"And yet," said I, "that poor old worn-out body will one day be renewed and become a glorified body, and live along with your soul in the presence of God for ever."

"That's right, Sir," said the good old man," so it will. Though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God.' But come, Sir," seeing me look at my watch, "you must speak a word to your Master, if you please, as well as for him. I will put down my dinner while you pray

with me."

I did so, the man often adding his confirmation of what I offered up, by voice, gesture, and countenance, in a manner highly expressive of the agreement of

his heart with the language of the prayer.

Having ended, he said, "God be with you, Sir, and bless your labours to many poor souls. I hope you will come to see me again, if my life be spared. I am so glad to see those who will talk to me about Jesus Christ, and his precious salvation."

I replied, "May the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, who carried them through the days of their pilgrimage, and brought them safe to a city which hath foundations, bring you there too, and bless you all the remaining days of your journey, till you get home. I am going to see several serious friends this evening, who would be glad, I know, to receive a message from one who has had so much experience of a Saviour's mercies. What shall I say to them ?" “Tell them, Sir, with my Christian love and respects, that you have been to see a poor dying old who wants nothing at all in this world but more grace to praise the Lord with."

man,

So ended our first interview. I could not help reflecting, as I returned homewards, that as the object of my journey to the Infirmary had been to carry instruction and consolation myself to the poor and the sick, so the poor and the sick were made instrumental to the conveying of both instruction and consolation to my own heart in a very superior degree.

I saw him four or five times afterwards, and always found him in the same happy, patient, thankful, and edifying state of mind and conversation. The last time I was with him, he said: "Sir, I long to be at my heavenly home, but I am willing to remain a traveller as long as my Lord and Master sees good." He died not long after my last sight of him, in the steadfast assurance of the faith, and with a full hope of immortality.

DESPISE NO ONE.

BY PROFESSOR TAPPAN, NEW YORK. MANY, like ourselves, in passing up and down Broadway, have doubtless noticed, between Chambers' street and St Thomas' Church, a little shrivelled old beggarwoman, bent double with age, reminding one of Wordsworth's old Cumberland beggar :

"He travels on a solitary man:

His age has no companion On the ground
His eyes are turn'd, and, as he moves along,
They move along the ground; and, evermore,
Instead of common and habitual sight
Of fields and rural walks, of hill and dale,
And the blue sky, one little space of earth
Is all his prospect."

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The rigid face, like stained parchment, the dull, inexpressive eye, the almost mechanical movement of the shrunk and skinny hand from under the faded and tattered cloak, mutely craving an alms to keep alive the little remaining spark of life, is an image that will recur to every one that has once seen her. How wellnigh every function, passion, and interest of humanity seem there to have died out! Nothing left, perhaps, but the feeble sense of daily want, and the instinctive wish to live. After passing by her, we have, more than once, stopped, turned round, and gazed at her. A strange theme for meditation this forced upon us-a text for sermons. Does she remember herself a little buxom girl, with sunny locks, large blue sparkling eyes, fresh cheeks, and limbs full morning, or leaping and singing along the brook with of vigour, standing by some cottage door on a bright mates frolicsome as herself! There was a home, father and mother, sisters and brothers; there was a little world to her, in which dwelt love, hope, and beauty. Childhood and youth were hers, and she grew up like other maidens; and a time came when she had wooers, and she found one whom she loved, and she went out into the world with human and womanly hopes. She became a mother; she had sons and daughters; nay, sons' sons, and daughters' daughters. She sent out her roots widely, and spread abroad many green branches in the sunshine. Do must then have histories of the affections about her. not deny it; she seems fourscore years and ten, she But who shall tell of the misfortunes which have brought her to what she is! Disappointed hopes, confidence betrayed, sudden calamities, slow consuming sorrows, hard toil, and anxieties-these have been hers. Death has been busy around her; for are they not all gone? Some on the sea, some by disease on the land, some on the battle field; they have wasted away from her, and she is alone. If she still remembers-or when she did remember, she had all their names, their forms, their histories. She could tell you all about them, for she lived, enjoyed, and suffered in them all; a long, long tale she could give you of a world of hers-as dear to her as your world to you. Pass her not by roughly or carelessly. There may be something sacred in her. In that old withered bosom there still feebly beats a human heart-a mother's heart, perhaps a heart that holds a history of humanity for the best part of a century. Say that it is almost worn out, still respect it for what it was, and pity it in its utter desolation. Think of the little child, the young, hopeful maiden, the wife, the mother, that once were there. Think of the long-tried sufferer, and oh! forget not there is still a human soul-the immortal thought that can never perish. Deep in that soul characters are engraven which, although covered with the rust and moss of time, are there still. They may be beautiful characters; characters of truth, faith, and love, that shall reappear in brightness when the miserable covering shall fall into the dust. But whatever be the characters, it is a soul which God has made. It is no less a soul than your soul, and my soul. If it be an erring soul, we know not what may have been its temptations. Divine mercy may be conducting it through great tribulations to a better state. Did not angels once carry the soul of a miserable beggar from the gate of a rich man into Abraham's bosom? Did not the compassionate Saviour always speak kindly to the poor and wretched? Did he not turn away from the crowds of the gay, the rich, and the proud, to relieve poor, solitary individuals the blind beggar, the forsaken leper, the despised and outcast sinner? Is it not his gracious word, The Son of Man came to seek and save the lost? The conditions of earth are not the conditions of heaven. The measure of man's judgment is not the measure of God's judgment. Man

judgeth according to the outward appearance, but God searcheth the heart. Hath not the Great Teacher said, How hardly shall they that are rich enter the kingdom of God! but that God hath chosen the poor of this world? Gems of inestimable value are concealed under a rough covering, which the Divine Artificer shall work out so that they shall show the purest rays serene; while those who put all their adornments on the outside, shall, in the end, show their worthlessness. It is the genius of Christianity to love man as man; to estimate him by his soul, and not by his gay attire and his imposing conditions. It is like a man going about seeking goodly pearls; it picks them up wherever it can find them, and it finds them where inexperienced eyes would pass them by. It does not wait until it can establish a grand company of merchants upon some glorious ocean shore, and aim to bring there all the treasures of the leep; but it searches about every where, under every clime, in every little bay and inlet, and finds, perhaps, its most precious gem in the most unknown lace. Its aim is not to establish great institutions, but to gather in the souls of the chosen ones. Tread not, therefore, carelessly upon what lies without your sanctuary. Those whom you despise may be Christ's little ones. They may not bear your name, but nevertheless Christ's name may be written on their foreheads. Recollect, wherever you meet man, you meet a soul; reverence that immortal thing; you stand in the presence of that which can never die; that for which Christ died. Did a winged angel suddenly appear to you, how you would tremble before the amazing brightness, beauty, and majesty of the vision. In this creature before you, this miserable beggar, an angel lies concealed with folded wings. Despise no one, neglect no one. Reverenee the greatness that is within thee; reverence the greatness that is around thee. We are souls in the midst of souls. The least of them are souls. Despise not my little ones, says Christ, their guardian angels look upon the face of my Father in heaven. The angels do not despise them. There is joy in heaven when but one sinner repents. Now go about as one of God's angels, and seek out the souls. Bring them in; bring them in. Go out into the highways and hedges; go among the poor, the maimed, and the blind; bring in the souls into the kingdom of heaven wherever you can find them. You may not find entrance into the splendid palaces of the gay and the proud; but be not discouraged, the dens of misery contain souls no less than they, and here you may gain a hearty welcome. God's light will shine brightest amid this darkness. God's love will be most deeply felt amid this wretchedness. There dwell the children of the kingdom.

THE PRAYING OF THE CHURCH LEFT TO THE MINISTRY ALONE.

It is feared that in many of our churches the great mass of professing Christians regard the public prayer as an exercise in which they have no part to act, and for which they bear no responsibilitythat they regard it as a part of worship to which they may listen, but in which they never join. They seem to view it very much as a professor of religion, with whom I sometimes passed a night or two, regarded family worship. When the time for family worship came (which perhaps never came unless a minister spent a night with the family), he would read a chapter in the Bible, and then instead of asking me to lead their devotions, or offering to unite with me in prayer, or even asking me to pray, he would say, "Mr P. we will hear prayer, if you please," as if the prayer was an address to which

they were to listen, but which had no further design. He seemed to have no idea of social prayer, and I very much fear that multitudes in our Christian congregations have little if any better practical notions of the duty. How many are there who regard the public prayer as an exercise in which the minister alone engages, while the people may listen to it, but are expected to have no participation in it? How many are there whose estimate of the public prayer never rises above that of the sermon, to which they may attend, and be instructed, or interested, or edified, but which does not belong to them as truly as to the minister?

Such views of public prayer are enongh to destroy all spirituality in a congregation, and to prevent all the efficacy of the truth as presented by the ministry. For the truth is impotent without the Divine power accompanying, and how can the Divine power be expected in a congregation that leaves all its public praying to be done by the minister? Some such errors must have obtained currency among us, or the prevailing apathy in our churches would be unaccountable. If all our churches realized the great duty and the ends of public prayer, and felt the importance of their own participation in it, there would be an efficacy in such prayer, and a power in the presentation of divine truth after it, that would shake our congregations as on the day of Pentecost. Jerusalem was shaken when the disciples came forth from the place of united and fervent prayer to preach the word, and the demonstration of the Spirit made the truth omnipotent. So should it ever be. And if the preaching of the truth were always preceded by the wrestling and united prayers of the whole church, God's word would not return to him void.

The ministry do not bear alone the responsibility of the success or the failure of the truth. As much depends on the praying that accompanies the preaching of the word, as on the preaching itself. An angel from heaven could not so preach that a multitude would believe, unless the power of the Spirit were to make the truth efficacious, and the presence of the Holy Spirit depends on the prayers of God's people. If then the whole congregation bowed, like Elijah on Mount Carmel, in earnest faith and prayer, if all felt the solemn importance of uniting in each petition expressed by him who leads their worship, if every heart glowed with the same fervent desire, and all struggled together to express the deep and burning convictions of their unwavering faith, then would there go up such a column of incense to the throne, as would (we speak with reverence) ensure the gift of the Holy Ghost, and his influence diffused through the congregation would surely make the truth mighty through God. It may be safely af firmed, that enough of the truth is presented each Sabbath in most of our congregations, and in a manner sufficiently earnest and pungent, to produce great and glorious results. What then is wanting but the Divine unction, the anointing of the Holy Ghost, to subdue sinners, and to arouse or edify the saints?

And can it be, that a great congregation of half a thousand sincere and humble disciples, with the explicit pledge of Jehovah before them, that he is more ready to give his Holy Spirit to them that ask, than earthly parents are to give good gifts to their children, can unite in fervent supplications for this blessing, pouring out their burning desires from hearts of unshaken faith, and yet be disappointed? Has God forgotten his promise? or has prayer lost its efficacy? No! nothing of this."Ye ask and receive not because ye ask amiss!" This is the answer to all questions about unanswered prayer. That congregation do not pray thus, or God would come down

upon them with heavenly and life-giving influences. They do not pray aright or they would be filled with the Holy Ghost, and the speaking and the hearing of the word that follows such prayer, would be the means of grace and of salvation.

The Churches must understand and appreciate the importance of praying in the congregation. They must be made to feel their responsibility in reference to the success of the preaching of the truth. The ministry do not bear this responsibility alone, and the churches are to expect from no human eloquence, from no human power in the presentation of divine truth, the great results contemplated in the institution of the ministry, where the Church withholds her warm, and earnest, and united supplications in behalf of that ministry. Let it be known and felt that, in the public prayer, every disciple in the congregation is to join in each petition with as much of strong desire and earnest faith as the minister himself, and that congregation will find that the public prayers are themselves the richest means of grace, and the word preached to them will come in demonstration of the Spirit and of power.-New York Evangelist.

JOSHUA'S RESOLVE.

"As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord." WILL not you imitate this example? The venerable man who made this resolve, was one in high station; no less than the chief ruler of Israel. He had long experience that the service of the Lord was good. He urged the people to choose whom they would serve, but he assured them that his mind was made up, even if he should be alone: "We will serve the Lord." Will not you also serve the Lord?

When? "This day." What other time can you choose? Yesterday was, but is not. To morrow may be, and yet it may not be for you. This day is your time to choose, as it was the time for Israel.

But why should you serve the Lord! He is Jehovah, the maker of heaven and earth, possessed of all goodness, excellence, and glory; worthy of all love, obedience, confidence, and praise. Of him we receive all things richly to enjoy. And above all things he is our Redeemer, "who loved us, and gave himself for us," that he might deliver us from all evil, from all enemies, and from the wrath of God. And finally, he assures us that his servants shall be preserved unto life eternal, and for ever enjoy and glorify him. On the contrary, if we forsake him he will forsake us, and give us over to all evil and final ruin with his enemies, who can neither deliver nor help themselves nor us. "Choose you, therefore, this day, whom ye will serve.”

But what is it to serve the Lord! "To love him with all the heart," to obey, trust, and honour him. This is the plain, simple truth. This God requires.

Is there not some difficulty in the case? Joshua said to Israel, when they readily promised: "Ye cannot serve the Lord, for he is a holy God." He knew how men are more ready to promise than to perform, and therefore stayed them in their eagerness, that they might ponder well their undertaking. So every one should count the cost," and engage in the work with deliberation, and beware of the difficulties. Not difficulties in the nature of his service, but in our unholiness, our associations, and the course of this world. By the grace of God and the help of his Spirit, we may engage to serve God and be sure of success. His loving-kindness is rich, free, and abundant; his Spirit working in us that which is well-pleasing in his sight.

Set up the stone, then, or some monument, as a witness that you have chosen the Lord to be your

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God, and that you are bound unto him in an everlasting covenant. Write it in a book, that you may read it in time to come, and keep it always in mind. Thus will the Lord be your God, and you will be his people.-American Messenger.

A LIVING EPISTLE.

ONE day in my travels, says Mr Jay, I heard of a servant who had attended a Wesleyan chapel. This offended her master and mistress, who told her that she must discontinue the practice, or leave their service. She received the information with modesty, said she was sorry, but so it must be; she could not sacrifice the convictions of her conscience to keep her place. So they gave her warning; and she was now determined, if possible, to be more circumspect and exemplary than ever-determined that, if she suffered for her religion, her religion should not suffer for her. Some time after this, the master said to the mistress :-

"Why, this is rather a hard measure with regard to our servant; has she not a right to worship God| where she pleases as well as ourselves ?"

"Oh yes!" said the mistress: "and we never had so good a servant; one who rose so early, and got her work done so well-was so clean, and was so economical, never answering again."

And so they intimated that she might remain. Some time after this the wife said to her husband: "I think Mary's religion does her a great deal more good than our religion does us; I should like to hear her minister."

And so she went, and was impressed, and prevailed upon her husband to go, and he was impressed; and now they are all followers of God, and have the worship of God in their house.

MATT. V. 16.—“Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven."

THE GARDENER.

Poor, blind, unbelieving creatures that we are! If a man but devote himself to a pursuit, if he rear and nurse a flower for his credit and renown, no less than his pleasure, we never suspect that he will carelessly leave it, in its promise of prime, to be rent by the gale or trampled by the hoof. We trust him, that for his own sake, he will guard the work of his hands. slow to place in Him who plants trees of righteousBut even this poor measure of confidence we are ness, that in them he may be glorified. Knowing that the Lord "doth not afflict willingly," we cannot doubt the meaning of his dispensations. If we wonted place, we conclude that the careful gardener miss the flower, and behold no vestige thereof in its foresaw some coming storm, or the rude intrusion of from harm. It is better to contemplate the vacant some defiling tread, and housed the delicate shrub spot, and to mourn over a temporary separation, with the sweet assurance that such occurred only because the author of its being would preserve it unharmed and undefiled, to flourish in his presence, far removed from every foe.-Glimpses of the Past.

ON THE EVERYDAY SORROWS OF LIFE. THIS is a chequered life, and the changes are mercifully accommodated to our circumstances. Continual comfort and prosperity would be unsafe for us.

Continual affliction would be hard upon us. Therefore our gracious Lord appoints us changes. Comforts and trials are interwoven in our dispensations, and so closely that there is hardly an hour passes in which we have not many causes for thankfulness, and some exercise for faith and patience. I am pleased with a passage in Bishop Cowper, in which he com pares the life of a believer to a piece of worked cloth, the threads of which, from end to end, through the whole length of life, are comforts; but the warp, from beginning to end, filled up with crosses. Surely it is so; for though we are favoured with days and spaces in which we can hardly say we have one cross from the hands of the Lord, we have, in default of these, an unhappy ingenuity in contriving and making up crosses for ourselves. A word, a look, or the holding up of a finger, is sufficient to disconcert us in our smoothest hours, to spoil the relish of a thousand blessings, so that the sun shines upon us almost in vain. We suffer much from imaginary evils, as much perhaps from apprehension of what may never happen, as from the impression of what we truly feel. Thus we put loads on our own shoulders, and then we say, Alas, how heavily I am burdened!" great is the goodness and faithfulness of God, that we are usually enabled to stand under heavy trials. Such likewise our weakness, that we are frequently ready to sink under small ones. Could we see the hand of the Lord equally in the great and the small, and consider every thing we meet as designed to practise and forward us in the lessons we profess ourselves desirous of learning, we should be much more happy." -Newton.

ROWLAND HILL'S SERVANT.

So

On one occasion, the late Rowland Hill preached a funeral sermon on the death of his servant-man. In the course of that sermon he said:-" Many persons present were acquainted with the deceased, and have had it in their power to observe his character and conduct. They can bear witness, that for a considerable number of years he proved himself a perfectly honest, sober, industrious, and religious man, faithfully performing, as far as lay in his power, the duties of his station in life, and serving God with constancy and zeal. Yet this very man was once a robber on the highway. More than thirty years ago, he stopped me on the public road and demanded my money. Not at all intimidated, I argued with him; I asked him what could induce him to pursue so iniquitous and dangerous a course of life? 'I have been a coachman,' said he; ' I am out of place, and I cannot get a character. I am unable to get any employment, and am therefore obliged to resort to this means of gaining a subsistence." I desired him to call on me. He promised he would, and he kept his word. I talked further with him, and offered to take him into my own service. He consented, and ever since that period he has served me faithfully, and not me only, but has faithfully served his God. Instead of finishing his life in a public and ignominious manner, with a depraved and hardened mind, as he probably would have done, he died in peace, and, we trust, prepared for the society of just men made perfect. Till this day the extraordinary circumstance I have related has been confined to his breast and mine. I have never mentioned it to my dearest friend."

FIT ONLY TO BURN.

THERE was a man bitterly hostile to religion, who had long been the opposer of his pious wife, who one Sabbath morning took his axe upon his shoulder, and went to his wood-lot to fell trees. As he looked around, he saw one tree dead and dry, with its leafless branches extended into the air, and he said to himself, "That tree I will cut down; it is dead and dry, fit only to burn." And at that moment the thought rushed into his mind, "Am not I a dead tree, fit only to burn?" He tried to banish the thought, but it was an arrow from the quiver of the Almighty. He went to the tree and struck a few blows with his axe. But the thought still rankled in his heart, "Am not I a dead tree, fit only to burn?" Will not God say concerning me, Cut him down, for he cumbereth the ground?'" Again and again he tried to drive away the unwelcome and harrowing thought. But there it was, a barbed arrow fixed in his heart, and he could not tear it out. He plied his axe with increasing vigour, but every blow seemed but to deepen the conviction of his own spiritual deadness. At last he could endure it no longer; he shouldered his axe, returned to his home, went to his chamber, fell upon his knees before God, and cried for mercy. With a penitent and broken heart, he implored forgiveness through the atoning blood, and found that peace which the penitent never seeks in vain. He erected the family altar in his dwelling, united himself with the Church of Christ, and is now apparently journeying fast to heaven, a new creature in Jesus Christ.

FASTS AND THANKSGIVINGS. WHEN first New England was planted the settlers met with many difficulties and hardships, as is necessarily the case when a civilized people attempt to piously disposed, they sought relief from heaven, by establish themselves in a wilderness country. Being laying their wants and distresses before the Lord in frequent set days of fasting and prayer. Constant meditation, and discourse on the subject of their difficulties, kept their minds gloomy and discontented; and, like the children of Israel, there were many disposed even to return to that Egypt which persecu

tion had determined them to abandon.

At length, when it was proposed in the assembly to proclaim another fast, a farmer of plain sense rose and remarked, that the inconveniences they suffered, and concerning which they had so often wearied Heaven with their complaints, were not so great as might have been expected, and were diminishing every day as the colony strengthened—that the earth began to reward their labours, and to furnish liberally for their sustenance-that the seas and rivers were full of fish, the air sweet, the climate wholesome; above all, they were in the full enjoyment of liberty, civil and religious. He therefore thought, that reflecting and conversing on these subjects would be more comfortable, as tending to make them more contented with their situation; and that it would be more becoming the gratitude they owed to the Divine Being, if, instead of a fast, they should proclaim a thanksgiving. His advice was taken; and from that day to this they have in every year obfurnish employment for a thanksgiving-day, which served circumstances of public happiness sufficient to is, therefore, constantly ordered and religiously observed.-Franklin.