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would not, you could not be satisfied, without this noble purpose. Should grace control, you will come to this at last. Why not now?

I had designed to say a word on the observance of Christian institutions and ordinances. These are inseparable with your spiritual prosperity. They are of Divine appointment. They cannot be neglected without spiritual loss. Social prayer is another means which God has appointed. Be sure never to neglect it when you have opportunity. But I defer further remarks until another time, and will conclude with saying, be a Christian; not almost, but altogether such ; in doctrine, experience, and practice.

East Weymouth, Dec. 14, 1849. J. HoRTON.

BURNING A BIBLE.

The Rev. Mr. Sutherland relates an incident which illustrates, in an awfully striking manner, the fearful peril of contemning the Bible. It is as follows:—

In the village of Ruthergton, two miles from the city of Glasgow, an Infidel Club was formed. At one of its meetings it was sagely concluded to express on abhorrence of the Bible, by burning a copy of it. The volume was brought, a brisk fire was burning on the hearth. A question arose who should throw it into the flames. It was determined by lot. The designated man did the business, but was immediately seized with an indescribable horror, which made him tremble. He became infuriated, gave up infidelity; yes, the Bible was true, but he hated both it and its Author. He raved like a madman, so that it was somewhat hazardous to approach him. In his fury he swore ho would never taste another morsel of food. Not he, he would never be indebted to the Almighty for anything. A day or two afterwards, while passing through the village of Ruthergton, a stranger accosted me, who related the affecting case, and asked me to go and sec the miserable man. I did so, and what a sight! I realized all my ideas of the personification of a devil incarnate. The fiendish glances he cast at his neighbour and myself

shocked me, while he paced his room with hurried steps. I broke silence, by saying, that God is merciful. He turned on me, and with flaming rage exclaimed, "I want no mercy. I demand justice, and the sooner the Almighty will send me to hell, the better I shall feel; for then I hope to be able to spit my venom in his face;" and much did he utter in the same horrid strain. "Will you suffer me to pray with you?" said I. "No; I ask no favour of Ood or man. I accept no favour; no, not so much as a crumb of bread." "But you breathe at the expense of tho Almighty?" "I cannot help that," was the angry answer. "But you begone, and cease to torment me beforo the time." There I had ocular demonstration that it is the purpose of the Judge of all to punish the workers of iniquity. And if the effect of a slight frown was so terrible, I ask, with solemnity, "what shall tho end of them be who obey not tho Gospel of God?"

THE OLD WOODEN CLOCK.

When I was a boy ten years of age, which is somewhere about fifty years ago, I lived with my uncle in the country in a large old fashioned farm house, built in a commodious but very irregular manner; having a door here, and a window there, without any regard to the external appearance. There was a parlour with a bright home-made carpet and green chairs, and very beautiful window papers, but into this room I never was admitted, unless, as happened sometimes once or twice a-year, some of our relations from town visited us—then there were five rooms divided off from the spacious garret, up one pair of stairs, and called chambers, and in each of these rooms was a bed with white curtains and a blue coverlid, and two rush-bottomed chairs, together with a little pine-wood table with a white cover. All these things I remember as well as if I had seen them yesterday, but the hall and the kitchen were the places with which I was still better acquainted. The kitchen was very large, with an oak floor and an enormous fire-place that occupied one whole side of the room, and round the other three aides were chairs, tables, dressers, shelves, and cooking utensils without number, but every one of which is now before my eyes. The hall went straight through the house, and had a window and door at each end, and the stairs in the middle; but what I shall have most occasion to notice, was a large eight-day clock that stood in one corner, and ticked so loud that it could be heard all over the house. This clock was my very great annoyance—did I want to lie a little longer in the morning, when my bed was warm and comfortable, I was sure to hear my aunt's voice calling, "Tom, Tom, why don't you get up, it is just six o'clock!" and then the clock would begin to strike, and I would have to scamper down stairs only half-dressed, knowing that if it was done before I should be in the kitchen I should not have the trouble to eat any breakfast. Then, again, after breakfast, when I would be enjoying myself nicely in the barn, or playing with old Cresar, the house dog, I would hear the clock strike eight, and immediately after my uncle's usual call, "Tom, Tom, off with you to school, you will be too late." Theu at noon I had searcely time to swallow my dinner before I would hear it s'rike one, which was notice for mo to be off again. But what provoked mc most of all was in the evenings, when I had learned my tasks for school and was busily engaged, sometimes making boats with my pen-knife to sail in the horse-pond the next day, sometimes pasting a new kite, and sometimes reading an amusing story—I say what vexed me most of all, was to hear the old clock strike eight at such times, for scarcely was the last stroke done before 1 was started off to bed; and although I liked well enough to lie in the morning, yet I never was in a hurry to go at night.

One Christmas eve I had seated myself as usual in the spacious chimney-corner, the supper-table was cleared off, the ceiling had been newly white-washed, the floor scrubbed as white as snow and sanded, and the wall stuck round here and there with Christmas groins. Thore was a rousing Are made of wholo pine logs, and after my tasks were said, I fett very comfortable, and was very busy making a chain of pine leaves to hang over the looking-glass, but when I had done about two-thirds, to my groat vexation, I heard the old clock strike eight, and my uncle said, "Come, Tommy, high time for little boys to go to bed.'' "Uncle," I exclaimed, in great anger, "I wish your clock was all broken to pieces and burned up." "What for ?" said my uncle. "Because I can never do anything comfortably, but as soon as I am in the middle, that nasty clock strikes, and I know I must go to my lessons or to bed." "And so you think," said uncle, "that if my poor clock was destroyed you could play as much as you like." "Yes, uncle," I said. "And you think, too, that God put you into the world to do nothing but play and amuse yourself? hey, Tommy." "Not quite, uncle," I answered. "What then ?" he asked. "You tell me, sometimes, that God sent me here in this world to prepare for another." "Very true, my boy, and though you know that so well, yet when the clock warns you that you ought to be at your duties, you wish it was burned up. Tommy, Tommy, that will never do! You arc a little boy now, and your duty, which you hate so much, is only to improve yourself; but in a few years you will become a man, and will have important and perhaps difficult occupations to attend to; and how do you think you will be able to discharge them unless you learn to bo industrious and punctual now? If you let your little pleasures draw you away from your tasks now that you are a child, you will be good for nothing when you grow to be a man, and God will not love you nor bless you. Take my advice, my boy, and every time you hear the old clock strike, instead of being vexed and wishing it destroyed, think to yourself, - There is the beginning of another hour; let me see how much I can do in it, because every hour brings me nearer to the time when I must die, and then it will be too late to work.'"

Fifty years, as I have said, have passed since that night, but I have never forgotten my uncle's lesson. In the midst of weighty and important business I have been able to succeed by making the best use of every hour, and not letting pleasure or idleness draw me away; and in the deep sorrow and disappointment which has been my lot—and such is more or less that of every one in this world of trial— I have frequently heard the clock strike in the dead silence of midnight, and been cheered by the thought that every succeeding hour brought me nearer the end of time and the beginning of eternity.

Y.

POETRY.
"REMEMBER NOW THY CREATOR."

Remember thy Maker in life's early days,

For in youth is the time to begin;
To serve well thy Saviour, and join in His praise.

Who redeemed thee from sorrow and sin.

Remember thy Maker ere evil days come,

Or the years of enjoyment are fled,
For happy the heart is, and peaceful the home,

Where the love of a Saviour is spread.

Remember thy Maker, and thee He will guide,
Though the journey of life may be long,

His promise declares, that no ill shall betide.
Those who lean on the arm that is strong.

If in youth we remember the Being, who gave

TJs existence, and all we enjoy,
In age he will help us, and up from the grave,

He will raise us to meet Him on high.

Then Youth love thy Maker, there's honour in store,
For all those, who love and obey Him,

While the careless and wicked must ever deplore,
Their misery, their loss, and their sin.

Remember thy Maker wherever thou art,
And then, never will He forget thee;

But when from this life thou art call'd to depart,
Thou with Jesus for ever shalt be.

Blackburn, April 1850. Delta.

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