breath of heaven, that flutters past us, and we "cannot tell whence it cometh or whither it goeth" and "yet (when not stifled) are felt in their effects like the energy of the viewless winds."

Mark, too, the quiet, unassuming character of him who, trained up from the first in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, has gradually grown in grace as he grew in years. We are unable to trace the progressive change that is going on, and yet, if we take the character at two different periods, we find that without observation it has become more heavenly, and more ripe for heaven. Faith has assumed a deeper and more earnest tone; love has kindled within the heart into an intenser flame; hope has rooted itself more undoubtingly on the eternal reward, with more entire dependance on Him who gave us hope. Holiness has increased as the days have gone by, keeping ever stricter watch on every thought, word, and work. There is more activity in the service of our Master, as the time draws nearer, when the night cometh, in which no man can work. There is more pleasure and joy in devotional ser

vices, and more entire freedom from worldly thoughts and intruding recollections in those sacred hours consecrated peculiarly to the exercises of religion. As the Christian's daily prayer is, "Thy will be done in earth as it is in heaven," so does he daily approach nearer to this heavenly-mindedness. Such is the advance towards perfection, and the everincreasing meetness for the presence of God, and the gradual, silent, but real developement of spiritual powers and spiritual graces. You cannot see the work that is going on, but you can tell that it is proceeding by comparing one period of the man's life with another. The power of God's kingdom on the soul, like that kingdom itself, is deep as the bluest depths of some mighty river, but calm and still as its most unrippled surface, and steady and sure in its slow but majestic progress, as the roll of its waters, ever multiplying, ever flowing onwards, until they come to the boundless infinity of ocean.

And so will it be with the awakened and repentant sinner. Though necessarily there be a disturbance in changing the current of

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the affections, and though it be painful and laborious to retrace our steps in order to regain the path of Christian piety we have left, yet that repentance, and that conversion, will ever be the most real, and be the most likely to abide, which comes nearest in its character to that of the kingdom of God, which cometh not with observation. When a sinner is turned from the error of his ways, it is a bad sign, if he talk loudly and much; it is a bad sign, if his professions be many, and perpetually obtruded on our notice; if he soon begin to tell us of his experience, and his consolations, and his peace. The surest repentance is that, where sin is felt most deeply, and where there is the greatest shame and sorrow for the past; and shame likes not to be seen, and sorrow retires from the rude gaze of others. The surest repentance with the promise of most permanent effects is, when little is said, but much is done, and at once; when there is a willingness to remain in sorrow as long as God may think fit, and not so quick and eager a desire after comfort and peace. Well content is the real penitent, if God will pardon and forgive his iniquities,

and when God sends comfort most deeply grateful will he be for it, seeing such love was most undeserved, but meanwhile he will patiently suffer in deep and entire submission to the Divine Will. The change in the sinner's life, one would wish to see, is not hasty and violent, but calm and deliberate,—not noisy and full of profession, but still, and full of practice, not a boasting of newly acquired privileges, but a humble sense of past sins, and stedfast confidence in God's mercy for the future through the merits of Christ. The kingdom of God, whether in the gradual growth from grace to grace, or in the turning of a sinner from the error of his ways, and renewing him to holiness of life,—the kingdom of God, powerful over the heart of man, cometh not with observation.

When this life is over, there is an end to all uncertainty as to our eternal state; as far as we are individually concerned, with the end of our earthly pilgrimage is the end of our hopes of heaven, or our fears of hell. And so, as the church militant on earth is but a type of that spotless triumphant church in heaven, the glorified Bride of the Lamb,

death is but a type of that day of final sentence, whereon the everlasting kingdom of light shall commence. Now, if we consider the slow and gradual decay of the powers of life, as old age advances, the noiseless, stealthy advance of consumption in some diseases,— the unexpectedness of sudden death,-the fact, that come slowly or come quickly, death almost always comes suddenly at the last,seeing these things are so, we shall say, that death cometh not with observation. And so will it be with the awful and tremendous Day of Judgment. Silently will the dead be sleeping in their quiet graves,-unthinkingly will the quick be busying themselves in the affairs of this life, as it was in the days of the flood,-when the blast of the Archangel's trumpet shall proclaim to all, both quick and dead, that the day of the Lord is come, which cometh as a thief in the night. they whose lamps are trimmed, awake, though from the sleep of death, prepared to meet their Judge; while upon the wicked. will have come destruction unawares, and the kingdom of God will have overtaken them without observation, and found them not

Then will