He says you do not go so often to William Street as you used to do. I do not know what he means; but I suppose you do." Struck in a moment with the awful impropriety of his conduct, he bowed to the colonel, and departed to humble himself before God. He ever after adored the Divine mercy, which did not leave him fully to realize the scriptural threatening, "The prosperity of fools shall destroy them."

RIGHT IS MIGHT.

THOUGH the strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks, yet the Lord was not in the strong wind. Nor was he in the earthquake;

nor was he in the fire. In what then was he? In the still small voice; and this is one of its holy utterances-Right is might. As sure as God liveth-as sure as the Holy One of Israel is the Lord of hosts, the Almighty-right is might. Meekness is might. Patience is might. Humility is might. Self-denial and self-sacrifice is might. Faith is might. Love is might. Every gift of the Spirit is might. The cross was two pieces of dead wood; and a helpless, unresisting Man was nailed to it; yet it was mightier than the world, and triumphed, and will ever triumph over it. Heaven and earth shall pass away, but no pure holy deed, or word, or thought. On the other hand, might-that which the children of earth call so, the strong wind, the earthquake, the fireperishes through its own violence, self-exhausted and self-consumed; as our age of the world has been allowed to witness in the most signal example. For many of us remember, and they who do not have heard from their fathers, how the mightiest man on earth, he who had girt himself with all might, except that of right, burst like a tempest cloud, burnt himself out like a conflagration, and only left the scars of his ravages to mark where he had been. Who among you can look into an infant's face, and not see a power in it mightier than all the armies of Attila or Napoleon?-Archdeacon Hare.

HOW TO REPRESS PASSION. AN excellent man, for many years a useful and honoured member of the Church, had inherited a temper of peculiar violence. He became easily excited with anger, and his passion when aroused was almost uncontrollable. He struggled manfully against the propensity after he became a Christian, but not with the success that he desired and sought. At length he hit upon the following expedient: Procuring a suitable book for the purpose, he determined, whenever he had been overtaken by passion, to record the fact, with all its causes and circumstances; what others had said, what he had replied, and what the issue had been. He thought, and properly, that as he undertook to reduce to writing the causes of his anger, they would be resolved before his mind into their true insignificance; that he should thus have the grounds of self-abasement, and penitence or prayer, brought more distinctly to view; that his watchfulness would be increased, and that he would be made familiar with the points of peculiar tempta

tion.

As he thought, so it was. By his sudden death the record which he had always designed to destroy when he should have ceased to use it, came into the hands of his children; and they were able to trace

there the mighty inward struggles through which the change had been wrought, that as visible in the life had stolen upon them imperceptibly. At first the record had sometimes been of anger excited more than once in the day, and repented of, and resolved against; and then it would be once in two or three days that the record would be opened; and afterward but once in the week, or in several consecutive weeks; and at length, but once perhaps in the whole progress of the year. And so the good man had "fought his fight," had slowly with difficult but steady and resolute steps ascended the steep, had reached its summit at last, and gained his crown!

How many are there who might do likewise?

GOD'S TRIUMPH IN THE GOSPEL. GOD hath done something more than proclaim an open way of return to the sinners who stand afar off. He has told us how that way is opened. He has explained to us the mystery of sinners being brought near, and being taken into acceptance. He has not left us to guess, and to wonder, and to suspect the purity of his justice and the inflexibility of his truth, and to look upon sin as a trifle that may be easily! fallen into by the creature, and as easily connived at by the Creator. He hath made known his mercy, but not till he got that mercy to meet and be in harmony with his truth. He hath published peace, but not till he established a firm alliance between peace and righteousness. Along with the revelation of his mercy He hath made an awful vindication of the majesty of his high attributes. It is true he condescended to put himself into the attitude of a petitioner and implore the return of sinners, and ply them with the assurances of his willingness to welcome them back again. Wonderful attitude, indeed, for the God whose law had been trampled upon, and who throughout this province of his mighty creation had a whole world turned in one wild outcry of rebellion against him; but, oh! my brethren, we mistake it, if we think that the attitude, wonderful as it is, was the attitude of fallen majesty, or of a God whose throne had been dismantled of all the securities which upheld it. Oh, no! my brethren; in this mighty triumph of mercy there was the triumph of his every other attribute; and while the messengers of God have a full warrant to pour into the sinner's ear the plaintive tenderness of a father in quest of his children who had wandered like sheep among the mountains away from him-the warrant is put into their hands by Him who, having magnified the law and made it honourable, has caused the truth and the righteousness of God to burst forth in brighter manifestation than ever upon the eyes of a guilty and humbled world.-Posthumous Sermons of Dr Chal

mers.

DIVINITY TAUGHT BY AFFLICTION. A MINISTER was recovering of a dangerous illness, when one of his friends addressed him thus: "Sir, though God seems to be bringing you up from the gites of death, yet it will be a long time before you will sufficiently retrieve your strength, and regain vigour enough of mind to preach as usual." The good man answered :-"You are mistaken, my friend;" for this six weeks' illness has taught me more divinity than all my past studies and all my ten years' minis try put together."

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"My voice shalt thou hear in the morning, O Lord."PSALM VI. 3

AUTHORS have found the morning the best time for study and composition. Hence it has been called the friend of the Muses. It would be easy to prove that it is equally a friend to the Graces and the Duties. It is the finest season for reflection and devotion. David found it so; and therefore resolves: "My voice shalt thou hear in the morning, O Lord." What voice? The voice of praise, and the voice of prayer— the one excited by looking back; the other, by looking forward.

How much is there in the morning to call forth the voice of thanksgiving! Let us think of the season we have just passed through. How many houseless creatures this night have had no place where to lay their head! How many victims of accident and disease have been full of tossing to and fro, until the dawning of the day; their beds have not comforted them, nor their couch eased their complaint! How , many have been deprived of repose while attending their neighbours, friends, and relations, in sickness and sorrow! How many, since the last setting sun, have entered an awful eternity! How many, this night, have been cut off in their sins! Many have been terrified, robbed, injured, murdered, by wicked and unreasonable men! How many have been consumed by fire or drowned with water! How many, this night, have been engaged in works of darkness; and who, if any knew them, would be in the terrors of the shadow of death! How many have risen this morning to pass the day in anguish-how many to suffer want! How many, who have all things richly to enjoy, have risen only to live another day without God in the world! They lie down and rise up like the beasts that perish: God is not in all their thoughts. And is it otherwise with us? What shall we render unto the Lord for all his benefits toward us? Bless the Lord, O my soul; and all that is within me, bless his holy name. O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name together!

And with how many of these merciful nights have we been favoured? Hence, perhaps, we have been so little affected with the goodness • From the venerable author's " Morning Exercises."

of God in them. How strange! that what increases the greatness of our obligation, should diminish the sense of it! Yet it is by the interruption, the suspension, the want of our comforts, we are made to learn the value of them. Let us guard against this perverseness of ingratitude. Let us remember, that if our mercies are common, they must be numerous; and, if numerous, they multiply the claims to our praise.

And shall our gratitude evaporate in a mere morning acknowledgment? Shall we not, by the mercies of God, dedicate ourselves to his service, and be in his fear all the day long?

And when we think of the day before us, how much is there to awaken concern! And what is our concern without the attention of God? He shall therefore, in the morning, hear not only the voice of praise, but the voice of prayer.

Who is to guide me through the day upon which I have entered? How much depends upon one mistake in my movements! And how easily may I go astray! The way of man is not in himself; it is not in man that walketh to direct his steps. "Cause me to hear thy lovingkindness in the morning; for in thee do I trust :" cause me to know the way wherein I should walk; for I lift up my soul unto thee."

Who is to guard me through the day? And I am much more exposed when awake than when asleep. My soul is more exposed-more exposed to sin-and sin is the greatest evil. And what am I, to resist a corrupt heart, a wicked world, and all the powers of darkness? "Hold thou me up, and I shall be safe. Be thou my arm every morning; my salvation also in the time of trouble."

Who is to help me through the day? I have many duties to discharge; I am to live soberly, righteously, and godly. I am to walk in wisdom towards those that are without; I am to speak the truth in love; I am to adorn the doctrine of God my Saviour in all things. "Lord, without thee, I can do nothing. Let thy grace be sufficient for me; and thy strength) made perfect in weakness."

Who is to give me success in the business of the day? I know I ought not to be idle, but to be diligently and prudently employed in my

lawful calling. Means are mine; but how much more is necessary than my wisdom and anxiety! "The blessing of the Lord it maketh rich; and he addeth no sorrow with it." Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain. It is vain for me to rise up early, to sit up late, to eat the bread of sorrows: for so he giveth his beloved sleep." Who is to prepare me for the events of the day and I know not what the day may bring forth. Perhaps I may receive the most unwelcome intelligence. Perhaps I may sustain losses in property. Perhaps I may meet with mortifications from my fellow-creatures, and be tried with disappointments in friends. My child may this day fall sick. The desire of mine eyes may be taken away with a stroke. There may be but a step between me and death. It is wonderful we live a day through. "May I know how to be abased, or how to abound! If in the world I have tribulation, in the Saviour may I have peace! So teach me to number my days, that I may apply my heart unto wisdom, that, whether I live, I may live unto the Lord; or, whether I die, I may die unto the Lord: so that, living and dying, I may be the Lord's."

ELIZABETH HEARNE.*

THE DEATH-BED OF THE YOUNG BELIEVER. FROM her childhood she had been remarkable for simplicity of character and sweetness of disposition. These two might be said so to grow with her growth and to strengthen with her strength, that, for the last few years of her life, her constant sweetness of temper, and her overflowing affection, gained her the esteem and the love of all who came to know her.

For some time previous to that illness which terminated in her death, Elizabeth manifested a strong desire to improve herself in every way, and to overcome a natural slowness which she had in acquiring knowledge.

So soon as the first rays of the morning light visited her little chamber she was at work; and if told at any time that she should sleep a little longer, she would softly reply-" I must do it, because I am slow." She would then be heard repeating some sweet hymn, or a portion of Scripture, and committing to memory her lessons for the day.

With all these pleasing symptoms, however, in the case, it could not positively be said of Elizabeth that she had undergone any real saving change of heart. All these symptoms might be traced to her own inherent amiableness, and to the daily instructions and counsels of those who were most deeply interested in her. She displayed many natural graces, for which all had reason to be thankful; but as yet, it could not be said of her that she was "a tree of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified." Her many endearing qualities might have led to the conclusion, that, like the young man in the gospel, she was not far from the kingdom of God; but they gave no sure proof that she had entered it. These

From a Memoir by her pastor, the Rev. J. Gardner of Birkenhead.

seasons were, with Elizabeth, "the day of small things "a day, however, which was to usher in one of greater peace to herself, and of greater promise to all who were interested in her spiritual welfare.

Her conversion from sin unto God was closely connected with the following striking incident; and it will afterwards be seen that she traced her conversion to what then took place.

Elizabeth had done something which gave displeasure to her aunt; and, on being reasoned with, she was reminded of the words of God-" Be sure your sin will find you out. These words made a deep impression on her mind at the time; and that impression was still more deepened on hearing the writer employ the same words on the Sabbath following. On going home she wrote these words, and placed them where they might frequently meet her eye. As she referred to these words, as leading her to think and to feel in a way she had never thought or felt before, she would say, that she then "felt what sin was;" and that, "from that time she had prayed, and not merely said her prayers." From this period, the change in the whole deportment of Elizabeth was most pleasing. The amiability and sweetness which characterized her before were so increased, or rather so directed, that it was a pleasure to be near her, and to watch her progress from day to day.

Towards the middle or the end of spring 1848, and soon after the death of her mother and grandfather, indications of a change in the usual health of Elizabeth began to appear. These, however, were so slight at first, and so modified by her uniform sweetness of disposition, that, save by herself, no serious results were anticipated; and her forebodings were traced only to a childish feeling.

At this period, Elizabeth had strong convictions of sin. She would often say, "I am a great sinner: I have never known a girl of my age so sinful as I am." On my first visit to Elizabeth, after her illness, I did not know her peculiar state of mind, and she had not confidence to tell me; and my remarks were therefore of a general nature, and did not meet her She listened with marked attention to special case. all I said, but remarked to her aunt on my leaving, that "I did not know how sinful she was, and there fore I had spoken kindly." Her aunt urged her to tell me, on my next visit, all her fears and anxieties. "I cannot," she said; "but I will tell you all my sins. I will try to remember them. Surely I have read somewhere, 'Confess your faults one to another:" I will do it, dear aunt, but promise you will not hate

me.

From this time she enjoyed, and mostly without interruption, that "peace which passeth all understanding, and which keeps the heart and mind through Christ Jesus." Her sufferings were oftentimes very severe; but amid them all she would sweetly and confidingly say, "It is God's will." Elizabeth never murmured, never complained. Her patience, her resignation, her gratitude, under all her sufferings, and under all the painful remedies prescribed, were remarkable in one so young. An incident will illustrate this. One day, on coming into Elizabeth's room, the servant remarked, "I am sorry to see you suffering so much." To this she meekly replied, "My sufferings are nothing to those which the Lord Jesus endured for you and me."

When any manifestations of deep anxiety or of grief appeared in the countenances or in the illsuppressed sobs and tears of those around, she would gently say," Pray for the faith-I will pray that we She would then clasp all may have more faith." her feeble hands, and say, "Help me, O Lord, my God! O save me according to thy mercy, that they

may know that this is thy hand, and that thou, Lord, has done it." She would then say to such as were around her bed, "Who but God could do it? I am so ill, and yet so happy." And then, enumerating the many acts of kindness on the part of those around, she would add, “ You all do it, but God puts it into your hearts."

As Elizabeth advanced in knowledge and in grace, she became exceedingly desirous of doing good to all around her. And of such as came to visit her she would say, "I do so wish that I could speak what I feel for them; but I am a little girl; they will think me too young to warn them; and yet I know that they will not be saved if they do not repent, and pray for new hearts." In this desire for promoting the salvation of others, Elizabeth was properly encouraged, and she would speak in succession to all the young persons in the house, and to all her companions as they came to see her, urging them to flee from the wrath to come, and to lay hold on eternal life. These touching admonitions, entreaties, and prayers, have not, it is hoped, passed away without leaving some salutary impression behind; but the day will declare it. To one who was seen to smile at the simple address of Elizabeth, it was tenderly, yet reprovingly, said by her, "You do not think now, but remember you have a soul."

On a Sabbath evening, towards the close of her life, Elizabeth said to these young friends, "Now, I know you can repeat that Catechism-you have done so by my dying bed; but you will never know its value, unless you are laid as I am, and wish to understand it. When you are all asleep, I go through it, and it makes the hours short." Of such as were older than herself, Elizabeth would say, "How I wish that I might speak to them of God!--I will pray for them. I do pray for all I love, and I love so many."

Elizabeth was now so feeble that even a little reading caused nervous suffering; still she would not abandon any of her exercises. When told that she was too ill to do any thing, she would say, "While I can, I must do it." For several days previous to her decease, when asked what she wished to have read to her, she said always, "Something that Christ said "-clearly showing that with her Christ was "all and in all." On my asking her as to the grounds or reasons of her peace in the near prospect of death, she would tell me "that her peace arose from her believing that God, for Christ's sake, had pardoned all her sin." She would then add-"God has been very merciful to me;" and her clear, full expression of countenance, showed how deep and how warm were her emotions, A sweeter or a more expressive countenance I never saw; and amid all her sufferings, and in a case of consumption, I have seldom or never seen these equalled-the sweetness and the expressiveness of that countenance remained untouched.

I saw Elizabeth for the last time on the day preceding her death. Her peace was still unbroken, her hope was still "as an anchor of the soul, sure and steadfast." It was still full of immortality. I could see that her weakness was rapidly increasing, and that her end could not be far distant; but I did not think I was conversing with and looking upon this young disciple for the last time on earth. It had, however, I think, been her own impression. When I was about to leave she took my hand, and holding it between hers, she said with more than her wonted tenderness, "I cannot reward you, sir, for all your kindness to me, but God will reward you. Read the close of Matthew xxv." And, quoting the passage, she said, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."

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In the morning there was no particular indication of an immediate change. She was cheerful, and tenderly affectionate to all. No duty was left undone. She prayed, and asked one to read the epistle to the Romans, 8th chapter. About half-past twelve o'clock, she listened most attentively to a favourite portion of a reflection in Doddridge's Rise and Progress of Religion in the Soul, saying, "How beautiful, how suitable! read it again"-repeating feebly the words, "I will lay me down in peace, and take my rest."

Soon after this, and in a moment, one of the violent spasms came on; and it was soon seen that she was now enduring the last struggle. That struggle was severe, but it was short. During that struggle Elizabeth spake not; but by those expressive movements of her hand and head, which had become familiar to those around, it was evident that she was aware of being about to enter the dark valley of the shadow of death. At the question, "Are you happy, love?"a placid, contented smile passed over her countenance -a smile, a look, never to be forgotten, but which no language could describe; and with this the ransomed spirit winged its flight to the mansions of bliss.

Elizabeth lay down in peace and was at rest. In the shadow of God's wings she now makes her refuge, and all her calamities are overpast.

"Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth; yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours, and their works do follow them." THE RACE-COURSE AND ITS ACCOMPANIMENTS.

BY THE REV. C. B. TAYLER.

AMONG the facts which, during a long course in the service of my gracious and adorable Master, have come under my own observation, and which I trust, with his blessing, may be made useful to my readers, are many connected with races, and gambling, and the various other evils associated with the racecourse. I was for ten years placed in a position where those evils-and their name is Legion, for they are many-were necessarily brought before me in all their enormity.

I fully propose to publish a volume of facts on this subject at no distant period. I have much to say on the crying evils of the whole system, and facts are the best arguments. A few of them, in the meanwhile, I shall now bring before my readers.

I could cite the testimonies of others to prove the evil of races. I could refer to brother-clergymen at Epsom and Doncaster, who have spoken to me in decided terms of the effects produced by them in both those well-known places; but I confine myself to the city of Chester, because I can speak from my own experience, and record facts for the truth of which I can myself vouch. The crime, the sorrow, the ruin, the deaths, which I have witnessed, the lamentations which I have heard, are not to be forgotten; and I would add, with all Christian gentleness, but with all Christian faithfulness, they must not be kept back. I can well conceive that many who defend and promote the evils of which I speak have been ignorant of these things: but I have not been ignorant; and at the risk of displeasing some kind and friendly persons, who, I fear, do not desire to have their eyes opened, I must record my faithful