every circumstance in it that is terrible to nature; and under a view of all these, I have found that in the way of God which gave me satisfaction, not merely a rational satisfaction, but a heart-engaging power that makes me rejoice." On the morning of the 23rd of September he went down into the dark valley. Yet he did not go alone, nor did the calm sunshine withdraw from his pathway, for in the even-time it was light about him. During the last six hours his voice failed him; but his angelic face was eloquent, and when he could not speak, he gently clapped his hands in triumph! So died the holy Halyburton. In contrast with this peaceful departure of a simple Scottish pastor, may be appropriately placed the closing scene of one of Rome's most gorgeous pontiffs, Leo the Tenth. Who, as he reads the narrative, would have exchanged the heavenly tranquillity that reigned in the humble manse of St. Andrew's, for the disquietude that agitated the breast of him who lay breathing his last, amidst the marble halls and silky splendours of the Vatican. "What shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?" It was remorse of conscience that distracted the mind of Leo-the conviction that his sins were unforgiven, and that he was therefore unfit to die. * * * Had Leo, instead of seeking "to reconcile himself to God," been pointed to "the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world," and sought to be reconciled through him, his faith in Christ's atonement would not have been rejected; and in the arms of death he might, for the first time, have tasted, greatly guilty as he was, "the peace of God which passeth all understanding." OLD HUMPHREY ON OVERWHELMING Reader! if death should surprise you as you now are, to which of the above closing scenes would your own bear resemblance ? To that of Leo, does conscience whisper? Ah! why should it be so? The joys which Halyburton, that man of God, felt, the Saviour yet invites you to partake of. The atonement of Christ, his finished work, his everlasting righteousness,-all that gave tranquillity in the prospect of death,-you are invited to take freely, and without price. Lose "Among the few memorials left us,' not, then, in fatal irresolution a single says the author from whom we quote,* hour; but "let him that heareth say, "of Leo's dying moments, is one of an Come. And let him that is athirst come. interview between him and his favourite And whosoever will, let him take the buffoon, in which the pope gave heart-water of life freely," Rev. xxii. 17. rending expression to the helpless agony of his soul. Of all the fi iends who used to flutter around him in the summer of his prosperity, not one remained to comfort him in the dark hour of death, except Mariano, the jester of the court. rest had already abandoned the departing pope, to pay court to his probable successor. But Mariano, touched with his master's forlorn situation, and grateful for the many instances in which Leo had shown him kindness, continued faithful to the last. Compassionating, but unable to relieve the pain which appeared to oppress the dying man, more in his mind than in his body, though the latter was suffering excruciating torments, the buffoon exclaimed, "Holy father, reconcile thyself to God!" The poor pope, we are told, replied, as well as he was able, by sobbing out the words, "Good God! good God! oh, good God!" and thus his spirit arose to the tribunal of the Judge. How sad a commentary is this narrative upon the words of Christ, The * See "Leo the Tenth," one of the Monthly Volumes recently published by the Religious Tract Society. THERE, are, perhaps, few who have lived long in the world who have not, at one period or other, been brought into contact with some fearful affliction and overwhelming calamity. I am about to enter on the relation of an occurrence of this kind, which, unless my memory be treacherous, I have not before described. In doing this, I am going back to a season when my brow was ungraven with years, and when gray hairs had not yet numbered me among those whose earthly days must of necessity be drawing to an end. These backward glances, these reminiscences of the past, when they remind us of calamities from which we have been mercifully preserved, ought to redden our cheeks with shame for our ingratitude, excite in us fresh impulses of thankfulness, and add a new string to our harp of praise. I was once acquainted with two brothers; they were young men of respect able family and good connexions, and were engaged in a prosperous business. Scarcely was their dwelling more than a stone's cast from my own, so that we were both neighbours and friends. One department of their lucrative business was the manufacturing of percussion caps for guns and fowling-pieces, and for these the demand was very considerable. They were diligent in business, and had been brought up in principles of integrity and piety, so that the promise of the future was fair. But man is short-sighted, and comprehends not the inscrutable designs of his almighty Maker. Before him fall the young and the old, the weak and the strong; the rush withereth ere it grow eth up, and the monarch oak is riven by the lightning. To me is unknown what was the exciting cause which led the elder brother to a deed of desperation. Whether unexpected care, unbridled passion, or sudden aberration of mind goaded him onwards, I cannot tell; it is enough to say that he fell by his own hand, and that his family, by this overwhelming calamity, was plunged into the deepest affliction. The melancholy tidings reached me at once, and I was soon among his sorrowing survivors. I found the bereaved wife of my poor fallen friend, sitting alone, mute, motionless, and almost as pale as marble. No answer did she return to my questions, and no consciousness did she manifest that I was speaking to her. She had the appearance of one petrified by affliction. It was, however, otherwise with the widowed mother of the deceased, for though heavily laden with sorrow, she bore it as a Christian should bear affliction. In that dark hour of earthly trouble she looked to her heavenly Father for support and consolation. There was a calmness, a bowing down before the high and holy One; a mute resignation to the Divine will, and a kissing of the rod, that spoke of a mind accustomed to go to the Strong for strength in the season of calamity : "A bruised reed he will not break; The remains of the deceased brother were deposited in the adjoining burialground, and often has the close of even found me musing over the green hillock that lay at the foot of the graven stone erected on the spot, Weeks and months rolled on, and afflictive as this domestic trial had been to those within its immediate influence, daily interests, avocations, and cares had rendered less painful to them the remembrance of the past. We often represent Time as a stern, inflexible old man, caring for little else but his scythe and his hourglass; but might we not give him credit for a touch of kindness, seeing that he soothes our sorrows, gently binding up the bones that are broken, and pouring oil and wine into the wounds of the bruised? I was sitting alone at my books, when suddenly a tremendous explosion shook the floor under my feet, and the walls around me, making the window-frames rattle, and leaving an impression that something like an earthquake had taken place. Hastening to the window, I perceived that the atmosphere was thick, as if the whole square had, in some degree, been darkened with smoke and dust, and people were hurrying to and fro. Feeling persuaded that an accident of a fearful kind had taken place, I sallied forth to ascertain the nature of the calamity. As a crowd had collected on one side of the square, I found no difficulty in making myself acquainted with what had occurred. An explosion had taken place on the premises occupied by the brother of him whom I have mentioned as already destroyed. The detonating powder used in the manufacture of percussion caps requires extreme care, as a slight pressure will at times cause it to explode; it is, therefore, highly expedient that small quantities only should be prepared at one time. There is, however, when large orders are received, a temptation to prepare more at one time than is consistent with safety. Whether a case of this kind gave rise to the occurrence which had taken place, I cannot tell. The explosion was terrific, and its consequences truly awful. On entering the premises, the wreck and ruin which surrounded me presented a frightful appearance. Part of a roof had been blown away, walls were burst through, the furniture and implements in one apartment had been forced into another, and windows in all directions were shivered to pieces. Workmen were employed in extricating their unhappy comrades from the ruins which had overwhelmed them, and in preparing to carry them to the hospital; while others were occupied in keeping back the crowd, fastening the doors, and admitting only such as were in some way connected with the premises and their proprietor. All was confusion. On mounting a staircase, and making my way through the rubbish and broken furniture that impeded my course, I entered a small room, the very picture of desolation, the walls and furniture bearing evident testimony to the force of the tremendous explosion that had occurred. There lay the lifeless body of my poor friend, stretched at full length on the floor; the face blackened, the limbs broken, and the body mangled. And there lay, also, the motionless and mutilated remains of a young woman. It was a spectacle of the most afflictive kind; a sight not soon to be forgotten. When the bruised and maimed had been conveyed to the hospital, a few immediate friends, who had consulted together on the subject of making known the melancholy event to the hapless mother, signified to me their desire that I should become the bearer of the calamitous intelligence. I immediately departed on my mournful mission. It was, Though mine was far from being a desirable undertaking, yet was I considerably relieved of my solicitude by the remembrance of the meek-mindedness and Christian resignation before manifested by her to whom I was about to impart such heavy tidings. indeed, a sharp trial that she was called on to bear, stroke upon stroke, affliction upon affliction; and cause enough had she to say, "When my heart is overwhelmed, lead me to the Rock that is higher than I." A mother, and a mother only, who had already been painfully bereaved of one son, could properly estimate her grief; still I hoped that her strength would be equal to the trial. It might be the better part of a mile to the house where she then was. On my arrival there, she immediately joined me in the room into which I had been shown. After a few remarks, gradually increasing in seriousness, I reminded her that in a season of extreme trial I had once witnessed, with much comfort, her meek resignation to the Divine will, and that it led me to hope and believe that under every future trial she would look to the same heavenly source of consolation, and receive the same merciful support. I then told her how much I regretted to be the bearer of unwelcome tidings. With a sharp and eager look, as if she would read my message in my features, and with a mother's heart anticipating evil, she pronounced the Christian name of her son, directly adding the question, "Is he dead?" As I spoke not, she excitedly said, "Did he -?" but I understood her agonizing solicitude, and hastened to relieve it by telling her that it was not his own deed; that God, in his mercy, had spared her that bitter trial, and that I hoped she would look to him, as he alone, in her present distress, could supply her with the strength and consolation she required. Without giving me a reply, she hastily quitted the room, followed by me, crossing the hall, and entering another apartment. At the far end of this room were seated several ladies, one of them was the sister of the deceased, and another a young lady to whom he was in a very short time to have been wedded. The latter was gaily dressed, wearing a gold watch and other ornaments. It was, indeed, with her a moment of agreeable expectancy, for she had supposed my knock at the door to be that of her lover. No wonder that so sudden and terrible an announcement as that which was in store for her should be more than she could sustain. The poor grief-oppressed mother, unable to endure her inward agony in silence, passed quickly along the room, to the apparently happy party, and before I could repress her speech, told them, with all the energy of excited anguish, that her son was dead. Had a hand-grenade been thrown among those who were seated round the table, hardly could it have produced more consternation and dismay. A wild shriek was uttered, and in a moment every one had left her seat. The sister insisted on going directly to her brother, the mother was equally importunate; while the poor young lady, springing to her feet, with her reason dethroned, began to dance about the room, singing the while, "Lara, lara, la! lara, lara, la!" "Come with me," said she, taking me by the arm, "and let us gather primroses." After this, dragging me to the sofa, she bade me "kneel down with her and pray," and then springing to her feet again, she began to dance, accompanying her movements with her voice, in all the appearance of frantic mirth, "Lara, lara, la! lara, lara, la!" For some time I was left alone with the three, the mother and daughter making efforts to get out of the house, and the distracted one HE HAS BEEN WITH JESUS. "They took knowledge of them, that they had been with Jesus."-Acts iv. 13. To be with Jesus, as the disciples were when he was here in the flesh, was to have daily and familiar intercourse with him; to go with him where he went, to witness his miracles, to hear his public discourses, to sit at his feet for private instruction, to ask him questions and hear his answers; to talk with him as one man talks with another, whom he loves and venerates as his teacher and guide. In meditation, in reading the Gospels, and in prayer, it is the unspeak able privilege of all Christ's true followers to have daily communion with him; and were they to avail themselves of this privilege in its largest extent, the men of the world could not help taking knowledge of them that they had been with Jesus. Low as the standard of Such a scene as this is too painful to be dwelt on; remote as the time is when it occurred, even now its remembrance brings the tears into my eyes. Let me sum up my narrative in few words. Before I quitted the house of mourning, the afflicted mother and sister, surrounded with Christian friends, were comparatively calm; "perplexed, but not in despair; cast down, but not destroyed;" and she whom the shaft of calamity had now fearfully stricken, was partially relieved by a flood of tears. After years had rolled away, and time had ameliorated the remembrance of the past, she wedded, and I believe happily. But what good can we gather from this narrative of universal sorrow? Much, I think, if it be rightly considered; for when we reflect for a mo- piety in the church is, who has not witment on our lighter cares and triflingnessed striking examples of this? afflictions, and compare them with calamities that have fallen on others, overwhelming as the one I have described, it should, as I have already said, redden our cheeks with shame for our ingratitude, excite in us fresh impulses of thankfulness, and add a new string to our harp of praise. When we contrast our merits with our mercies, how mean are the one, and how manifold are the other; and when we compare our sufferings with our enjoyments, it is to our reproach that a word of repining should ever escape from our lips. Whatever may be, afflicted Christian, the weight of thy trouble, it was not placed upon thee without the knowledge of thy heavenly Father; submit thyself to his almighty will: "Humbled beneath his mighty hand, Prostrate his providence adore; 'T is done! Arise! He bids thee stand, Bear thy cross now patiently, and after a while thou shalt wear thy crown triumphantly. Take up thy trial without murmuring, and thou shalt soon take up thy timbrel with rejoicing, in agreement with the words of holy writ: "For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal,” 2 Cor. iv. 17, 18. Here we meet with a man, who was once known to everybody as coarse, rude, irascible, and profane; and now he is meek, gentle, easy to be entreated, and in his whole character a new man. Every one notices it; and how is this surprising change to be accounted for? What influence, what companionship has changed the lion into a lamb? There is but one way to account for it-he has "been with Jesus." None but He, who cast out devils by his own power, could have wrought such a transformation. Again, we meet a plain, unlettered man, who but a few months since was stupid, ignorant of the Bible, and altogether uninstructed in the things of the kingdom. He is called upon to pray, and we are astonished. Such propriety of language, such fluency, such pleading, such humility, and at the same time such filial nearness of approach to the throne of grace! How, whence is it? He rises to speak a few words. There is no intrusive forwardness in his manner; but his tongue is loosed-words seem to be put into his mouth. He pours out his feelings in language and tones which reach every heart, and again we are astonished. What does it all mean? He has "been with Jesus," and this explains all. Christ has enlightened him by his Spirit, has brought him out of darkness into light, has made him "a new creature." Let these examples suffice; they will serve to suggest many others, which have fallen under the And now, dear Christian reader, how is it with you and me? Does the world, do our brethren take knowledge of us that we have "been with Jesus?" Do we let our light so shine before men, that they may see it, and glorify our Father who is in heaven? Do we adorn the doctrines of God our Saviour, by a holy walk and pious conversation? Is our communion with Christ so frequent and so familiar, in the closet, in the family, and by the wayside, that those with whom we have daily intercourse take knowledge of us that we have "been with Jesus?" Have we so beheld the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ, as to be changed into his image? Let each one ask himself, observation of the world, as well as of the | so they are of him. Then, again, he church. upholds the whole universe, and all things consist through him: no creatures help him to keep the world in its order and existence. But as he created all, so he sustains and maintains the whole creation, and it is for his pleasure that the things he has created do exist. Moreover, whatever of good exists in the creation, is only an emanation from himself, who is the eternal Fountain of all being and blessedness-the Father of lights, from whom cometh down every good and perfect gift. Whatever goodness or holiness there is in men or angels, proceeds from him; therefore, in regard of the infinite excellency of his nature, all glory belongeth unto him. And does not this serve to reprove all such as are proud of any privilege or gift with which they are endowed? They do not believe that all power, dominion, and excellence is of God, and that therefore all glory pertaineth unto him. If, indeed, they did, they would never arrogate vain-glory to themselves. Yet such is the folly of many, especially they that have sycophants at their elbows, to extol and applaud them and all they say or do. This was the madness of Herod, when he heard a company of fools flatter and extol him, as if he had spoken like a god, and not like a man. He was content to receive their applause and commendation; whereas, if he had had the grace to consider that though he was more eloquent than his neighbours, it was not from himself, but from the Lord, he would not have set himself up above God in pride, nor above God in glory: thus he would have escaped the fearful judgment that fell upon him.-Dodd. "What image does my spirit bear? In thought and word and action shine? Is our daily and habitual deportment, at home and abroad, in public and in private, such that our friends, that our enemies (if we have any) take knowledge of us that we have "been with Jesus?" or is it necessary for our acquaintances to go to the communion-table on a sacramental sabbath, in order to find out whether we are professors of religion or not? Alas! alas! that professing Christians should so often give occasion for the question to be sorrowfully or reproachfully asked, "What do ye more than others?" The general standard of consecration to Christ, on the part of his followers, must be very much raised, before the world will, like the chief priests and pharisees of old, be constrained to believe that they have "been with Jesus," that they have imbibed his blessed spirit, and been transformed, by imitating his example. It is true, the world is often censorious, and will not see the evidences of likeness to Christ where they exist. This we cannot help; but it is our own fault if we do not so reflect his image as to leave them without excuse. N. Y. E. "THINE IS THE GLORY." AND SO says the apostle Paul, Rom. xi. 36, "For of him, and through him, and to him, are all things: to whom be glory for ever." He made all creatures, and HOLINESS. Christ Jesus is, "that we should be holy THE design of the God of grace in and without blame before him in love." Are we chosen in Christ?—It is "that forgive us?-It is that we may fear, we may be holy," Eph. i. 4. Doth God and love, and serve him, Psa. cxxx. 4. Are we redeemed with the blood of Christ?-It is that we might be "a peculiar people, zealous of good works," Tit. ii. 14. Doth the grace of God bring salvation to us? It teaches us to deny ungodliness and worldly lusts, to live righteously, soberly, and godly, in this present evil world, Tit. ii, 11, 12.—Dr. Watts. |