweeps one web down, I make another,

To shew how heedless ones convictions smother.

My wtib is no defence at all to mo.

Nor will I'also hopes at judgment be to theo.

SINNER.

spider I have lieard thee, and do wonder

A spider should thus lighten and thus thunder I

SPIDER.

Do but hold still, and I will let thee see,
Yet in my ways more mysteries there be.
Shall not I do thee good, if I thoo tell,

1 shew to thee a four-fold way to hell ?
For since I set my web in sundry places,
I shew men go to hell in divers traces.
One I set in the window, that I might
Shew some go down to liell with gospel-light.
One I set in a corner, as you see,

To shew how some in Secret snared bo.
Gi'oss webs great store I set in darksome places,
To shew how many sin with brazen faces.
Another web I set aloft on high.
To shew there's some professing men must die.
Thus in my ways, God's wisdom doth conceal ;
And by my ways that wisdom doth reveal.
Hiide myself when I for flies do wait,
So doth the devil Avhen he lays his bait ;

A LIFE STUDY.

If I do fear the losing of my prey,

I stir me, and more snares upon her lay.

This way, and that, her wings and legs 1 tie,

That sure as she is catch'd, so she must die.

But if I see she's Hko to get away,

Then with my venom I her journey stay.

All which my ways the devil imitates,

To catch men, 'cause he their salvation hates.

SINNEH.

spider, thou delight'st mo with thy skill,

1 pr'ytheo spit this venom at me still.

SPIDEK.

I am a spider, yet I can possess

The palace of a king, where happiness

So much abounds. Nor when I do go thither.

Do they ask what, or whence I come, or whither

I make my hasty travels; no, not they :

They let me pass, and I go on my way.

I seize the palace, do Avith hands take hold

Of doors, of locks, or bolts; yet I am bold.

When in, to clamber up unto the throne,

And to possess it, as if 'twere my own.

Nor is there any law forbidding me

Here to abide, or in this palace be.

At pleasure I ascend the highest stories.

And there I sit, and so behold the glories

Myself is compassed with, as if I were

One of the chiefest courtiers that bo there.

Here lords and ladies do come round about me,

With grave demeanor, nor do any flout me

For this my brave adventure, no not they ;

They come, they go, but leave me there to stay.

A LIFE STUDY.

Now my reproacher, I do by all this

Shew how thou may'et possess thyself of bliss :

Thou art worse than a spider, but take hold

Oil Christ the door, thou shalt not be controU'd :

By Him do thou the heavenly palace enter ;

None e'er will chide thee for thy brave adventure.

Approach thou then unto the very throne.

There speak thy mind ; fear not, the day's thine own.

Nor saint, nor angel, will thee stop or stay.

But rather tumble blocks out of the way.

My venom stops not me ; let not thy vice

Stop thee ; possess thyself of paradise.

Go on, I say, although thou be a sinner,

liOarn to be bold in faith, of me a spinner.

This is the way true glories to possess,

And to enjoy what no man can express.

Sometimes I find the palace-door up-lock'd.

And so my entrance thither has up-block'd.

But am I daunted ? No, I here and there

Do feel and search ; and so if anywhere,

At any chink or crevice find my way,

I crowd, I press for passage, make no stay :

And so through difiiculty I attain

The palace, yea, the throne, where princes reign.

I crowd sometimes as if I'd burst in sunder ;

And art thou crush'd with striving, do not wonder.

Some scarce get in, and yet indeed they enter :

Knock, for they nothing have that nothing venture.

Nor Avill the king himself throw dirt on thee.

As thou hast cast reproaches upon me.

He will not hate thee, thou foul backslider:

As thou did'st me, because I am a spider.

A LIFE STUDY.

Now, to conclude : since I much doctrine bring,
Slight mo no more, call mo not ugly thing ;
God wisdom hath unto tho pismire given.
And spiders may teach men the way to heaven.

SINNEB.

Well, my good spider, I my errors see,

I was a fool for railing so at thee.

Thy nature, venom, and thy fearful hue.

But shew what sinners are, and what they do.

Thy way and works do also darkly tell,

How some men go to heaven and some to hell.

Thou art my monitor, I am a fool ;

They may learn, that to spiders go to school.

I..;-. II

■4— sA

Mir^i^^^^j

TuE Sun of Righteousness.

But all tills wlillo, whore's he whouc Koldcn rnys
Urlvc'B night nwny, ami bcautlflcH our flnysl
Wlicru's ho whoNu Koodly fnco doth warm and hca',
And Bhow8 us what the darkHoine nli{lit8 roiiceal ?
Where's ho that thawa our Ice, drives cold away I
Let's have him, or wo care not for the day.
Thus 'tis with those who nro voni^fHHcd of grace,
There's nought to them llko tli ir Uiileemer's face.

I HIS is forever the language of true, deep, genuine Cliristiaii
experience. It has Christ and his love for its centre, end,
and aim. Its happiness is in him, in the sense and
enjoyment of his presence, the light of his countenance, the sight
and interjiretation of his glory. The heart filled with his light and
love, needs no other happiness. He is the soul's all in all.

Whrn he reveals his face.
My da» Ding is begun ;
lie is my soul's sweet morning Star,
And ho my rising Sun.
Tlie o ening heavens around me shine

Witli beams of saered bliss,
When Jesus shows Ids heart is mine,
And whispers I am his.

fi LIFE aTUDY

ii !N

Runyan, Baxter, Cowpor, Braiimrd, Payson, and all eminent
saints* of every agt*, have had the Bamo experience ; precisely the
same as to ita source, object, and nature, ami varying only in
dinictnosH, continuance, intensity. The expected and desired
heavtiii of the beliovor, is always that region or abode where Christ
nianitbsts his glory, and gathers his people to the perfect enjoyment
of liis love. There is no need either of the sun or the moon to
lighten that city, for the glory of God doth lighten it, and tlie Lamb
is the light thereof. None but a divine Being, none but God the
liodeomor, could thus bo the centre of the minds, the hearts, the
love, the adoration, the worship, the blessed life, of all created in-
telligences; for he is before all things, and by him all things con-
sist, and he is the Head over all things to the Church, which is liis
body, the fulness of Ilim that filleth all in all.

As the hart panteth after the water brook, so panteth my soul
after thee, God! My soul thirsteth for God, my heart and my
flesh crieth out for the living God. When shall I come and appear
before God ? My tears have been my moat day and night, while
they say unto me. Where is thy God ? My soul fainteth for thy
salvation, but I hope in thy word. Wherever there is this desire,
God's Spirit has produced it. Where there is this smoke ever; this
fainting and these tears, God's Spirit is setting God's fire. The first
indication of it may be a very little glimmering, only enough to
hope for a flame, or to show that a fire is possible.

One of the most precious fruits and results of this longing of
the soul after God, this panting for his salvation, is this, namely,
that it strips the soul of all self-delusion, and makes you see your-
self somewhat as God sees *you, lays you low before God, makes
you penitent and contrite, fills you with abhorrence of sin, makes
you watchful against sin, and causes you continually to be crying
out for God's mercy. A very little hope in this way, is better than
a veiy large hope any other way. A little that a righteous man

'1 1^

I li

A LIFE STUDY

:il l'

hath, is better than the riches of many wicked. Be mine, the coui-
Ibrts that reclaim the soul Irom Satan's power ! Be mine, the hope
that redeems me from myself, and throws me upon God, my
Saviour.

How beautiful, how affecting, how encouraging, is the descrip-
tiou of the panting for (iod's salvation, in the experience of the
sorrowful yet happy soul of David Brainard ! " God," says he on uue
occabion, "is unspeakably gracious to me continually. In times paht,
he has given me inexpressible delight in the performane of duty,
but too frequently my soul has been ready to say. Lord, it is good
to be here ; and so to indulge sloth, while I have Uved on my frames
and feelings ; of late, however, God has been pleased to keep my
soul hungry almost continually, so that I have been filled with a
kind of pleasing pain. When I really enjoy God, I feel my desires
after him the more insatiable, and my thirstings after holiness the
more unquenchable; and the Lord will not allow me to feel as
though I were fully supplied and satisfied, but keeps nie still reach-
ing forward i and I feel barren and empty, as though I could not
live without more of God in me. I feel ashamed and guilty before
God. Oh, I see the law is spiritual, but I am carnal. I do not, I
cannot, live to God. O for holiness ! O for more of God in my
soul ! this pleasing pain ! It makes my soul pine after God ;
the language of it is, then shall I be satisfied, when I awake in thy
likeness, but never, never before ; and consequently I strive to press
towards the mark, day by day. Oh, that I may feel this continual
hunger, and not be retarded, but rather animated by every cluster
from Canaan, to reach forward in the narrow way, for the full en-
joyment and possession of the heavenly inheiitance." Such is a soul
panting for God's salvation, and h..piug in hjj word.

^g^^tt^N«(g^

^^J

A Penny-loap and the Brkad of Lifk.

JERE is the IJread of Life offered by the Saviour, without
money and without price. Come, every liungry soul, and
buy and eat. To-day, tliou may'st cut, and come again,
and the loaf will never grow smaller, but if all mankind should
come, it would be more than enough to food all, if they come while
the Saviour calls ; but not enough for one, if thou come when it is
too late. When once the Master of the House hath shut to the
door, and thou art left without — yea, by thine own folly hast shut
thyself out, thou wilt cry in vain for entrance, or for bread. Now,
thou may'st have it for the asking.

But thou must take thy season, thy day of visitation ; for there
is an accepted time given thee, and a day of salvation, and if tlio"

4 LIFE STUDY.

waste that, there ia no promise afterward. And every day that
thou wastest, thou runnest an iiimiinent hazard of having lost thy
last opportunity. O be not so foolish, but to-day, while it is called
to-day, be thou found upon the knees of the soul, seeking God's
mercy in Christ. If thou knool to-day in spirit, thou wilt do it
again to-morrow, for the Spirit kneeleth with thee, and maketh
intercession for thee with groanings that cannot bo uttered, and
when thou prayest thus, thy prayer ia wrung out of thine impor-
tuning Boul, and will be heard at the mercy-seat and answered, for
it is according to the will of God.

He will give thee the Bread of Life — for that thou hast come
and begged it while it was ofltered. J3ut if thou delay, to-morrow
it will be dearer, and perhaps the next day not to be had at all, not
at any price.

Thy price one penny is in time of plenty,
In famine, doubled 'tis from o. o to twenty,
Y a, no man Ivnows what price on tliee to set,
Where tliere is hut one pcnny-loat to get.

The loaf's an emblem of the Word of God,
Atbingof low esteem, before the rod
Of fumino smites the soul with fear of death,
Batthfn It is ourall, ourlife, our breath.

Take it and ea'. it, sinner, while you may,
It may not offered be another day.

I't.

Faixu and Peace.

This pretty bird, o)i, liow she flics and siriirs
But would she do so, if hIig had not wiiiLS ?
Her wings bespeak ray faith, her KongB, my peace;
When I believo and sing, my doubtings cease.

HE Pilgrim they laid in a largo upper chamber, whose
window opened towards the sun-rising. The nanio of the
chamber was Peace, whero he slept till break of day, and
then he awoke and sang,

Wlierc am I now t Is this the love and care
Or Jesus, for tlio men that Pilgrims ore?
TliuB to provide, that I shouid be forgiven,
Anddweilalready tlie next door to heiivcnl

This is one of tho Christian's experiences, as a new convert,
and perhaps tho happiest and the best. Yet the chamber in which
he sleeps tho first night after hia justification at tho Cross, is not

A LIFE STUDY.

always this sweet chamber in the House Beautiful, opening towards
the sunrise. Or if it bo, the sun does not always rise so free from
clouds as to be visible with direct and steady shining ; as witness
the emblems of the Dawning and the Cloudy Day. ]5ut the sun
may shine, and may diiTuse a sweet peace througli the soul, even
though his orb cannot he seen, nor his place in the sky reckoned
by reason of a veil of clouds prevailing, it maybe, till liigh noon,
perhaps all tlie day ; and rain, and showers, and sleet, snow, hail,
and black tempest before the evening. Yot all the while the sun
18 shining, and it is because of the sun's liglit that the believer sees
the clouds, and knows that they are clouds and only transitory, and
that though they hide the sun for a season, they cannot take him
from the Christian firmament, nor prevent liis light from shining.
Then, too, the liglit may be good and suflRciont for all things
to live and grow by, though not to rejoice, as all nature does, in
tlie Sim's clear shining without clouds. There may be light enough
for all the fruits of the Spirit except transport, ecstasy ; there may
be Police, and Peace on the whole may be the chamber of the soul,
even though there be doubtings, and changes, troubles, and
alarms. Where would the exercise of a strong faith bo, if there
were no clouds, no darkened rooms, no distresses, no heart-aches ?
The swallow flies and sings by day, and tlio lark in the morning
sunlight. But the nightingale is the bird of faitli, that all night
long sings, darkling, and sings in the rain, and sings in happy con-
fidence that the day is coming. It is then a proof of groat faith
when the soul can say, not merely. When I believe ajid sing my
doubtings cease, nor when my doubtings cease, then I believe and
sing ; but I will believe and sing in spite of my doubtings. I will
still believe in Christ, and sing. Who lived me, and gave himself
for me.

The Beggar.

Ho wantR, lie asks, lie pleads his foverty,
Tlicy williin doors on him an alms deny.
Ilf (loth rc^poiit and aggravate his grief,
But they npulso him, give him no roilpf.

lie begs; they say begone* he will not hear;
He coii!»hB and sighs, to show he still ia there;
They disregard liim, he repeats his groans,
They still say nay, and ho himself bcm nns.
They call him vagrant, and more nigged grow;
lie cries the shriiiur, trumpets out his woe.
At last, when they jierceivc he'll take no nay,
An alms they give htm without more delay.

The beggar doth resemble them that pray
To God for mercy, and will take no nay;
But wait, and count that all his hard ifainsays
Are nothing else but fatherly delays.
Then imitate him, praying souls, and cry.
There's nothing like to importunity.

Banyan's own example and experience are a great instruction in
jtrayer, and a great encouragement.

A LIFE STUDY

"Verily," says Bunyan "may I but speak my own experience,
and from tliat, toll you the difficulty of praying to God as I ought,
it is enough to make you poor, blind, carnal men to entertain strange
thoughts of me. For, as for my heart, when I go to pray, I find it
loth to go to God, and when it is with him, so loth to stay with
him, that many times I am forced in my prayers first to beg of God
that he would take mine lieart, and set it on liimself in Christ, and
when it is there, that ho would keep it there. Nay, many times I
know not what to pray for, I am so blind ; nor how to pray, 1 am
so ignorant ; only blessed bo grace, the Spirit helps our infirmities
Oh ! the starting holes that the heart hath in the time of prayer !
None knows how many by-ways and back lanes the heart hath to
slip away from the presence of God. How much pride also, if
enabled with expression! How much hypocrisy, if before others!
And how little conscience is there made of prayer between God
and the soul in pecret, unless the Spirit of supplication bo there to
help! Wlien the Spirit gets into tlie heart, then there is prayer
indeed, but not till then."

Wordsworth's sonnet from Michael Angelo, is fit to accompany
this experience of Bunyan :

Till- pniycrs I make will then he «wcet Indeed

If Thou tlio Spirit (five by which I pray.

My unaBslstcd heart \» barren clay,

WhUh of Its native gclf can not in({ feed

Of good and pious works thou art the poed

Which quickens only where Thou gay'st it may ;

UnlcBB Thou show to us thine own tnic way,

No man can find It: Father I Thou muot lead I

Do Thou then breathe those thouuhtR Into my mind,

By which such virtue may In mo be bred,

That in thy lioly footsteps I may tread

The fetters of my tongue do Thnii unbind,

That I may have the power to sing of Thee,

And sound thy praises everlastingly.

A man that truly prays one prayer, shall after that, never be

A LIFE STUDY.

ablo to express with his mouth or pen, the unutterable desires,
sense, afi'ection nnd longing that wont to God in that prayer.

When David had the pains of hell catching hold on him, an«l
the sorrows of hell conipussing about, ho needs not a bishop in a
surplice, to learn him to say, " ! Lord I beseech thee deliver my
soul !" Or to look into a book to teach him in a form to pour out
his heart before God.

7d.uch of mine own experience could I here discover ; when I
have beon in my fits of agonies of spirit, I have been strongly
persuaded to leave oflF, and to seek the Lord no longer ; but being
made to understand what great sinners the Lord hath had mercy
on, and how large his promises were still to sinners ; and that it
was not the whole, but the sick, not the righteous but the sinner,
not the full, but the empty, that he extended his grace and mercy
unto ; this made me through the assistance of his Holy Spirit to
cleave to him, to hang upon him, and yet to cry, though for the
present ho n. de no answer. And the Lord help all his poor
tempted and afflicted people to do the like, and to continue, thougli
it be long, according to the saying of the prophet ; and to help
them to that end to pray not by the invention of men, and their
stinted forms, but with the spirit and with the understanding also.

And verily, mine own experience tells me, that there is nothing
doth more prevail with God than importunity. Is it not so with
you, in respect of your beggars that come to your door ? Though
you have no heart to give them anything at their first asking, yet if
they follow you, bemoaning themselves, and will take no nay
without an alms, you will give them ; for their continual begging
overcometh you. Is there bowels in you that are wicked, and
will they be wrought upon by an importuning beggar ? Go thou
and do the like. It is a prevailing motive, and that by experience,
he will arise, and give thee as many as thou needest.

1^ •'

ill

Let mt tnjoy but Tliee, what farthrr crave If
And having Theealone, what have 1 notf

NOW ABI<:DETH FAiTH. HOPE. AN<7) CHARITY. THESE THREE,
BUT THE GREATEST OF THEC-E IS CHARITY. --Paul

OVE is the central figure of the group, covering with
angel \nngs the forms of Truth and Hope, lli-r eyes
are bent upon the face of Truth tendorly, who liolds tlu;
Book of the Protestant world, the IJiblo, in her loft liand, whil«'
with her right hand she clasps tlie right hand of Hope. Lovt- is
young and beautiful, forage makes no impression u[(on lior beyond
matuiity. Her presence is a divine inspiration, giving i omfort and
firmness to all the objects of her attachment. She has just come
from the Heavoidy world, whoso arch of glory spans tlie finnamont,
having Love in the glow of the central rays.

Hope lays hold upon the right hand of Truth, bowing reveren-
tially to her, and making an alliance over the Holy Book, while tlic
left hand and fore-arm rest confidingly upon a noble and strong
anchor. Behind her is the Ocean, whose near waves are breoking
in foam just below her feet, but readies a shore of light and bles^i-
edness, far away behind the sky of glory, out of which Love hai.
come with her messages of affection.

Truth has placed her foot upon the mask of falsehood, which
has been torn and thrown upon the ground. Error deceives, and
wounds and overthrows. But Truth saves, and makes friendly
alliance-;, and holds up the hands of Hope, while Heaven lends the

A LIFE STUDY

radiance of tlio divine approbation to all lior bindings of tond(»r-
noss. The fool, tlio liurltMiuin, tlio jiiyglor, tlio liuly of fashion
have no part in hor holy Bocioty. Deception and enbterfugo lloo
from tlio words of hor book, and avoid tho light of hor path. All
the diuightora of ploasnre hide thoir faces at hor approach, and
bnfiik their hearts when thoy comprehend the purity of hor life,
and know tho happiness of her home, and see the beauty of her
children.

Faith is symbolized in that graceful Btructure, the House of
Prayer, just back of tho figures, whoso excellences we admire, and
whoso impin't we liopo to know in tho manners and customs of life.
That House is the abiding-placo of Gt)d'8 namo, fiu- it is written
there. In it, the tribes of spiritual Israel are gathered to keep
holy tho Sabbath, unto tho Lord. It is fit, that childhood and j outli
should go up to the House of Prayer, and th(>ro .seo the Love,
tho Truth, the Book, the Hope, the Ocean, tho Heaven lighted up,
and thonce bo led away into the dim world beyond tliat cloudy
glory, whore Love dwells forever with God and Angels.

What luive not the Bible and the House of God done for the
Christian world 1 Two thousand years of history can but life-
sketch tho names, by trophies won unto holiness and to Heaven by
the ie moans. God's will revealed to man, and God's House, where
Ho will moot His people and hear them pray to Him, aro tomako
kind assurances of thoir liberties, their coiuitry, their Homes,
their final Salvation.

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^^g)=<r?tt?^s— (^

The Dawning.

[ILL the day dawns and the day-star arise in your hearts,
bo content with the prophets ; only in them wait on God.
Wlio is among you that so doing walketh in darkness and
hath no light ? Is it so tliat there can bo sucli a case ? Is this
possible? Does God over lot a man Avait on him without light?
The light of enjoyment may bo wanting for a season, but the light
of life shall not. He that followeth mo shall not walk in darkness,
but shall have tho light of life. Doth any man walk in darkness?
Lot him trust in tho namo of the Lord, and stay upon his God.
Then there will bo light.

'If

A LIFE STUDY.

At punp of d.iy, 1 often cannot know
WlieUiiT 'tlM mikIiI, wliutliur 'tin cliiy or no,
I fancy that I koo a httlu IIkIiI,
But cunnot yot dlitlnKUlali day from nlt,'lit ;
I hupv, I doubt, but certain yet I bo not,
I Bm not at a point, tho sun I iiuu not.
Thus such who .ro but juit of ({rncc pnMvKt,
They know not yut If thuy be cunt or bluit.

But ono thing they know, namely, that light is sown for the
righteous, und gladness for the upright in lieart. And nn upright
heart i» not a heart that ia perfect, or that has no sin ; but a lieart
that is looking to Christ for deliverance from sin, a luuirt that is
struggling after God, a heart that desires to please him, a heart
that is trying to find him. Well, for such a heart there is light laid
down in the furrow, and gladness in store. The light will soon
Hpring up, for it is sown, and tlumgh at first rising it may be but
as the pale green blade when it pecjis forth from tho earth, still it
is light, and shall shine more and more unto the perfect day. And
there shall bo a great harvest of gladness.

All light that is life, is hid within the heart, before it is seen
by the heart. It is hid within the heart that asks for it. It does
not depend on external teaching, though tho liglit of the "Word as
an external sun may stir up the heart to ask for tho light of life,
to beg for its inward experience. The Word itself is a sun shining
on all men and their ways, and at first that is tho only way in
which any man sees it and hears it. It calls men to God, but it
does not become their life, till they receive and hido it in their
hearts. All the light that comes as life, comes from Christ within,
from tho Word abiding in the soul.

And this inward sense and light of tho Word and of Christ, is
that state of mind when evidence passes into life ; tho substance of
things hoped for, tho evidence of things not seen. This is tho only
true understanding of them, for they are to the natural man

uIPE CTUDY

fooliNhnoss ; as if ho locikod ut a pioco of tiipoHtry on tlin wroiij;
hiilo, tiiga and twisted tuitn of divurs colors l)»'inj^ ull that ho cuii
Hoo, but iioither hindscapo nor nu'iinii\j^. Tlio very proniist-.s of
God'tt Word, the most ravishing of them, liud an intori>rotation and
possoHS a ]»owor only within tho heait whoro Uod's illuminating
gnico is prt'sont.

To tho natural iiuin, and hy tho daylight of this world nu-roly,
tho promises uro as u dead transparency. But when tho 8[)irit ol
Uod in tho heart goes behind them, and lights them up, then they
shino; and hhiao tho brightest when it is darkest night. Tht<
world shut out, and heaven brought in, tho 8(nd in sueh nivi>h-
ing communion with God and Christ, and tho gh)rio8 that are
unseen and eternal, is almost liko Paul caught up into tho third
heavens; liko Potor, and Jamos and John, on tho Mount of Trans-
tiguration; and these divino, celestial forms and realities are as a
cloud overshadowing them. Tho soul of tho humblest believer,
is baptized in such a cloud, when it liolds its sweet permitted and
accustomed communion with tho Saviour. Strengthened by such
communion, it can go down into tho world, and every blissful?
reality it has conversed with, shall bo as tho radiant wings of angels
bearing it up, and as comi)anions trooping around it.

Satax at Blind Man's Buj-'f.

MAN'S back may be turned to Satan, and his faee towards
Christ ; and yet ho may in Ixeart bo inrnod away from
Christ, and joined to Satan. He may be tnlveu captive by
Satan at his will ; he may be a mere plaything in the hands of
Satan, as this fellow is with the fool's-cap on his head, whom Satan
ia blinding with a bandage round his eyes.

If he did not permit himself to be thus played with, Satan
could do nothing with }xim. Eesist the devil, and he will floe from
you. But let him play bUndman's buff with you, and he will bind
and knct the handkerchief so tight that you cannot remove it, for
that is his art, and he makes men think tliey can see through it,
when they go about as blind as Elymas, the sorcerer, tind grope
among spiritual things in the dark as at noon-day.

A LIFE STUDY

In whom the god of this world hath })lindod tho minds of tlu-m
tliat beliovo not, lest the light of the glorious Gospel of Christ, who
is the image of God, should sluno unto them. Under tho power of
unbeUef, beneath the veil of Satan, and of tho tilings of tlil.i woild,
they cauiiot see Christ — they are im])ervious to this light.

And we may see what a divine rosouo from 8atan is
necessary, and what a divine illuminatit)n must bo granted, in order
to behold Christ's glory, Hut this is granted to prayer, and whon
the heart, though blindfolded and buffeted by Satan, turns to tho
Lord, the veil shall be taken away, and Ixiliolding, iv.\ in a glass,
his glory, the soul shall be changed into his imago.

The work of Satan with men's minds, is to keep out tho word,
tho heavenly light from shining. But if it bo true that man lives
only by every word of God, being by faith tho IJroad of 1 ale to tlio
80ul, then, if Satan can succeed in keeping men fn)m eating tliat bread
— that word — he can destroy them. And if he can help tliem in
imbeliof, that cuta them off from the Word, from the power of it,
from, all experience of its spiritual efficacy. Iloncc tho nec»!s-
sity of earnest effort to bring the Word and the heart together, and
to keep them in contact. When your htiart is under tho pressure
of the Word of God, then you are in the way of life — you aro not
necessarily in unbelief; you may be sanctified by tlie truth, for that
is its natural operation.

But under the handling of Tatan, men's minds aro like a mir-
ror— <«ie side of which is coated with quicksilver, so that if the
silvered side is turned towards any object, there can be no reflec-
tion of it. Even if turned towards the sun at noon-day, tliero
would be no reflection of the sun. And Satan keeps only tliat
coated, covered side of the mirror turned towards God, towards tho
Sun of Righteousness, tho Redeemer, so that there can bo neither
sight, sense, nor reflection of his glory.

But the other side, or face, of this mirror, which is turned

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A LIFE STUDY.

towards the world, reflects that, with all its objects, pursuits, and
pleasures, fully, completely. That is the devil's veiling art— by the
things of time, sense, and sin, to keep out the things of eternity.
80 with the hearts of men under the veil of sin and unbeUef, which
after all, is simply the coating of the soul with desires, habits, and
interests earthly, selfish, and sinful. Tliat side, the side under
the veil, is tlie only side that Satan permits to be turned tov/ai-ds
heaven, the coated, vnreflecting side only; while the other side, the
mirror side, the seeing and reflecting side, is turned towards the
earth, and consequently reflects that, and nothing else. And
so men walk ou in darkness, beholding and reflecting only this
world, its objects, and pursuits; heaven, and God and Christ just
as much shut out, as if there were no heaven, no God, no Savii)ur.
True faith has its seat in tlio lunirt, not in tho unuorstandinfi',
merely. The same is true of unbelief, which, beginning in tln!
heart, liaving its Ufo there, proceedeth outward like a moving mist,
or veil, and darkens the understanding, being alienated from the
life of God through the ignorance that is in them, because of the
blindness of the heart.

The behoving betrt takes the personal interest — mingles it
with the affections. Truth in tho heart is like leaven, causing the
whole mixture to l-econ^e broad, hearty, wholesome, nourishing.
But truth falUng in the mind only, is like varnish, or a wash, ou
the outside of a piece of furniture. The lieart tries the truth in th-i
crucible of personal experience, and tiion, and thus, possesses if,
forever.

:::v^

nMs^f^^"^'

The Cloudy Morning.

^^W

WcU, Willi the day Isco the cloudn appear
And m x the light with durkncvH cvcrywlicre,
ThiH thrcalona those who on longjournoy» go,
Tliat thf y shall meet tho elahby rain or «now ;
KIsc while I iiazc, the sun doth with his briiiiiH
B^lace the clouds, as 'twcii- with bloody Htreams ;
Then suddenly those clouds do watery grow.
And wee> and pour their tears out as they go.
Thus 'tis when uospel liirht doth usher i;i.
To us both sense of grace and sense of sin ;
Yea, when it makes sin red with Jesus' blood,
Then we can wee]>, till weepinu does us l'oi d.

EEPINO may onduro for a night, l)ut joy comotli in the
morning. A soaso of sin introduces the soul to the
►Saviour, and makes it son and fool his glory, sweetness,
and preciousness. Even the high hillows rising between liim and
the soul, ai'o good to increase ami tiuicken the sense of dependence
upon liim, and to hasten and strengtheu the effort of the Boul
struggling after him. Such difhcidties are good for growth in
grace, and the clouds are good when they hriug showers, and tlio
rnin of weeping, i.s good to moisten tho heart and give expressioTi
and sensibility to its cimtritiou, and so it becomes very fruitful.

i|'

A LIFE STUDY.

Is it 80, asks Banyan, that they that are coming to Jesus Christ,
are oftimes heartily afraid that Josus Christ will not receive them V
This ho asks on the occasion of Peter's sinking in the sea, when he
was coming to Jesus. And he answers his own asking, hy affirm-
ing that faith and doubting may, at the same time, have their resi-
dence in the same soul. ! thou of little faith, wherefoi-e dost
thou doubt? He saith not, O ! thou of no faith; but O ! thou of
littlo faith ; because ho had a little faith, in the midst of his many
doubts.

The same is truo even of many that are coming to Jesus Christ.
They come, and fear they come not, and doubt they come not.
When they h^ok upon the promise, or a word of encouragement, by
fiiith, tlien they come; when they look upon themselves or the
ditliculties that lie before them, then they doubt, "liid mo come,"
said Peter; "Come,'' said Christ. 8o ho went out of the ship, to
goto Jesus, but his hap was to go to him upon the water; then
was the trial. tSo it was with the poor desiring soul. "Bid me
come," Rays the sinner; "Come," says Christ, " and I will in no
wise cast thee out." So he comes, but his hap is to come upon the
water, upon drowning difficulties ; if therefore, the wind of temp-
tations blow, the waves of doubts and fears will presently arise,
and this coming sinner will begin to sink, if he has but little faith.

But you shall fird here in Peter's little faith a twofold act; to
wit, coming and crying. Little faith cannot come all the way
without crpng. So long as its holy boldness lasts, so long it can
come with peace; but when it is so, it can come no farther, it will
go the rest of the way with crj'ing. Peter went as far as his little
faith would carry him. lie also cried as far as his little faith c<niM
help, Lord save me, I perish! And so, with coming and crying ho
was kept from sinking. Though he had but a little faith, Jesus
stretched forth his hand and caught him, and said unto him, *' 0!
thou of littlo faith, wherefore did'st thou doubt !"

The Love of Chkist.

HE love of Christ, poor I ! may touch upon ;
But, 'tis uusearcliabli'. Oh ! there is none
Its lar<j:o dimensions can comprehend,
Should they diUito thereon ■world without end.

When wo had sinn'd, He in His zeal did swear,
That He upon His back our sins woukl bear.
And since to sin there is entailed death,
He vowed that for our sins He'd lose His breath.

Ho did not only say, vow, or resolve.
But to astonishment did so involve
Himself in man's distress and misery,
As for and with him both to live and die.

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,■(1 LIFE STUDY

To TTis otornnl famo in sacred story,
Wo find that ITo did lay aside Flis glory.
Stopped from the throne of highest dignity,
IJocamo poor man, did in a manger lie;
Yea, was beholden upon Jlis for broad.
Had of His own, not where to lay His head :
Though rich, Ho did i\.r us become thus poor,
That Ho miglit make us rich for evermore.
Yet this was least of what He did ;
Lut tho outside of what He suffered.
God made His bU^sscd Htm under tho law ;
Under the curse, whicli, like tho lion's paw,
Hid rend and tear His soul, for mankind's sin,
Moro than if we for it in hell had been.
His cries, His tears, and bloody agony.
The nature of His death doth testify

Nor did Ho of constraint Himself thus give
For sin to death, that man might with Him live.
He did do what He did most willingly,
He snug, and gave God thanks that Ho must die.
Did ever king die for a captive slave ?
Yet such were we whom Jesus died to save.
Yea, when Ho made Himself a sacrifice,
It was that He might save his enemies.

And, though He was provoked to retract
His blest resolves to do so kind an act
By the abusive carriages of those
That did both Him, His love, and grace oppose ;
Yet He aa unconcerned about such things,
Goea on, determines to make captive kings :
Yea, many of His murderers Ho takes
Into His favour, and them princes makes.

COREESPONDINO Emblem, illustnitivo of God's, disci-
pline with tho Christian, is that of tho Vino in tho Vino-
yard, yielding only wild grapes. It was plant('(l for the
grapes, for such fruit of tho vino as Clirist indicates, wIkmi ho says
that ho means to drink of tlio fruit of tlie vino, witli liis distaples,
in his Father's kingdom. But what is tlio vino good for more
than any other tree, if it do not bring forth that very fruit for
which it was plant(;d ?

There are two things set down as a curso, and as bringing a
curse. First, no fruit ai. all, emptiness, barrenness, deadnoss,
abiding not in Christ. If a man abide not in mo, lie is cast forth
as a brantih and is withered, and men gather them, and cast thorn
into tho fire, and they are burned. J'Jvery tree that bringtith vot
forth good fruit. But how much more tho vino-tree, whoso only

' ' ' (I

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A LIFE i-rUDY.

usefulness is in its fruit. How much more he, that beneath the
name of a Christian, who if he be not a Christian, is good for noth-
ing, nay, is worse than nothing — a cuniberer, a bad example, a
caricature, a betrayer of his Lord, and of his cause, into the hands
of sinners, a stumbling-block, perhaps over which others stumble
and fall.

For every tree is known by hk own fruit, that for which the
tree was chosen and planted, and by which it has its reputation
and its worth. For of thorns luuu do not gather figs, ncitlusr of a
bramble-bush gather they grapes. They do not look for griipos or
figs on bramble-bushes, and, therefore, thoy are not disappointed.
But when thoy come to a fig-troo and find nothing thereon but
leaves, or to a vine-tree, and find no grapes, thoy are not only dis-
appointed, but angry as at a deception, and thoy regard tluit tree
as more worthless, by far, on account of its fair profoshion, than if
it had been from the outset a mere miserable bramble, that men
would know for what it was, and never would have been caught or
cheated by it, or gone out of their way, thinking to find fruit
upon it.

They that hang out the professiijn but not the fruit, are like
Job's deceitful wells and empty brooks channelled in the desert. As the
stream of brooks wherein the snow is hid, they pass away, and
vanish just then and there, when they are most needed. "When it
is hot, and the traveler is dying for thirst, then thoy are consumed
out of their place ; tlieir paths go to nothing and perish ; the
troops of pilgrims that waited for them, and followed them, and
rested their whole hope of life upon them, are confounded because
they had hoped. If they had not been lod to hope, they would
have put their strength, all that was left them, into some other
refuge. But they had just strength enough hift to come thither, to
the borders of the channel, to the curb of the fountain ; and,
behold, alas, it is as dry as the burning sand around them, and

fi LIFE a UDY.

they have nothing more that they can do, but to lie down nnd die.
And those ugtiin, aftorwarda doceivud in liko manner will find their
bones bleaching.

So the wood of a vino-troe that boars no grapes, is no whit
better than the salt that has lost its savor. It is thenceforth good
for nothing but to bo cast out and to be trodden under foot of men.
And, even so, when men find out the absolute wovthlessness of men
for the purposes fur which tlu>y were vaunted, all the other good
qualitifs that might have been in them, buffer an eclip.se, and arc
good for nothing. They are thenceforth refuse matter and cheats.
Men are angry against them for their hypocrisy and falsehood.

The sole preciousness and usefulness of tlio vine-tree, is in its
fruit, and its fruitfulness. For in itself it is gnarled, crooke<l, dis-
torted ; winding and curling about as wilful and wanton as its own
tendrils, hardly a foot's length running straight enough to make a
pin to hang a man's jacket upon, or a cane to loan upon, or any
smooth wood fur planing or for work. It is good only for fuel, fit
only to be burned, and that is the conclusion of the apostle in
regard to fruitless professors of religion, those that abide not in
Christ, and, consequently, cannot be partakers of his life, nor pro-
duce the fruits of the Spirit ; whose end is to bo burned.

I 5

( )TIN T5TJNYAN tells us that thoro wore sovcriil pinnoc-'les
boloTigiiig to tho toniplo. Thoso piumiclos stood on the
tnji, uloft ill tlio air, ami woro sharp, and, thoroforo,
difhcult to stand upon. I, tlioroforo, says ho, tuko those
pinnacles to he types of those lofty, airy notions with which
some men delight themselves, while thoy hover like birds
above the solid and godly truths of Christ. Satan attempted to
entertain Christ Jesus with this type and antitype at once, when
he set him on one of the pinnacjles of tho temple, and offered to
thrust him upon a false confidence in God, by a false and unsound
interpretation of a text.

'* Sonie men cannot be content to worship in the temple, but
must be aloft; no place will serve them but i)innacles — pinnacles,
that they may be speaking in and to the air, that thoy may be

A LIFE STUDY.

promotinp their lioady notions, instrad nf solid truth, not consider-
ing that now thoy aro just wliuro tlio duvil would have thorn bo.
Tluty strut upon thi'ir points, their pinnacles, but h-t theiu look to
it — thero is ditlicult standin}^ upon pinnadea ; their neek, their soul,
is in danger. Wo road, Ood is in his templo, not upon those
pinnacles.

" It is true, Christ was onco upon ono of these ; but the devil set
him there, with intent to dash him in pieces by a fall ; and yet
even tlu'n told him, if h.» would venture to tumble ihtwn, ho should
bo kept from dashing liis foot a<rainst a stone. To bo thero, there-
fore, was one of Christ's temptations; consequently one of Satan's
stratagcuus; nor went ho thitiu^r of liis own accord, f»)r he know
that thero was danger ; ho loved not to clamber pinnacles.

"This should teach (Jhristians to bo low and little in their own
eyes, and to forbear to intrude into airy and vain spciiilations, and
to take heed of being puffed up with a foul and empty mind."

Knowledge, says the apostle, puHeth up, but love buil<leth up.
Knowledge is proud, beciauso he knows so much; wisdom is humble
that ho knows no more. The conceit of kiutwledgo carries men to
pinnacles, that they may bo observed, and may gather ft lU)Wor8.
But it is only those who aro rooted and grounded in love, that are
able to comprehend tl 10 depths and heights incomprehensibh«, and
to know the love of Christ which passoth knowledge. Love keeps
them humble ; love preserves them from presumption.

There are plenty of these outside pinnacle men, who worship
not within tho temple, but above it in the air. iSunyan's d(iscrip-
tions bites them shrewdly. There are not wanting pinnaclt? teach-
ers, pinnacle theologians, pinnacle philosophers, rope-dancers across
theological Niagaras.

Here was Satan attempting an Ecve ITomo, earlier than Pilate,
earlier than Eenan and his followers. If he had succeeded, it
would indeed have proved Christ but a man, and a very imperfect

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WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

w^\

A LIFE STUDY

and presumptuous one. For if Christ had obeyed the suggestion
of the tempter, to try the question of his di\ ine power and sonship,
by a miracle, it would have proved doubt, distrust, presumption,
vanity, pride, self-seeking. If to show his divinity, and prove him-
self the Messiah at Satan's will, by constraining God to interpose
in his behalf, in order so to fulfill the Scripture quoted by the devil,
this would have been the weakness of a character ^altogether
human, not divine. Not so was Christ to bo lifted up, and to draw
all men unto him ; not on a pinnacle of the temple, but on the
altar, himself mysteriously the temple, the altar, and the sacrifice.
Satan, baffled, fled ; but he has had plenty of success ever
since. Ho is fond of pinnacles for temptations ; he is coiitmually
setting men on pinnacles, to tumble them down. Our Lord com-
mands us to be ever clothed with humility, and in honor to be pre-
ferring one another ; but this setting another on a pinnacle, is just
putting an occasion to fall in a brother's way. Satan sets men up,
in order to tip them over — he makes nine-pins of them through
their own ambition. He hoists them up by his elevator into the
very skies, where they see all the kingdoms of the world, and
the glory of them, in a moment. He has pinnacles for intellect,
for genius, for imagination, for subtlety of mind. They throw their
books, if not themselves, off into the air, and then come down by
the stairs of the temple, not daring to follow their OAvn rneculations,
but seeking, nevertheless, to raise admiration and wondering doubt
of Jews, that require a sign, and of Greeks that seek after wisdom.
Now our Blessed Lord will not have our faith to stand in the wis-
dom of men, but in the power of God ; for only the Spirit searcheth
all things, yea, the deep things of God, and no flesh shall glory in
his presence.

A SlIK.VF OF EmULEMS.

jlLL Bunyan's writings, whether sermons, or allegories and
emblems, are a wonderful mixture of the most pungent
warnings and the sweetest encouragements. lie had the
heart of a lion and a dove together ; the Great-Heart warrior, the
grave and tender Evangelist, the loving mother and the playful
little child, all met in him ; a myriad-minded Christian, possessing
the experience of nil saints, the kindest sympathies for all sinners,
and such a sense and knowledge of the boundless love and tender-
ness of Christ, and such freedom and affectionate desire in offering
and applying the sweetness of the promises, such considerate
gentleness and Avisdom in dealing with troubled consciences, as
well as pungency and power in awakening careless and stupid souls,

f'i'

ja LIFE STUDY.

that hia pages are an inexhaustible store of argument, persuasion,
consolation, instruction, rebuke, encouragement, terror and delight.
How exqixisitely tender, careful, encouraging, and yet truthful,
scrutinizing and distinguishing,, are his delineations of such Chris-
tians as Fearing, Feeble-mind, Little-faith, Ready-to-halt, Much-
afraid, and others of a similar type. He could, more -vvisoly and
tenderly than most men, lift up the hands that hung down and the
feeble knees ; and he loved to make straight paths for the feet, lest
that which is lame be tui'ned out of the way. Ah, he said and
felt, let it rather be healed. Like his beloved Master, the bruised
reed he would not break, nor quench the smoking flax.

Yet he looked diligently and earnestly, lest any man should
fail of the grace of God. His " Sighs from Hell," and his " Heaven
by Footman," liis " Strait Gate," and his "Come and welcome to
Jesus Christ," his " Jerusalem sinner saved," his " BaiTen Fig
Tree," and his " Discourse on Prayer," are the most wonderful combi-
nations of all the qualities of an effective preacher ; pathos, plead-
ings of love, warnings, tUreatenings, wrath, entreaties, weepings,
compassions ; the very heart of love poured out, and the soul that
had been agonized, revealing its own experience of wounds, and
burnings, and healing grace and consolation, for the benefit of
others: terror and pity, mingled with playfulness, humour, wit,
sarcasm, logic and prayer; the Mount of fire and tempest, and the
City of the Living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, moving and
flas}\ing iu contrasted descriptions ; all this and more ; everywhere
his own experience, unborrowed, unimitated, the gift of the Holy
Spirit, the product of the Holy Spirit, through the Word. Bun-
yan could say with Panl, "I preach, warn, teach and labour,
striving according to his working, which worketh in me mightily."

Beginning at Jerusalem, all the way down through tho ages
of Christianity, to London and New York, Bunyan's delineations
of the Christian life and character are universal, true and perfect ;

A LIFE STUDY.

exclusive in no age, but belonging to all. Tlie reality of the Chris-
tian Pilgrimage is the same, yesterday, to-day, and forever, like the
Divine Author and Finisher of our faith, and in every generation
the characters and personages of the Pilgrim's Progress and the
Holy War are reproduced. Bunyan's knowledge of human nature
and divine grace, appears not only in those great works, but e(iually
in the multitude of illustrations, parables, applications and inter-
pretations of texts, that as precious gems, and little exquisite cabi-
net pictures, shine here and there in all his writings. In them, the
Christian Pilgrimage is as a grout procession of witnesses extending
past and future, beyond vision, winding onward, upward, caught
at turns of rugged depths and passes afar off; as from a moun-
tain top, may be seen the divisions of an anuy, marching through
the vale with banners. Here are sketches of grace in original
characters, vivid as fire, so that the figures flash forth as incarnations
of light on the way of life, reflections of the loveliness of Christ,

in participated gifts of his Spirit, clouds of -vitnesses, scattered
through the firmament over the radiant circle of the sky.

" And giving back and shedding each on each,
With prodii^al communion, the bright hues,
Which from the unapparent Fount of Glory
They had imbibed and ceane not to receive.*'

For such is the Communion of saints with Clirist, the unapparent
Saviour, in whom believing, though now they see him not, yet
they rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glorj-, and from whom
they reflect on earth, in apparent forms and colours, the light they
drink in and live upon, transmitting to one another and to the
world, something of the rac'Iancy which in such communion with
the Invisible Glory they receive.

Thanks be to God for such an exercise of human genius, and
a human heart with all its fears and hopes and feelings baptized in

A LIFE STUDY

divine love, presenting in such attractive forms the truths of Scrip-
ture for our daily walk.

I>c't ovo lusting thnnks bo thine,

For Huch a briglit dluplay,
As rnalvus a world of darkncsB shine,

Wltli buaras of cndlees day.
My soul rejoices to pursue

Tlie step-i of Him 1 love,
'Till glory brcalis upon my view,
III brigliter worlds abovi'.

Most of the pages in his book of Emblems are made up of
simple objects, and the lessons he draws are expressed with brevity,
simplicity and terseness ; as for example, this plain cut of the Ant
be!-id(3 a field of bearded grain, -w hich tells its own story as prettily
as Watts' rugged stanza.

Tlio little ants for one loor grain

Labour and try and strive.
But we, who have a lieaveti to obtain,

How negligent we live !

Go to the Ant, thou sluggard, consider her ways and be wise ! But
how can man be such a fool, exclaims Bunyan, as to need such a
lesson '?

Must we upon tlio Pismire go to scliool,

To learn of her in summer to provide,
Fi)i' winter next ensuing? Mun's a fool,

Or silly nnts would not be m:ii!e his guide.
But, sluggard, is it not a slianie for tlieo

To bo ouldoiie by pismires % Prythee heart
Their works too, will thy coiioemnatlon be,

Wiien at tlio judgment seat thou slmlt appear.
But since thy God dotli bid thee to her go.

Obey ; lier ways consider, and be wise.
Tlie Pinmires will inform thee wliat to do.

And set the way to life before thine eyes.

A LIFE STUDY.

Another of hia emblems i:^ on the wliipping of a top, tiie cut
being merely of a child's top and a whip lying beside it, a farm
house and a windmill in the background of the picture. And what
will Bunyanmakeoutof this? A lesson that might have been one
of the riddles in the amiable and instructive gossip of Christiana
and her children. The top moves only when you whip it. It has
no life nor motion in itself, but the boy makes it whirl with a
whipping, and as long as he whips, so long it skips and jumps, but
otherwise, is as still as a st.me. Tliat is the picture of a man that
can only be whipped into duty, but has no principle of love, life,
and heavenly diligence in his heart.

Our Legalist is liku this nimble top,

Without Ik wjiip lie will not duly do.
Lut Moses whip liiin, he will skip and hop,

Forbear to whip, he'll neither sland nor go.

Oa another page we have the cut of a fat, unwieldy frog, like
one of those tim-bellied sinners whom Bunyau described, unavail-
ingly striving to got into tlie Straight Gate without mortification.
This frog sitting on the borders of her native pool, and croaking
with large mouth, and a cold damp skin, is Banyan's picture of a
hypocrite.

The hypocrite is like unto the frog,
As like as is the puppy to the dog.

ii;

A LIFE STUDY.

A very droll emblem meets us a few pages previous, on Moses
and his Wife, who are represented in tlie picture, liand in hand,
like a couple taking each oilier out for a dance. Moses lias the
horns of brightnuss coming out of his head, and the rod in his
hand ; but his wife is as black as a coal. In the back ground is a
palm tree on one side, and a double tent on the other.

Tlii« Moses was n fiiir niul odmely man •
His wifo a swartliy Ktliiopi-uiine.

Moses signifies the Law ; his wife, one who knows no way of eter-
nal life but the Law. But the Law cannot give life, nor make
righteous those that are married vmto it, no more than Moses'
brightness could change the hue of his wife' s skin.

Tliercforo as Moses' wif j came swarthy in,
And went out from him wUhout change of skia,
80 ho tliat doth the law for life adore
Shall yet by it be left ft bhiekamore.

In another picture, Bunyan has drawn a crowing hen, cackling
with mouth wide open, beside the barn, and just inside the barn
door you may spy a new laid egg on a hen's nest. This is an
emblem of something such a character as Talkative in the Pilgrim's
Progress, or of those who proclaim their own goodness.

The lion, so soon as she an egg doth lay,
Spreads wide the fame of doing what she may.
About the yard a cackling she doth go
To tell what 'twas she at her nest did do.

Just thus It is with pome professing men,

If they do aught that's good; they're like our hen,

Cannot but cackle on't where'er they go,

And what their right hand doth their left must know.

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A LIFE ST'JDV

Humourously satirical is another similar emblem of a hon
that hasjust laid her egg, .vhich shines within the barn door, white
fresh, clean, and beautiful, the most conspiuoous object in the en'
gravmg. Doth this symboli^ce a Christian? The now laid egg is
fair and sweet in appearance, as tlie profession of a convert is
bnght and holy. But tliere is no real life without grace, even as
the egg 18 yet to bo made a chicken.

The oug's no cliick by fallinij from Uu; ht-n,
Nor man ii Cliristian 'till hv'» born uguln.

The Cluck at first is shut up in the shell in darkness, and just so
the soul IS by nature prisoned in tlio flesh, knowing nothing but
the life of nature. A. when tlie shell is broken, the chick poops
forth and chirps, so when the flesh decays, the soul weeps and prays
and mounts at length on high. This reminds us of the couplet of
an old Poet :

The soul's dark coitngo battfrud and betrayod,
Lets in new light through chinks that time han made.

But chickens, Bunyan says, do not come from rotten eggs, nor is
a hypocrite a saint indeed, but only a rotten egg under profession,
which cannot warm him into life.

Some eggs bring cotkatrices ; nnd some mon
Are hatched and brooded in the viper's de»i ;
Some eggs bring wild-fowls, and some men thero be-
As wild ax are tho wildest fowls that flee.
Some eggs bring spiders, and some men appear
More venomed than tho worst of spiders aro.

A l:fs l-tudy.

Another emblem is that of a mole in the ground, hor coat so
smooth and shining, though she does nothing but dig in the dirt,
the earth being her native element. Like a poor, blind, dark sin-
ner, working away from the light, mining bolow the surface for
wealth that he cannot caiTv with him.

Poor Hilly Moll-, tliat thou KliouM'ct love to he,
Wliero thou nor eun, nor moon, nor stars can'st Sfu I
But oh I how 8illy'« he, u ho doth not carp,
So )ie get earth, to have of heaven a shun-

Bunyan says, in a. similar vein, that some persons are very sumpt-
uous and fashionable in their clothing, and nice and coy about
tlunr diet, but their crying souls thoy can quiot with hog's-meat.

A flint in the water occasions a similar vein of moralizing,
that often is like Jacques' melancholy in the forest of Arden.
The flint has been washed by a living crystal stream, time out of
mind, and yet abides a flint as it was before ever the water touched
it.

Its hardnea.s U not in the least ab-ated,
'Tis not at all by water penetrated.

It holds also a fiery nature in its hardness, retaining that fire, if
crossed, even imder water. Strike it with its opposite, and in your
very face it will spit fire.

This flint an emblem is of all that lie

Under the Word like stonea until they die ;

Its crystal streams have not their natarcs changed,

They are not from their last« by grace estranged.

^ LIFE STUDY

There .s an instructive emblem of the lark and the fowler •
a inaa w,th h. net, aud a glass mirror bosido it, reflecting the sun'
and daz^hnginits brightness. The silly lark, turning fn.. a th.:
-m and her singing, is lured to the shining nnrror. It is the .in-
fol «ouI, caught by the bright glitter of this world and its pleasures
and taken captive by Satan at his will.

Thou simple bird, what mnkc theo hero to pl„y f

1-ook I there's the fowlor, prythoo como away •

I>oHt r,ot behold tho uvi ? L„„k when 'tis .; read

Venture a little furthir, thou urt dt-ad.

n:rd, if thou nrt.so much for dazzling light,
I^ookl there's the Hunabovo the.; dart upright,
'i'liy nature ig to noar up to tlio Hky,
Why wilt thou then como down to the earth and die »
Remember that thy song is 1„ thy rl.o,
>'"tinthyfall. Ka.th'snotthyl'aradiHo.
Keep up aloft then ; let thy circuits be,
Above, where birds from fowlern' nets nro froo.

^ last Stanza is very beautiful. Nothing can be sweeter than
^^touchzng lesson, 2len..,er that tluj son, u in th, ri.e, not in th,

l^re are some stanzas on the picture of a snail traveling in
ftegarfen, wrnten with a grave, quiet, thoughtful simplicity!"
quamtoess, illustrating the texts that throw everything in ottr pil-
g^nage upon the perseverance of our faith, whether little or much
qinct or slow. Ye are secure, if ye hold fast the beginning oi
yonr confidence steadfast unto the end. Daily diUgence maketh

A l^U'S UTUDY.

suro, but lio tliat dosiiieoth littlo gains or Iohsoh, 1)y littlo und l)j little
.shuU liu full.

Him (.'ocH hilt Hoftly, jcl kIic Koi'tli Hiiii' ;

Bliu HluinblL'H lint, nH Htroiim'r crfiiHuvM do ;
Hit jouriioy'ii nliortcr, ho iiIiu in .y ciriluns

Bfttur tl.aii tiny wliiuli do niucb furtliur i,<>.

Sho mnkcii no nolio, Init pflly Ktzitli on
Tliu llowcr or licrt) iiiipoliili'd for In:!- looi! ;

Tlio which Kill' quietly dolli ffcd Upon,
Whilo othtTH run u mid tsluri-, but fiml no Kotid.

So tliovo aro luiniblo soiila that iiiako noithor parado nor clatter,
nor draw notiie by any Bonsational gallop, who yut aro earnostly
thirsting for Christ, and really floring from -wrath, Hoeing as with
Mings, though they boeni only to crawl, whilo othora pranco as on
war-stt'fds. Those liuniblo souls attain thoir end most quickly,
though what they soolc is out of sight and limit, and not to be come
it by might of natural power or passion, or ransom of great riches.

Ono net of faith dollx brlni; them to tlmt flower,

They BO lor({ for, that thoy may cat and livu ;
Which to attain Is not in other's power

Thongh for it a king's iani»om they would give.

Then let none faint, nor be at all dismayed.
That life by Ciirlst do seek ; they shall not fail

To have it ; let them nothing bo afraid ;
Tlio herb und flower are eaten by the ena;!.

A man riding on horseback in a gallop like John Gilpin's,
leads I'unyan into various meditative characteristic sketches of
the various gaits of sinners riding j)ost to hell. One rides very

A l:fk study.

Hiij^oly, afFooting tlio ji^rr.vost inoJ»», anothor tantivy or full trot;
aiiutlior as in a stooplo chaso, full speed over hodgo, ditch, hojf, no
mattur what; anothor iip-hill or down, heodloss, houdlong, as if
lio would broak his nock, and cures uot.

Hut I'Vory liorNO liitx lii« ('Hpcciiil ({iiUlvr,
Anil by lilH goiiii; you miiy know tlio rldiT

And 80 in the Christian life, on foot or on lior8ol)ack, each one's
gait murks his spirit. Somo aro climbing on liands and knees, as
on tho Hill Difficulty ; eomo walking quietly, and commoncing
gravely, as Christian and Ilopoful at poucoful intervals ; some run-
ning as for their life ; soaie riding as on war-stoods. Ono of tho
most vivid and instructive of all the pictures of this doscription, is
in the Holy War, in that dread winter of stonnand desertion, wlion
the communion of the soul with Christ Imd bec^n broken up by
lukewarmness, and the grieving of the Spirit, and Mansoul hud
sent many messages, but could got no token. The difficulty of
prayer in the endeavor to get back to God, after a season of such
neglect and departure, is illustrated by a hoiseraan flying alono
through the snow storm, thick, blinding, overwhelming ; the mail-
bag of letters for the kitig strapped to his waist, liis grasp almost
frozen in the reins, liis body bonding forward over the neck of his
struggling horse, no sign of any otlier traveller coming or gning,
no help, no station, a bleak, tempestuous, mountain road to contpier.
But the rider lives, and struggles on, and while there is life there
is hope. He will reach the King's court once more ; he will get
his answer.

" I say unto you, though he will not rise and give him because
he is h's friend, yet because of his importunity he will arise and
give him as many as he needeth."

•t" V W ~ f

,% ^ ' ' ^ J .:

?fev.;.f:

A LIFE STUDY.

The last, but one, in these snatches of illuotration, and of
thought, developing the trutlis of the Gospel, and Bunyan's views
of Life and time passing into Eternity, consists of the engraving,
simply of an open ledger, or account-book, lying on a table, the
fair, white pages not yet blotted with a single record, or ink-mark.
You may write Avhat you please there. A bystander may catch up
the pen and write ; may write his own name and opinions, or the
troll of some foolish song running in his fancy. A dispossest devil
roaming through dry places, seeking rest, and finding none, may
write, and having written, may claim possession. For thus care-
lessly do men leave open and unguarded the page of life and
character, the Book that is to be read at the judgment.

Most men are so thoughtless of eternity, and of the character
they are daily forming, the account that is being filled up, the
influences that are streaming upon them, the thoughts and opin-
ions registered, the visitors and habits entertained, that their minds
are like the blank page of a subscription-book, where every man is
at liberty to write his name, and affix his claim to just as much
stock in the concern as ho has the means, or the will, or the fancy
to command, and it is his.

Some Bonis uro like unto this blank or sheet,

Though not in whiteness. The next man they meet,

Bo what ho will, a gooil mnn, or deluder,

A knave or fool, tlic dangerous intruder

May write thereon to causae that man to err

In doctrine, or in \\i , v ith blot and blurr :

Xor will that soul conceal wherein it Bwervi's',

IJut show Itself to each one that observes.

A reading man may know who was the writer,

And by the hellish nonsense the inditer.

But not always is the page possessed by hellish nonsense.
Bunyan's own heart was written over anew, by the Spirit and the
Word, and all the pages of his life were thenceforward filled with
the fair characters of Heaven, and he was one of those heavenly

A LIFE STUDY.

e-6

epistles, known and read of all men, manifestly declared to bo the
epistle of Christ, written not with ink, but with the Spirit of the
living God, And so may each man choose whether God shall
write, or Satan.

3nse.

the

I with

^enly

For the owner of this fair page can make his own record jnst
as he pleases. He can keep off whom and what he pleases. He
can watch over tlie register both of names and influences. Keep
thy heart with all diligence, for into it go the records and out of it
the issues, that make up the account of death or life. Each now day
begins a new fair page. To-day, the name of Jesus and th^ record
of his love may be, i^ you please, the very first name and register.
And if tha^fc be the first, Satan will hardly dare to follow that. H
that be the first, with prayer for Christ's grace, every after-record
of that page will respect it, will take character according to it.

Let it then be so begun, and so continued, and one fair page
filled up this day, with Christ. To-day, Lord, take thou my heart,
and fill its open pages ; my life, and write up its thoughts, feelings,
actings, and account, with thy Word, tliy Grace, and thy most
precious blood. Then, when the judgment comes, and the thoughts
of all hearts are revealed, and the dead are judged out of the
things written in the books, thou wilt read thine own name to tlie
universe, and show thine own blood there, and all shall be can-
celled, and all made white in the blood of the Lamb.

A LIFE STUDY ^

And now this little book of emblems closes with a flame of
fire. It ia the picture of an open blazing furnace as in the side
of a hill, where the flames are bursting forth with great volume
and fury, and have thrown down, and are enveloping a careless
straggler who has ventured too near. While he is crying out for
help, others stand away and laugh at him. They call him fool ; say
it is delirium tremens, or only an excited imagination ; affirm that
there is no such thing as fire, but only the fancy of it ; and as to
burnings ia another world, they are only the phantoms of diseased
brains, or the fictions of priests, intending thereby to rule men's
souls and consciences with fear. They say that men's happiness
of life and peace of mind, is all tc .mented' out of them by such
bugbears, and that the whole story of hell and sin, is an ugly
Tartaren fable, that men are fools to give heed to. Let them dis-
miss it from their minds, and walk at liberty. But while they
promise them liberty, they themselves are the servants of corrup-
tion ; ant' the wages of sin is death, which no man can escape,
neither the sia nor the death, but only through the mercy of our
Lord Jesus Christ, unto eternal life.

Who falls into the fire shall bum with heat,
While those remote seem from it to retreat,
Yea, while those in it cry out, oh, I burn 1
Some further off, those cries to laughter turn.

While some tormented, are In hell for sin,
On earth, some greatly do delight therein,
Yea, while some make it echo with their cry.
Others count it a fable aud a lie.

In his " Caution to stir up the soul," to watch against sin,
Bunyan closes with some pregnant stanzas, such as Sir John
Davies, or Donne, or the grave and profound genius of the greatest
poets of the seventeenth century, might have written.

j4 LIFE STUDY

Sin is the Uvlng worm, the lasting fire,
Hell soon would lose its heat, could Sin expire ;
One siolbss with infemals might do well,
But Sin would make a very heaven a hell.

Watch, therefore, keep this giant out of door,
Lest it get In, and never leave thee more.

PooU make a mock at Sin, will not believe
It carries euch a dagger in its sleeve ;
They know not that it is the very spell
Of Sin, to make men laugh themselves to hell.
Release, help, freedom from it, none can give,
But even He by whom we breathe and live,

Now may the God that is above.
That hath for sinners so much love.
These lines so help thee to improve.
That he to him thy heart may move.

Keep thee from outw.ird enemies,

Help thee all Tempters to despise,
Deliver thee from flends infernal,
-Viul brin.f, thee safe to life eternal!

!:1|

GOTTHOLD'S EMBLEMS. \

Palpitation op the Heabt.
HE conversation, in a company, happening to turn
upon the beating and motion of the heart in the
human body, great admiration was expressed at the
power and wisdom with which tlie Creator has so
contrived these, as to keep the blood in circulation,
and impregnate it with vital power, assimilating the
heart, as one of the company obsen'ed, to the great ma-
chines which, through secret pipes, dibtribute water over a whole
city. Gotthold observed : Let this remind us of the expression
which the Holy Spirit has twice used respecting David, namely,
that his heart smote him, upon one occasion, wt ^n, in the cave, he
cut off the sliirt of Saul's robe ; and upon another, after he had
numbered the people. And let us supplicate as a grace from God,
that, whenever we are tempted, by imprudence or infirmity, to en-
ter on any doubtful or dangerous course, our heart may in the
same way beat and palpitate, to warn us of our danger ; or that,
if we have already been misled, and are fallen into sin, it may
give us no rest, but smite and compel us, till, with true repentance,
we fly to the cross of Christ, and find rest for it in Him. Not
without reason do I call such palpitation a grace of God ; for, in
fact, it is nothing else but Christ and His Spirit knocking at the

A LIFS STUDY.

door of our heart, either to dinsuade us from sinning, or induce ua
to repent of having sinned. In the body, the stoppage of the
heart's beating indicates the presence of death ; and, even so, he
who no longer feels palpitation in his conscience, is, even though
living, spiritually dead.

Second Meditation on the Heakt.
N the case of the criminal who has long stifled his
conscience, the heartbeats violently when he labors
under apprehension or anxiety. We are told of
an ingenious judge, who, as an easy and expeditious
way of detecting a murderer among a number of per-
sons who were suspected, ordered them all to stand
round liim in a circle, and uncover their bosoms. He
then proceeded to lay his hand upon each in succession over the
region of the heart, and discovered the perpetrator by the violence
of the palpitation.

Here Gotthold paused ; but a learned man, who was present,
took up the word, and said that he had recently met with a very
beautiful story, which was highly api^ropriate to the subject of
conversation; and that, if it was tl- J company's pleasure, he would
briefly relate it. It happened in Switzerland, about one hundred
and twenty years age, that a worthy peasant was sentenced to the
flames for adherence to the truth of the gospel. After many ad-
mirable proofs of constancy and fortitude during his confinement,
he, 60 to speak, bequeathed to posterity a most remarkable one

A LIFE STUDY.

immediately before his death. When bound, and ready to be
thrown into the fire, he craved permission to speak once more to
the judge, who, according to the Swiss custom, was required to be
also present at the execution. After repeatedly refusing, the
judge at last came fornrard, when the peasant addressed him thus :
You have this day condemned me to death. Now, I freely admit
that I am a poor sinner, but positively deny tliat I am a heretic,
because from my heart I believe and confess aU that is contained
in the Apostles' Creed (wlilch he thereupon repeated from beginning
to end). Now, then, sir, he proceeded to say, I have but one last
request to make ; which is, that you wiU approach and place your
hand first upon my breast, and then uponyourown, and afterwards
fi-ankly and truthfuUy declare, before this assembled multitude,
which of the two, mine or yours, is beating most violently with
fear and anxiety. For my part, I quit the world with alacrity and
joy, to go and be with Christ, in whom I have always believed;
what your feelings are at this moment is best known to yourself.
The judge could make no answer, and commanded them instantly
to light the pile. It was evident, however, from his looks, that he
was more afraid than the martyr.

Gotthold offered the thanks of the company to the speaker for
his beautiful stoiy, with which, he said, he had not met in any of
the martyrologies, and added: Let us, therefore, earnestly desire
and continually pray, in the name of Christ, to God, graciously to
give to us at our death an equaUv cahn, happy, and fearless heart.

ill

A LIFE STUDY.

Books or Meit.
STUDENT of theology complained one day that
he was too poor to procure a sufficient supply of
books; and yet, according to his opinion, a study
without books was like a druggist's shop, in which
the unstopped phials and empty boxes can furnish no
medicine for the cure of disease. Gotthold replied:
There is some truth in what you say ; but, my good sir,
do not imagine that a multitude of books is the only source from
which it is pessible to derive that erudition and mental culture
which are acceptable in the sight of God. In fact, tlioy often do
more harm than good. It is possible to dry up a vast stream, by
draining ofif its waters into little currents ; and this is what hap-
pens to the mind which is prompted by curiosity or the hope of
fame to road m\ich, and toil through many books, but which gains
only the boast of having read them; at the same time losing its
humility and godliness. How foolish, too, is the man who sets up
a number of costly volumes, like superfluous furniture, for mere
ornamer t, and is far more careful to keep thera from contracting a
single spot of ink than to use them as the means of instructing his
ignorance, and correcting his faults. Compared with fools like
these, you ought to be considered fortunate . Better a man without
books than books without a man. Select for yourself one or two
of superior excellence, and lay thera not aside, until it is observable
in both you and them that they have been well used. That copy
of an old author, which a pious lady had read so often, and be-
dewed so plentifully with hor toars, that the pages had grown thin
and sallow, was worth all the libraries of all hypoorites and nominal
Christians collected into one. Be less concerned, tlierefore, about
the number of books you read, and more about the good use you
make of them.

A LIFE STUDY.

Thk Stuanok Bargain.

>NCE there lived, in a well-kno-wn city, two mer-
chants — one of them a skilful arithmetician, and
generally an able man ; the other, inoxporieucod in
figures, and by no moans a match for the former
in talent. They made the following bargain : The
sold a horso to the second ; but instead of fixing a
^4^;^ definite sum of money as the price, they agreed that it
should be regulated by thirty-two nails M'ith which the four shoes
weref . utoned to the animal's hoofs, and should bo paid in millet —
one grain being given for the first nail, two for tho second, four for
the third, eight for the fourth, and so on ; that is, doubling tlio
number at every nail. The buyer was at first delighted at pur-
chasing a fine charger for what he fancied a very moderate price ;
but, when the account came to be settled, he found that the quantity
of grain which, by the tonus of the agreement, he was requiretl to
pay, was enormous. In fact he would have been reduced to beg-
gary, if some sensible friends had not interposed, and procured f
dissolution of the bargain. Gotthold, who heard the story, observed :
Well does it exemplify the wiles of Satan. By promising merry
hours and temporal gain, he persuades and seduces man at first into
what he calls venial faults, and labors to keep him in these until
they have grown into a habit. Afterwards he advances by geomet-
rical progression. Sin grows from sin, and one transgression fol-
lows another, the new always being the double of the old ; and so
the increase proceeds, until at last the base pleasure which has
been bought, can be paid for only with that which is above all
price, namely, the immortal soul ; unless, indeed, God mercifully
interpose in time, with his Holy Spirit. It is therefore best to
keep one's self aloof, in every way, from Satan and his concerns,
and to regard no sin as venial and small.

HE law which iindoriios the analogies between the external
and invisible worlds, may never bo comprehended until
the mysterious connection of spirit and matter is success-
fully explored ; yet that these analogies exi.st, and that they are
not the children of fancy, but indicators of an essential agreement,
and a native though indefinable oneness, must be the con\nction of
every thoughtful and unbiassed mind. The two worlds, that of
material nature, and that of sinrituallife, are creatures of the same
Maker, and we might expect that some common principles or ideas
might show their common origin ; that the impressions of truth and
wisdom found in the sphere of mind and conscience would have
tlieir counterparts, modified only by the necessities of the case, in
tlie sphere of matter and material forces. The abundant and pre-
vailing use of these analogies in the Scriptures of God, appears,
we think, not simply because they form an attractive method of in-
culcating truth, but also because of the deep reality which lies at
their basis. Especially is this apparent, when the analogies stand
{orth, not as verbal allusions or illustrations, but as >'isible s^'mbols
before the instructed eye. Indeed we might atgue that the very
fact that through these analogies the inculcation of truth is made
attractive, proves a bottom reality of connection between the mem-
IwpTS of the analogy.

At the very first i)age of human history, we see the cherubim

A LIFE STUDY.

mid flaming sword, a grand and iniprosHivo symbol to tho panmts
of our rncv, powerful in its nuuining to thoni, douhtloss, as a vory
liiblo of Hitiritual truth, howovcT that meaning may bo obscurrd to
UH ill tlit'HO davH of now nynibols indicating now facts. What was
tho rainb«»w to Noali, and what ought it to bo to each of us? Sim-
ply tho rt'lUiction and refraction of tho difforont rays of tho sun's
light from tlio drops of •\vator in tho shower ? Is this sciontific analy-
M8 exhaustivo of tho rainbow 1* Is thoro no soH/in tho rainbow ?
no doop spiritual connoction, of which tho outward scientific defi-
nition has no cognizance ? Is thoro not a great reality in tho " rain-
bow round about tho throne," witli which every iris formed from
sun and rain stands everlastingly conjoined ? The sacrificial victim
and its altar from tlio first days of sin had then symbolic significance,
in accordance with wliich tho suffering Saviour is styled tho Lamb
of God. Surely that was no mcro conventional form by which
Abram divided tho licifor, tho ram and tho she-goat, placing tho
parts asunder, thnmgh ivliicli the lamp of fii'o and tho smoking
fumaco passed in the deep darkness of tho night. If thoro was
not profound meaning there, then there was child's play.

On every page of tho Bible, wo find kindred exhibitions of
fiymbolic tokens as divino instructors for our humanity. Tho Jt^wish
dispensation, in its tabornaclo with its priesthood and ritual, is re-
plete with these analogies, grouped in intricate interlacing, that
suggest even to those most ignorant of their meaning, a mar\'ellous
alliance between the seen and unseen, the material and spiritual.
The prophets have handed to them, as it were, from hcaven,em-
blem after emblem, to give either pictorially or verbally to the p(>o-
ple to whom they minister. And, when we come to the New Testa-
ment, we find the body of Christ with its Head and its members
accurately and minutely described, where the Church is signified,
the olive tree and the wild olive, standing for the Jewish and Gen-
tile churches, and all the parts of a buildiug,represeuting the spirit-

A LIFE STUDY.

ual pooplo of God. Tho l<>av«'n, tho hcchI, ihn toinplo, tlm riico, llio
armour, tho houscliold, tlio NviMltliiijjf, tho huiumt, ujuI mores nl'
otJicr fuiiiiUar ohjocts, aro orouglit conNtimlly bi-loro us as tli(< cx-
ponuntii of the most important uml rucomlito truths of tlio unseen
worM, and tho uso of hoad, liands, hoart, and other portions of tho
bodily framo as indicating attributes of tho soul, aro common botli
to Scripture and universal liuman usage.

No m(!ro chanco-likonosscan account for all this. Tlio prolilem
is too many-sidod to bo Holvod by tho notion of hap-ha/ard. A de-
8ignod resemblance is tho loust wo can assume, and this rually iiu-
plios a connation. Men have often given tho reins to a wild fancy
and assorted analogies whore nono existed, which reckless conduct
has led tho Bobor-mindod to lose their e([uilibriuTu, and fall back
into a dogged skepticism on tho whole subject, while they stigma-
tize all figurative language as more poetry, by which they moan
something ditferont from, if not antagonistic to truth.

Now while we condemn all unreasonable vagaries of tho imagin-
ative powers, lot us reverently hold to the courses of analogy re-
vealed from God. Those we may saftsly pursue. More than that
we may assume thai the material emblem will best present and im-
press the spiritual truth, giving a truer notion than what we call
exact philosophic language could convoy. For, after all, our philo-
sophic language has to be translated by the mind into this language
of material analogy, before it can be comprehended and become
anything T.ioro than a dead X. Y. Z. Abstract language is exact,
only because it has no life. It is exact, aa it will hot move and
alter. You can put it away and it will keep, but when you take it
out, you must clothe the skeleton with flesh and blood before you
have a living being. It is not exact, as representing the unseen
truth. TJuit cannot be represented until you have reached the
material analogue. A direct view of the spiritual world through
language is impossible. The vision rests perforce upon the material

A LIFE STUDY.

representations, while a transcendant action of the mind makes
the spiritual transfer.

A notable instance of this truth is in the universal notion of
God in human form, or, if not in human form, in form lower than
human. No one ever yet thought of God except as in the likeness
of a material object. The theophanies of the Old Testament were
not degradations of the Godhead, but truthful representations of
God, as ■was the person of the Lord Jesus Christ.

To treat, therefore, the highest spiritual subjects emblematically
is to treat them in a natural way, and in a way nearer to the real-
ity than by philosophic statement. Yet we grant that the exuberance
of life in the emblem or symbol, makes it a more readily misused
instructor than the lifeless formula of philosophy. The very quality
which gives it power, makes it dangerous to the careless. The
leading of God's word, the careful tracing of personal experience,
and the due regard to modifying truths, are necessary elements in
a judicious and righteous use of emblematic teaching, and (as we
have seen) all teaching must be emblematic at the last.

Archbishop Usher's secretary, Francis Quarles, will always
stand prominently among the men of English tongue, as the para-
gon of emblematic teachers. Though a loyalist adherent of
Charles I., he wrote like a Puritan, and hence his works went into
eclipse under the grossness of the Eestoration. Later generations
brought Quarles out of the cottages of the peasantry, where he
had been preserved, and true piety has ever found in his " Divine
Emblems," a wholesome and well flavoured fe ist. He drew from
quaint and holy writers before him, but he had the soul of a poet
and a saint to infuse his own individuality into all the material he
used, and though we may find extravagancies both in his poems
and in his prints (which should never be dissevered), his stream of
truth is 80 full and broad, that we are not misled by these eddies
of thought along the bank. With Quarles we always unite in our

A LIFE STUDY. B

minds the Bedfordsl lire tiulier, who was a boy wlion Quarlos died.
The "Pilgrim's Trogress," and the "llo'ly War," are but sustained
systems of emblematic teaching, and to their wonderful power
many generations will testify at the judgment-day. The design
of the present book is to bring Man's life in its highest interests
and relations pictorially before the eye and mind, after the manner
of Quarles and Bunyan, from which the child may gather with
delight and in which the man may explore with careful and well
rewarded study. We feel assured that such books come nearer to
the heart, and do more to establish it in truth, than the most eru-
dite tomes of scientific theology. In this belief we commend the
present volume to the guidance of Him, who uses the weak things
of this world to confound the things which are mighty, that by
these emblems human hearts may be instructed, rebuked and com-
forted to the furtherance of godly faith and the glory of His holy
name.

N Apology.

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