the banner of Him who hath already conquered Death. This is trae manliness- the conduct becoming a man, an immortal being, to whom death and etcrnity are realities. It is very just, that for an eternal body, with the same eternal wants and wishes as it has now, you should manfully strive to provide ete:nal gratification. But, my friend, you know that such a thought is absurd. Funerals, churchyards, cemeteries, cholera returns, that funeral letter on your table asking you to accompany to the grave the remains of the friend with whom, seemingly strong as a giant, you had, no later than last Monday, a laughing chat at the corner of the street-the spectacles of your mother, which you have religiously preserved since you kissed her clay-cold lips-all these, and a thousand more proofs, tell you that it is most egregiously absurd. Be a man then. Is it manly to be laughed out of heaven by a few foolish, weak companions, who will drink your last shilling, or will drink with you their last shilling; and, in selfish brutal debauchery, leave wife and children to cold and wretchedness? Is it manly not to do what is right for eternity, because others round you have no heaven but earth, no God but their belly? Is it manly to give up a richer inheritance than emperor ever owned, to gratify the wishes and to shun the snares of those who offer you nothing in exchange but a gnawing conscience and a death-bed of horror? What think you of this plan? Your associates would have you forsake God's house, violate God's day, join in their wild debauch, or in laughing at holiness. Put the matter to them thus:-I know that I must die. These things you mention will do me no good, but evil, after death. The Great God has offered to save me from all the inconceivable horrors of hell, and to bestow on me the inconceivable glories of heaven. I think it imperative to accept of this offer. It is an offer infinitely gracious and generous; I would be a madman to reject it. You wish me to reject it. I will not. Death is a real thing. I have seen him, and I know he is coming my way sooner or later. You will never persuade me that there is no death. And that being the case, I cannot consent to barter my hopes as a man; a creature capable of immortal happiness and holiness-for the pleasures of the body which belong to beasts, or for the laughter which one touch of cholera cramp could convert into a dismal burst of anguish. I have chosen heaven for my portion-God for my master-Christ for my guide-the Holy Spirit for my teacher. Take vou your own way, or better far, come you with me and I will try to show you what is truly good!

Do you not think this true manliness? try it, and see how it will do. But do not delay. I read the other day of a poor girl, a lady's-maid, who had lingered and lingered at a railway station, where the train had stopped for some time. Her mistress was in her place: the train moved on. The unhappy girl grasped at the carriage-it moved on. She made a leap for the guard's truck. He grasped at her in pity and in terror. In vain. She fell beneath the wheels, and remorselessly they crushed her, for she was too late. -Trop tard!-too late!-was the cry that re-echoed through the walls of the Assembly of France, when,

not long ago, the friends of monarchy there wisheu to place on the throne a son of Louis Philippe. Oh, beware of being too late for heaven! Next yearnext week-next day-next hour-next moment, may be too late. A minute sooner, and that poor girl would have been seated smilingly on her onward journey. An hour sooner, and the Count of Paris might have been king in Paris. But Too late! Too late! was the cry. Dreadful thought! You are well now, vigorous, capable of thinking, of helping father or mother, husband, wife, or sister. To-morrow, to-day, thinking of no repentance, no confession, no Saviour, nor forgivenness, may be heard from heaven-when you are struck down in your sins, and mourning friends are groaning around you, and vain prayers are offered on your behalf-the fearful cry, "Too late! too late! He would not hear God's reproof; and now he laughs at his calamity, and mocks when his fear cometh." I would obey the apostle's injunction to exhort one another while it is day, and pray God that the heart of whosoever reads these lines, may be turned by his grace to seek mercy in Christ, while it may be found in this, the day of his merciful visitation.

JUST AND UNJUST STEWARDS.

BY THE REV. THOMAS BINNEY, LONDON.* WHILE ministers and missionaries are the recognised "stewards of the mysteries of God," let it be remembered, that those by whom they are to be sent forth are most emphatically the stewards of the stewards. Missionaries have to give the word of life, but the Church has to give the missionary. The one has to sow the seed in the field, but the other has to furnish the field with the sower. The stewardship" of the mysteries" is properly regarded as at once an honourable and awful function. But here is a stewardship intrusted to the people, and one not wanting in responsibility, in solemnity, or grandeur. REQUIRED OF STEWARDS THAT A MAN BE FOUND! FAITHFUL." Let this principle be honestly applied, as it ought to be, to the Ministry and the Church. equally and alike. You require fidelity in those you! intrust-Christ requires it of you. The missionary must speak the mystery of the Gospel "as he ought to speak "-speaking as one "that must give account;" but you have to assist to send and to sustain him as those that "must give an account" too. If remember, are his recognised ministers are the recognised stewards of God, you. 66 priests." God's

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IT IS

clergy," in New Testament language, are the Christian people-they, as a whole, are the "lot” of his inheritance. The title and the privileges of the priesthood, we have already shown, belong to the multitude of believers as such. Now, if a man be a priest, he must of necessity have something to offer.” Of you, then, offerings are required. They are required to consist not merely of inward affections and spiritual acts, but to be the presentation, also, of the substantial sacrifices of pecuniary beneficence. To give property to the cause of God is an oblation with which he is "well pleased." Let every man remember that God constitutes him a steward, and confers a stewardship, by giving him the means of doing something for his service. This may consist of talents or learning, time or influence, wisdom or eloquence, experience or power, fitness for the ministry in our own land and our own age, or for some sphere of

*From "Four Discourses" by the esteemed author, recently published, and from which also we took the article bearing his name, in our last Number.-ED. C. T.

missionary labour, or of other natural or gracious accomplishments. But the common and ordinary, the most general, the most diffused and available stewardship, is the stewardship of money. The poor and the rich are equally stewards as to the fact. The principle of stewardship applies to both; they differ as to the extent of their respective responsibility.

God will require an "account from each, because he expects fidelity in both. He will not ask any thing respecting that which a man has not, but he will ask, scrupulously and exactly, according to all that every man has. It is especially for the rich to lay this to heart. The pious poor generally give to the limit of their ability. The Lord testified of the poor widow, that it was thus with her; and Paul, of the Macedonians, that it was thus with them. They gave, each of them, according to their power-" yea, and beyond their power." It is very difficult for the rich to do this. Some of them hardly could, if they were willing; while the tendency of "large possessions" is said to be to diminish the willingness in something like the proportion in which they increase the sum of power. Be this, however, as it may, it is, without question, a fearful and solemn thing to be rich. There is reason to think that the "work of God," in this world of ours-the support of a ministry, and of the missionary movement, of course, as a part of it was intended to be advanced by the large-heartedness, the copious liberality, the golden gifts and donations of the opulent, far more than has hitherto been seen, or seen, at least, among us. There is no proportion between the splendid acts of pecuniary liberality to the cause of religion we any where hear of, and the numbers of its professors that get rich and die rich. This is to be accounted for on many grounds. There is sometimes the want of conjugal piety; husbands and wives are "unequally yoked;" they have not thorough sympathy in the same thing; the cold heart on the one side closes the open hand on the other, or the closed hand that possesses the power, belongs to a heart that withstands and resists the importunities of its fellow; there is exorbitant ambition in pushing children forward in the world, that they may rise in society to an injurious degree higher than their fathers; there is a scale of expenditure insensibly formed, which it is difficult to continue, and mortifying to relinquish; in short, the evil adverted to may be ascribed to many things, all of which resolve themselves, more or less, into the low and torpid state of our religion; into the want of a hearty and an earnest faith in our own professions. But partly, also, the thing is to be attributed to the prevalence of certain modern opinions, and to the extreme we have gone to in our teaching and theology. The merit of building and endowing a church was once so extravagantly exalted by the priesthood, that to build a chapel, as a personal act, would appear to be thought of as a mixture almost of sin and singularity! Because sinners are supposed to have died saints, and, in their last hour, to have washed away, by gifts to a monastery, the dark stains of a career of crime-men professing to be saints now have thought they might clutch, and grasp, and keep, living or dying, every thing to themselves. We have spoken and written so much against "good works" as a ground of dependence, and of the danger of trusting to them, especially in the form of pecuniary beneficence, that the people, especially the rich, would seem to have determined to be on the safe side, by having no works of the sort to trust to! I am sure there has been a mistake among us upon this point. First, supposing a man to be a Christian by the faith coming to him, "not in word only, but also in power, in the Holy Ghost, and in much assurance," then, if he be rich, let him

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deeply ponder what the Scripture teaches on the stewardship of wealth. Let him read what God, by the pen of the apostle, directly addresses to "rich men;" let him attentively consider not only the faithfulness he expects from them, but the promises he makes to them on condition of their fidelity-the benefits and advantages which, as believers, they may hope to reap, both here and hereafter, if they give cheerfully, and give much. The New Testament abounds in statements showing, on the one hand, the terribleness to a Christian of his possessing wealth without beneficence; and, on the other, the number of the rewards that accumulate on the rich when he exercises the virtue, and because he does so. Being "rich in good works, ready to distribute, willing to communicate, he lays up for himself a good foundation against the time to come, that he may lay hold on eternal life." The sublime scene of the last judgment, as drawn by the Lord himself, in the twentyfifth chapter of Matthew, proceeds, from first to last -with respect to the rewarded and the condemned alike on the requirement of proof, during life, of the action or the absence of a principle of social and pecuniary goodness. Let ministers and people--the intrusted with office and the otherwise endowedthey that are to give account of their teaching, and they that are to be reckoned with for the use they have made of it-they who are called into honourable places, to high service, to beneficent works, and they who are undistinguished and unknown, and who can only aid by their faith and prayers, their "two mites," or the "cup of cold water "-let all and each remember the fact, that they are equally and alike intrusted with "a stewardship;" and "let them know" that the letter of the law, already referred to, as well as its spirit, speaks solemnly to every one of them-" IT IS REQUIRED OF STEWARDS THAT A MAN

BE FOUND FAITHFUL."

DO NOT BE HURRIED.

BY REV. DR MALAN, GENEVA.

(Journal of a Swiss Traveller.)

AFTER my dinner, in one of those pretty villages which embellish the mountains of Switzerland, I was slowly rambling along the cottages, now and then stopping to a basket-maker, and looking at his dexterity; or to females twisting the white straws of a hat, and addressing, occasionally, some words of affection and piety, when I passed by the workshop of a smith, who just was forging a piece of iron.

The workman, of a young and attractive appearance, bowed to me; and I felt desirous to ask from him that he would before me solder some steel with iron, and make of it a tool, which I should take with me, and use afterwards, as a remembrance of his kindness.

Immediately, and with some cordial smiling, the young man picked some iron out of a bundle, and choosing also a small bolt of German steel, he prepared them at his forge; and when he saw their welding heat, he united them in one and the same stick; and after two or three heats more, he finished, tempered, and softened the tool, which he presented to me, saying, "You see, sir, that in this work the chiefest thing is not to be hurried."

I had, indeed, paid a great attention to all his successive proceedings, and I had constantly remarked both his diligence and his patience. He recalled therefore to my mind what says the Apostle Paul to

his son Timothy: "Consider the husbandman;" and especially these words of St James: "Be patient; as the husbandman, who waite th until he receive the early and latter rain" (2 Tim. i. 6; James v. 7); and wishing, if God would grant it, to be useful to my kind teacher, and, if I may say 30, to solder more and more his soul with the gospel of grace, I told him: So does, indeed, our God work in us. He never is in a hurry, though wonderfully diligent; and, making use of patience with us, he repeats the heatings; for our hearts are very hard and reluctant; and at length he finishes the tool. Do you understand that simile?

Smith, smiling. Oh yes, sir! You speak of the patience of God toward us. . . . . .. But, allow me to say, that sometimes his work is very, very slow. At least, I feel it for myself.

Traveller. Shall I say to you the cause of it ? Smith. Pray, sir, will it be really profitable to me? Traveller. The reason of that slackness is not in God's lentitude, but it is entirely in your natural impatience. Do not be hurried in your religion, and be sure that you will see that God is an active operator. It is our own ignorance and feebleness which makes us impatient; then, that impatience, unbelievers; and then, through that unbelief, opposed to God's work in us.

The smith was standing before his anvil, with a mall in his hand; but he laid the hammer ont he anvil, looking to me in silence, and with all the attitude of a deep attention.

Look, said I, to the ways of your performance of this instrument; how you have first chosen and disposed the two metals; then, how you have heated them, first gently, then more highly, then more and more, but always by degrees, till you have seen them both in the proper condition.

Look also at your manner of treating them with 'your hammer; and how you have beaten them at once in the convenient place, and quickly, though with moderation; so much as to have positively forged them only after their being soldered and melted together. Had you been at first in a hurry, you would have either burned, or rather parched the steel, or too much lessened, and, as it were, meagered the iron, and your work would have been altogether lost.

And suppose now, that the two metals, or one of them only, being sensible, would have said to you, "Make haste, master! Let two or three touches be sufficient. Why so many goings to the fire? Why your cautions? Why your waitings? Haste! Hurry! if you please!" Do you think that you-a master of forge, and knowing, as you do, how to deal with steel and iron-would have listened to such entreaties, and agreed for their satisfaction to alter your successive and prudent proceedings?

The smith was caught by my questions, and when from a simile I passed to the declarations of the Scripture, and especially when I quoted and explained those words of Isaiah: "God doth instruct the plowman to discretion; for he is wonderfu' in counsel and excellent in working" (xxviii. 23-29), the workman was really moved, and said, "How beautiful ic that! How marvellous is the Lord's

work! Who does enough think and consider of it?"

You understand therefore, said I, that in the same way, if these metals had resisted to your hand, they would have by their very resistance hindered their formation; so, my friend, it is most likely your want of docility to God's work in your soul, and really your natural, if not self-conceited impatience, which is the only and true cause of that slackness which you may sometimes reproach to God's dealings. Begin, therefore, by believing submissively that God, who has revealed to your soul his eternal love in Jesus, is, in mean time, the all-wise manager of your sanctification; and, so grant him to know how to lead you here by gentle attractions; there, by more impressive efficacies of his Spirit; or now, by the fire of a furnace, as speaks St Peter, when he mentions the trial or essay of our faith; or at other times, by the tempered blows of a light hammer; I mean by corrective circumstances, and always, (mind really this!) yea, always in his merciful plan of preparing your soul for heaven; and when you have humbly agreed with God's wisdom and charity that you will wait for his own season, you will cease altogether from being impatient and in your own hurry; and, as says the Lord Jesus, " You will bring forth your fruit with patience."(Luke viii. 15.) The smith bowed to me with respectful thanks; and to-day, when I use his tool, I remember, for myself before God, that "I must not be hurried."

HEAVEN, THE CONSUMMATION OF A
PIOUS LIFE.

HEAVEN is the sum and substance of the Christian's hope. It is the appropriate reward of piety in the future world. It is made sure to every true believer, because the Word of God is pledged to confer it. Taking only this view, the future bears a serene and joyous aspect to the Christian.

But, then, heaven is not a mere sovereign arrangement, it is the natural result of the established laws of holiness. It is not so much the reward as the fruit of piety, the perfect development of what we see here in the incipient stage.

Both Scripture and present experience favour this view of heaven. "Say ye to the righteous that it shall be well with him; for he shall eat the fruit of his doings." There is an inseparable connection between the practice of piety and true happinessmoral goodness and heaven. True religion is its own being, are its natural fruits. The Christian, even in reward; peace, hope, joy, light, prosperity, weilthis life, carries in his heart the essential elements that make heaven what it is, and the absence of which make hell what it is. These elements need only to be fully matured and developed under genial influences, as they will be in heaven, in order to secure perfect peace and blessedness. So that heaven is more than a hope, even in this life; it is a partial experience to the good man. We need not wait till after death, to know whether heaven is indeed a reality, and the promises of the gospel are likely to be realized; we may anticipate something of heaven's peace, rest, and glory. Even in this world of sin and corruption, the blessed fruit of righteousness is made to appear to gladden the heart and strengthen the faith. The peace of mind, which at times the holy man enjoys; the calmness of thought, and the serenity of hope which now and then visit him; his sub

mission to God's will, and supreme delight in his law; his grateful relish of prayer and praise; his inward aspirations after complete sanctification; the unspeakable satisfaction which the exercise of love to God and good-will to man gives him; these are the dawn of heaven, the beginning of the end to which the promises point.

Now the end of such a life, reasoning from the nature of things, as well as from the Word of God, will be peace. We need not suppose death to effect

any change in the essential elements of character or of being-as we believe it will not-in order to the future blessedness of the believer. The severe moral discipline and training which he here subjected to as a child of sin and corruption, finally issue in perfect recovery to God. The prevailing feelings and habits of holiness which he has cherished, prepare him for the state and society of angels in glory. That which he now sows in tears, he will hereafter reap in joy. On earth he walks by faith, catching only an occasional glimpse of future joys; but in this way he is preparing for the sight of glories which mortal vision could not endure. Here he works righteous ness, and follows after holiness; and hereafter he shall live on the fruit of God's own planting and blessing.

The good man experiences no violent revulsion in the hour of death. Death is no stranger to his thoughts, no enemy to his peace, no spoiler of his hope or treasure. His soul and heaven have long been in sympathy; there has been a peculiar and growing intimacy maintained between them-a sweet mingling and commingling of spiritual feeling and life; and hence he closes his eyes on this earthly scene, and awaits the solemn issue of the future without fear. Death is the end of a sad and weary pilgrimage; every step which he has taken in it since first he knew Christ, has conducted him towards heaven. Every discipline, trial, conflict, service, has assimilated him to heaven. And when he reaches the entrance gate of the celestial city, "its glories," to use the language of the dying Payson," beam upon him; its breezes fan him; its odours are wafted to him; its sounds strike upon his ear; and its spirit is breathed into his heart." His full soul responds to all he sees and hears, and he longs to pass the gate, and seize an angel's harp, and pour forth that tide of harmony, and rejoicing, and praise which has long been rising within. And now what remains but to lay off this mortality, the body of earthly corruption? His heart is in tune with the angelic choir. Well does he know the song of Moses and the Lamb. His spirit is subdued and chastened. He is meet to be a partaker of the inheritance of the saints in light. One brief conflict-one shout of victory-and his released and glorified spirit basks in the light and partakes of the full glories of heaven.

Not only does the Word of God promise the good man eternal blessedness, but the grace and providence of God are actually working out the thing promised in him and for him in this present life. The great law of obedience, which reigns in heaven, and makes it so holy and so happy a place, begins its sway here in the heart of every truly converted man, and scatters its fruits all along the path of his life, and makes his end "peace."-N. Y. Evangelist.

OUR AND MY.

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number. It seems to me that this is not the whole difference. Our implies a partnership, and my implies an individual concern. There is a great difference between being able to say, "This is our store," and "This is my store;" or, "This is our steamboat," and "This is my steamboat;" or, "This is our farm," and "This is my farm." Our implies that I have only a share of the property, but my implies that I am the sole proprietor.

Now, because this steamboat is our's, and not mine, it is allowed to run on the Sabbath, and to supply its passengers with intoxicating drinks, and my conscience is not much troubled about it.

Because the church edifice is our's, and not mine, it is suffered to get out of order, and dirty, and I am easy about it.

Because the payment of our minister's salary is our business and not mine, he is often compelled to run in debt, or his family to suffer, while a half year's salary is due him, and I feel perfectly uncon

cerned about it.

Because the railroads and steamboats are our's and not mine, their boilers may burst, and their cars be smashed, and hundreds of lives lost, by the carelessness or drunkenness of our agents, and no one feel as though he were to blame.

And is it not so, also, in regard to benefaction? If favours are conferred on many others at the same time that they are on me, do I feel under the same obligation that I should if I were alone in receiving the favour? If God supplied me with manna from day to day, while all others were dying with hunger, should I not feel under more obligations to him than I now do, though all my supplies are constantly coming from his hand.

Suppose, in a dark and stormy night, a vessel, containing five hundred souls, is sailing directly towards a reef of rocks, where, if she strikes, every soul must be drowned. A kind man on shore, seeing their danger, suddenly kindles a beacon light, which causes the ship to change her course, and all are saved. Now, while all are glad and thankful that they have escaped impending ruin, does each one feel as grateful to their common benefactor as he would if he were the only one saved by his kindness? Far from it. It is doubtful whether the aggregate amount of gratitude which the whole five hundred, in the above supposed case, would make up, would equal what one individual, rescued alone, would give. The one who receives the favour alone cannot forget his individual obligation, by putting himself with the multitude, and saying, "He was our benefactor." But he will feel and say, "He was my benefactor."

F

I

titudes who will reap the benefit of Christ's death, and divide the feeling of gratitude with them. know that I ought to feel as guilty and hell-deserving as though I were the only sinner in the universe, and as though the eyes of all other intelligent beings were turned upon me with abhorrence as an intolerable abomination. And I know that I ought to feel under just as much obligation to our Divine Saviour, as though I were the only one to be benefited by his mission into this world. I ought to realize (and I hope I do) that I am individually a sinner, and that Christ has become the surety and substitute for me us an individual sinner. He has become substimy ute, as really as though he had not become such for iny one else. While he died for our sins, he died for ny sins,

HOW TO MAKE HOME HAPPY. NEAR the borders of Wales, and in a retired village, a cottage stands on the slope of an extensive emninence, commanding the view of a valley stretching several miles across-a scene singularly picturesque and delightful. It is the dwelling of George Cand his family; obtaining his and their subsistence is a farmer's labourer. There had been on his part, and that of his wife, no want of industry and frugal ity; they might have once loved one another and their children to the extent common in their circumtances; but, unhappily, kindness and forbearance, so essential to domestic peace, not to say happiness, vere strangers in that abode. Often did George onder during the day on what he deemed the nelect of his wife. She did not, as he imagined, study is comfort as she ought. He meditated revenge; and if, at night, his pent-up wrath did not burst forth in oaths and curses, he growled at his wife and scowled on his children, till they alike looked for his return with dread, and considered any delay a respite from suffering. Fierce contention soon rose between the husband and the wife. Words like barbed arrows dipped in the poison of slander, constantly wounded each other's hearts. The children grew up, led by what they heard, to consider their father the worst husband, and their mother the worst wife, on the face of the earth; and taught, too, not by precept, but example, to curse, and lie, and swear, they might soon have learned to steal, and have closed their days as well as those of their parents in the deepest misery and shame. There were often, however, seasons of thought; George Cand his wife saw the evils that had arisen, and others hastening onward; but reason did not arrest the rising and increasing tide.

intentioned efforts-the same wretched man; his wife the same unhappy, weeping woman. Mrs C had received, it may be remarked, some religious impressions in early life, and remembering that it was better with her then than now, she was led, in the hope of obtaining some relief, to attend occasionally a cottage, where a home missionary was accustomed to preach. These visits quickly stirred up the enmity of her husband's heart; and he considered that he and his family were neglected still more grievously than before. Every attempt on the part of his wife to justify herself, or to soothe her husband, only increased his high displeasure. She persisted in her course; and he determined imperatively to stop her disregard to his wishes, and disobedience to his will.

weekly the neighbourhood with tracts. Mrs CAt this juncture, the missionary was led to visit after reading one, begged that she might keep it a little longer; and waiting an opportunity of trying what she could further do with her husband, committed herself to God in prayer. It was not long before she asked him, on an opportunity she deemed favourable, if he would go and hear the missionary. There were but few moments when such a question would have met any other response than a volley of abuse for every thing connected with religion except the Bible, for which George had a traditionary veneration. He now replied: Well, I don't mind if I do this once." He went, and heard a sermon on the love of Christ, and of his willingness and power to save all that come to him. On his return he was serious, and so soon as his wife found that he was satisfied with what he had heard as true and good, she ventured to put into his hand the secreted tract.

That tract described an ungodly husband inflicting sufferings on his wife for attendance on religious services. As George read, the tears rolled down his cheeks. "What a base fellow I am!" he said, "I see it as I read this; I am just like this man." The sermon had impressed his mind, and the tract was the means, in the hand of God, of opening his heart. "I am a vile sinner, wife," he said, "but let us pray; for from the sermon I have heard, I learn there is mercy for such as me." They who had often cursed each other now prayed together for the first time; though the wife had been accustomed to pray alone for herself and her family. From that night, now two years ago, they have walked together as "fellow heirs of the grace of life." What nature and reason could not effect for years, was speedily accomplished by the power of truth and the grace of the Holy Spirit. The evening's sun set on that cottage a miserable home; the next morning it arose on a family in peace and love. The fruits of that change have been seen and admired by others; and often has the voice of gladness and praise ascended for it before the mercy seat.—Christian Spectator.

VALUE OF MISSIONS TO SCIENCE.