exert in eternity. He enjoys the present best, whose paramount purpose is to live for immortality. The experience of the wisest and best in all ages is the demonstration of this truth. They have made life but a pilgrimage, a tarrying place for a moment. Such it has never disappointed. Happy souls who have thus learned the true ends of existence.

When we are right inwardly; that is, when we are at peace with God and all mankind, and maintain a conscience void of offence both towards God and towards man, then we are at rest. The mind, staid on God, "is kept in peace." The rule of action then, is the revealed will of God, and the motive, the glory of God. This should be our standard of action in every case. Nothing can occur in life to which this standard will not apply. The law of God, or his revealed will, embracing all the precepts of the Gospel, is supreme and authoritative. It is the law of the moral universe. The highest angel in heaven, and the most inferior, but sincere disciple on earth, are alike controlled by it. Is this your law, my dear E.? No usage, no custom, can release you from its obligation. Indeed, when our hearts are right we embrace it with joy. This supposes a state of grace; enlightening, restoring, renewing, and sanctifying; and also a Christian practice, especially that of prayer. The influence of prayer in preserving the soul in a state of tranquillity, strength to resist temptation and control the propensities of nature, is beyond all estimation. Indeed, Christian equanimity, holy peace, and an appropriate Christian development, cannot be preserved without prayer. Be sure then to renew your covenant with God every day, by self-dedication and prayer.

You may have supposed that your business circumstances, have been unfriendly to your religious interests, usefulness, and happiness. But is it in fact so? May you not have been mistaken? Let us look at it. You are where you are, by the Providence of God. That Providence has opened no other way for you. You are then in the place, the very place where God would have you be, and where you can now best glorify him. Thus your virtue is put to the test, your Christian patience and equanimity. Your kindness

may suffer. Lowness of spirits may be induced. But may not this discipline be necessary for you? By the exhibition of Christian meekness under it, may you not glorify God as much as you could under any other circumstances? This is the very end to be aimed at, to glorify God now, to-day, where I am either by doing or suffering his will. Let to-morrow look out for itself. It is your duty to be, what Christ would have you be, every day, in the place where his providence has fixed you. But you will say that you have not grace sufficient for it. Yet you may have. And you won't know till you try. God helps them who help themselves, in religion as well as any thing else. Again, this discipline will not be without its good influence on your future life. You are learning by experience more of human nature. You will understand men and things, as you could by no other means. You will not be so much affected by the disappointments and reverses which may occur in your pilgrimage. Some of the most profitable lessons, which I ever received in my life came much in the same way. They were sore trials at the time. But God gave me grace to endure them, and they did me good. Events of this kind exert but a trivial influence, when it is "our sole concern and single care" that each day tells favourably on the destinies of eternity.

I repeat, the great point is to be right every day; to possess peace, the witness of the Spirit; present devotional feeling; present good hope of eternal blessedness. Let tomorrow take care for itself. Thus you will realize God's presence, communion with Him, in your heart from day to day, from moment to moment. This is the source of spiritual life, and of all the graces of the Spirit. In this state the soul rests in peace, or rather as the origin of this peace, rests on Christ.

How noble the purpose to live for God and for immortality! Many no older than yourself have done it, why may you not? This is the highest purpose which can enter your soul; the one most worthy of the spirit destined to immortality. Should you go the round of all the purposes which enter into, and form the plans of worldly men, you

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 an 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 he 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 see 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 God or man. I accept no favour; no, not so much as a crumb of bread." "But you breathe at the expense of the Almighty?" "I cannot help that," was the angry answer. "But you begone, and cease to torment me before 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 the end of them be who obey not the 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 sides 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 le 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 Cæsar, 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." Then at noon I had scarcely time to swallow my dinner before I would hear it strike one, which was notice for me to be off again. But what provoked me 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 I 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 greens. There was a rousing fire made of whole pine logs, and after my tasks were said, I felt very comfortable, and was very busy making a chain of pine leaves to hang over the looking-glass, but when I