he, in my adversity, has rejected me. I now see that there can be salvation in no other; I now see the necessity of a change of heart, which, as a child, I was by a pious mother taught; but, alas! alas! I see all this too late."

The agony of my unfortunate friend's mind was most distressing: I endeavoured to comfort him with the assurance that the blood of Jesus Christ can cleanse from all sin, and that if, with simple confidence in him he would look to his cross, he would assuredly find relief. But he withstood every attempt to console him, and persisted that, after his resolute rejection of the Saviour, the Saviour had justly rejected him. I left the room in bitter affliction, at the CONTRAST I had witnessed. In the poor man's hut, where there was no earthly consolation, where poor Hopkins lay on a flock bed in racking pain, without a friendly hand to wipe off the chill dews of death as they gathered on his brow, there was peace and joy, a sure trust in the Redeemer's merits, a hope that was full of immortality. Death was welcomed as the gate of everlasting life. In the rich man's hall, where every hand was ministering to his necessities, and all that human power could effect was done; in a splendidly furnished chamber laid Sir William ; his bodily pains had almost ceased, but his heart was filled with disquiet, and his anticipations were misery. Death was dreaded as the portal of an unseen state, which he shuddered to contemplate.

I shall not attempt to describe the agonizing scenes of that night, and the next morning. Sir William slept little. Over his pallid countenance swept rapidly shade after shade of strong emotion, and his unresting eye glared on each by turns of those that watched beside his bed. Several times I offered up prayers for him, but prayer seemed to give him no ease. I read portions of the Scripture to him, but he fixed on every threatening rather than on a promise. Nature was now fast sinking, and at nine o'clock, October —, 18—, Sir William expired. His last words, as well as we could catch the low murmur of his voice, were--"O Son of God, would that I had not rejected thee till it was TOO LATE !” Over his grave a veil must be cast. It is not for us to know how far, even at his last hour, Christ might mercifully pluck this brand from the burning. But such an end does utter an awful warning to men to lay hold of, in their day, the things that make for their peace, before they be hidden from their eyes.

In the afternoon I was reminded of my promise to visit Hopkins, by a little boy from a neighbour's cottage, who brought me a message from the dying man, begging me to

I

hasten down to him, that he might see me once more. crossed the park, therefore, immediately, and soon stood beside him. Upon his features a heavenly peace seemed to rest.

"I am a guilty sinner," he feebly said, "but my Saviour's blood, I can trust, has washed away my transgressions. Oh that I could glorify him more! I go where there will be no more pain, no more poverty or sickness. Happy, happy lot!" Are you in much pain?" I asked.

66 Oh yes, very much, but Christ helps me to bear it." And you are depending on his merits only for accept

ance?"

"On him alone," he answered; "he is my only hope." And he will not leave you, nor forsake you," I replied. 'No, God is faithful; his promises in Christ are yea and amen. Oh glory!" he said, with a faltering tongue, and sunk into a lethargic doze. I waited his awaking. In about a quarter of an hour he slowly opened his eyes, stretched out his hand, as if to grasp mine, and then feebly uttering some words of which I could only catch one-"faithful!" after a short struggle, he fell asleep in Jesus. Happy art thou, I thought, my poor brother; happier in thy low estate than the rich man in his wealth. Thou art, doubtless, now before the throne of God, where "the wicked cease from troubling," and "the weary be at rest," Job iii. 17.

Sir William and John Hopkins were buried the same day, at -church. A long train of carriages and many mourners accompanied the body of the baronet, as it was laid in the sumptuous tomb of his fathers. The bearers alone stood round the grave of Hopkins, as in a distant corner of the churchyard there were committed "earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life."

If this simple narrative makes the impression I desire on those who read it, they will see how far better it is to be poor in this world, and rich in faith, than to have their good things here, with no treasure secured on high. May they learn, when good and evil, when life and death are set before them, may they learn, and be strengthened thereto by God's Spirit, to choose the good, that their souls may live for ever.From the Church of England Magazine.

ON THE BEGINNING OF THE YEAR.

We have just entered on another year, and surely we ought to look back on the past one, and call to mind the mercies we

have received, and the deliverances that have been wrought for us. We ought to feel most thankful to Him, who has been our Protector, our Guide, our Preserver, our Benefactor, and our Friend. From him we have received every comfort and blessing whether temporal or spiritual. He has supported us in trouble, and appeared for us in the darkest seasons; and when our hearts were overwhelmed within us, he has afforded us comfort. Have we been visited with sickness? He has restored us to health. Have we been assaulted with temptations? He has made a way for us to escape. Have we been exercised with trials or afflictions of any kind? He has supported us under them, and in his own good time (which is always the best) he has delivered us out of them. We ought then to erect our Ebenezer to his praise, and say, "Hitherto hath the Lord helped us," blessed be the God of our salvation, who has done such great things for us? Oh may our hearts overflow with gratitude to him who has incessantly watched over us to do us good. May we be sensible of our great and lasting obligations to him, and determine, in humble dependence on his grace, to be more devoted to his service. But, what suitable return can we make unto him for his unceasing kindness and goodness? What can we render unto the Lord for the countless benefits which we have daily received at his hands?

We can and may give him ourselves-we cannot give him more than this, and we ought not to give him less. But will he, the most high God, accept of such a giftaccept of such vile, worthless, and unworthy creatures? Assuredly he will. Let us then give ourselves cheerfully and unreservedly unto him. Let us be devoted body and soul to his work, and manifest to those around us that we are indeed his. And if we are his children, new creatures in Christ Jesus, partakers of his Spirit, with what confidence and composure may we look forward to the ensuing year. Come what will, the true Christian is safe; he has no cause to fear. Nothing can happen to him but what is appointed by his heavenly Father, who has engaged that all things shall work together for his good. Are you, my friend, a real Christian, a child of God? Then all things are yours; "life, leath, or things present, or things to come," and what can you have or desire more? The eternal God is your Friend and Father-the omnipotent Jesus your Saviour and Guide— and the ever-blessed Spirit your Comforter and Sanctifier; and the celestial world, the regions of perpetual day, of unalloyed felicity, will be your dwelling place for ever. Go on, then, dearly beloved in the Lord, go on in his strength.

Endeavour to have your eye constantly fixed on Jesus. Give up yourself afresh to him, and make it your daily study to promote his glory. Learn to live above the world, and strive to have your conversation in heaven. Call to mind what the Lord has done for you, and confidently trust him for the future. He who has been your Friend hitherto, will not now forsake you. He who has led you thus far, will lead you to the end of your journey. He will never disappoint your hopes founded on his word and promise. He will "guide you by his counsel," lead you "in the way everlasting," and eventually "receive you to glory." That Christ may be formed in you, more and more, the hope of glory-and that you may live in constant expectation of, and preparation for, his coming, is the prayer of yours, etc.

From some Letters written by a Person in Humble Life.

RELIGION.

THERE is a solace, a balm, a comfort in religion, which can never be found in the world, as every one truly religious will testify. The world, with all its pleasures, its riches, its amusements, can never yield real satisfaction to an immortal spirit. There must be something besides; that something is true godliness. The world, of itself, is altogether inadequate to impart real happiness. Solomon, the wisest of men, had the greatest opportunity of deriving pleasure and satisfaction from worldly objects; he had everything which heart could wish for; every enjoyment which earth could afford, yet he declares, "All is vanity-" not all is vain, but all is vanity itself. Yes, indeed, "vanity and vexation" is inscribed on all things here below. Everything is precarious, fading, corruptible. But religion, true, genuine religion, yields substantial pleasures, it gives real happiness, it affords permanent satisfaction, it elevates the mind above earthly things, it raises the affections heavenwards, it makes the world to appear as nothing, it comforts and consoles in this "vale of tears," it bears up the spirit under trials and afflictions, and it imparts a glorious prospect of never-ending bliss beyond the grave.

""Tis religion that can give

Sweetest pleasure while we live;
'Tis religion must supply
Solid comfort when we die;
After death its joys will be,

Lasting as eternity."

From some Letters written by a Person in Humble Life.

OCCASIONAL MEDITATIONS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS UPON THE CROWING OF A COCK.

How harshly did this note sound in the ear of Peter; yea, pierced his very heart! Many a time had he heard this bird, and was no whit moved with the noise; now there was a bird in his bosom that crowed louder than this, whose shrill accent, conjoined with this, astonished the guilty disciple.

ance.

The weary labourer, when he is awakened from his sweet sleep by this natural clock of the household, is not so angry at this troublesome bird, nor so vexed at the hearing of that unseasonable sound, as Peter was, when this fowl awakened his sleeping conscience, and called him to a timely repentThis cock did but crow like others, neither made or knew any difference of this tone and the rest; there was a Divine hand that ordered this morning's note to be a summons of penitence. He that foretold it, had foreappointed it; that bird could not but crow then, and all the noise in the high priest's hall could not keep that sound from Peter's ears. But, O Saviour, couldst thou find leisure when thou stoodst at the bar of that unjust and cruel judgment, amidst all that rabble of enemies, in the sense of all their fury, and the expectation of thine own death, to listen unto this monitor of Peter's repentance, and upon the hearing of it to cast back thine eyes upon thy denying, cursing, abjuring disciple? Oh, mercy without measure, and beyond all the TRACT MAG., THIRD SERIES, NO. 87, MARCH, 1841.

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