MADAME GUYON. Before, however, she entirely withdrew her favour from Fénélon, she wrote to him herself. His answer is striking: "If I were capable," said he, " of approving any one who taught a new gospel, I should behold myself with horror. I may be deceived with regard to a person whom I believe to be holy-if so, my error is harmless, as I do not speak for her." He disclaimed any belief in anything supernatural in her, and said that he did not defend her expressions, but he thought them of little importance as coming from a woman, provided the sense and doctrine were catholic. "It seemed to me," he said, "that she was naturally fond of exaggeration, and without sufficient caution; which want of caution," he added, "she had shown in intrusting Bossuet with her private papers, and putting herself at his mercy." "I would answer with my life that the whole of these expressions have no definite meaning, and it is quite unpardonable in the Bishop of Meaux to represent to you as her doctrine what is nothing but idle fancy, and some figurative expression that is tantamount to it, which she herself disclosed to him in the secresy of confession: the greater part of these rapturous expressions are untenable, if taken literally. But," he continues (and this is striking as coming from a Roman Catholic), "the beatific Angela da Foligny, whom St. Francis de Sale admires, the two St. Catherines (of Siena and Genoa) promulgated prodigious things about their own pre-eminence. If you knew not that they had been canonized, you would be still more indignant at them than you are towards Madame Guyon." Then referring to the objection to a woman's teaching, which Bossuet had urged, he said, "Did not St. Theresa direct not only girls, but even learned and celebrated men? Has she not spoken against those who sought to circumscribe the aspiring fights of the soul? And does not the church im plore of God that it may be fed with the doctrine of his saints? Permit me to tell you, madame, that after having apparently concurred in our opinion as to the innocency of this woman, you suddenly adopted the opposite opinion; from that moment you mistrusted me, and listened to those who said that I was lost in illusion, and should perhaps become a heretic, and you determined to proceed with the power of authority as the most efficacious way. Had you addressed yourself to me with simple integrity of heart, I could have allayed in three days the ferment of unquiet minds at St. Cyr, and have filled them with entire submission and docility towards their bishop. I should have made Madame Guyon write an explanation in the most precise manner, of those passages in her work which appear extravagant and ambiguous, and then she should have retired to whatever place you desired, with a promise to abstain from all discourse and writing about spirituality." All this was in vain. Madame de Maintenon had made up her mind, and no arguments of Fénélon's could alter it. And now Bossuet's work was finished; he was bent on obtaining Fénélon's signature before publishing it, and this Fénélon could not and would not give. The book was a violent personal attack on Madame Guyon, monstrously distorting her doctrines. Fénélon again wrote to Madame de Maintenon an earnest, indignant appeal against the demand made that he should give his approbation to the book, showing her that in so doing, not only should he be acting to an oppressed, misrepresented woman in a manner that his conscience forbade, but that in admitting the errors of which Bossuet now accused her, he should damage his own 475 "The character. It now seemed necessary that he should himself speak and explain his own views on the subject, so he proposed writing a book which should show how far the church, in past days, had held the doctrines in question. This book was called Maxims of the Saints," and owing to the zeal of his friends, was published before Bossuet's. This latter was a work of very great talent, it held up Madame Guyon and her doctrines to scorn, and effectually fanned the flame of public indignation against her. She was beyond the reach of it, in her solitary cell in the Bastile, so the storm spent itself on Fénélon. He came up to Paris from his distant home unprepared for the reception he met with. It was at this trying moment that he heard of the burning of his valuable library and precious MS., and uttered that noble, touching speech, "It is better that my house should be destroyed than the cottage of a poor labourer." Bossuet spoke vehemently against his work, "The Maxims of the Saints," and this made Fénélon desirous to submit it to the pope's examination, to whose decision he would at once bow; but nothing could satisfy Bossuet but a recantation; his wish was to have a series of conferences, at which he should preside, in order that Fénélon's book should be examined and publicly censured in France. Fénélon would only consent to these proposed conferences under certain conditions, which showed his distrust of Bossuet. Bossuet then threw up the matter, and Fénélon begged the king to let him go himself to Rome, that his case might be judged by the highest tribunal. The king, in answer, banished him to his diocese. Fénélon at once submitted, and immediately left Paris. Thus had his enemies triumphed. Bossuet, the Cardinal de Noailles, and Godet, Bishop of Chartres, who of late had quito yielded in the Quietist controversy to Bossuet, signed a declaration against the "Maxims," which they sent to Rome, the king, at the same time, urgently pressing the pope to condemn Fénélon's work. This took place in August, 1697, and for nearly two years the question remained undecided. Meanwhile, Bossuet, irritated at the tardiness of Rome, and impatient to crush Fénélon and ruin his friends, published, the following summer (1698), his 66 History of Quietism," which, if possible, was a more unfair and violent attack on Madame Guyon than his former work. At the same time, many of Fénélon's friends were dismissed from court. Fénélon's reply was as great a masterpiece as Bossuet's "History of Quietism," and almost turned the tide of public opinion in his favour; but Louis had spoken, and there was no changing of his decrees; he continued to urge the pope to condemn Fénélon, and at last, the next year, March, 1699, the sentence was given. It was the mildest that the pope dared to give, censuring only twenty-three of the Maxims, and declaring expressly that this censure did not extend to the explanations which the Bishop of Cambray had given of his book. Thus ended the great Quietist controversy. Fénélon received the news just before preaching a sermon; ho changed the text, and preached on the duty of submission. Madame Guyon was confined four years in the Bastile; her health was broken down by what she suffered there, the cold of winter, and in summer the poisonous exhalations of the stagnant waters of the moat; and when, in 1702, they opened her prison doors, in leaving her prison, as she touchingly says, she did not leave her cross. "My afflicted spirit began to breathe and recover itself, but my body was from that time sick and borne down with all sorts of infirmities." She was exiled to Blois, and there, in perfect retirement, she spent the remaining years of her life. She still wrote, and conversed with those who came to see her, on the subject nearest her heart. In a letter written but a few weeks before her death, when enduring very great physical suffering, she earnestly begs the prayers of her friends, that she may be kept faithful to God "in these last hours of her trials," and she touchingly refers to some lines she had written when quite young, expressing her willingness to suffer for God. My heavenly Father," she says, was pleased, for wise purposes, to call me early to this kind of trial. The part of the verses I wrote, to which I refer, is as follows: By sufferings only can we know No load, no trial is severe, That's borne and suffered for his sake; A love that's worthy of the name.' Her farewell words to her children in the gospel, are very beautiful. As we read them we feel sure that however her judgment had erred, her heart was right. "My dear children! Christ is the truth. If I have spoken truth to you, it is because I have spoken what Christ has spoken. I pray God to enlighten you always, to give you by his illuminating influence the clear discernment of his holy will. Holy Father, sanctify them thro' thy truth: . . . My children! let Christ alone be all in all, in and for us, in order that the work of sanctification, resting upon the basis of Divine truth, may be carried on and perfected in our souls. If we seek anything out of Christ, then we are not his true followers. The truth abideth not in us." ... Her will ends with these words: "Within thy hands, O God, I leave my soul, not relying for my salvation on any good that is in me, but solely on thy mercies, and the merits and sufferings of my Lord Jesus Christ." She died on June 9th, 1717. We commenced this memoir with a reference to Cowper's translations from her hymns; and conclude with the following characteristic specimens: THE SOUL THAT LOVES GOD FINDS HIM EVERYWHERE. "OH thou, by long experience tried, All scenes alike engaging prove Could I be cast where thou art not, My country, Lord, art thou alone; I hold by nothing here below; THE LOVE OF GOD, THE END OF LIFE. "SINCE life in sorrow must be spent, So be it-I am well content, No bliss I seek, but to fulfil THE SWALLOW. "I AM fond of the swallow-I learn from her flight, "Tis rarely, if ever, she settles below, And only when building a nest for her young; Were it not for her brood, she would never bestow A thought upon any thing filthy as dung. Let us leave it ourselves ('tis a mortal abode), THE ENTIRE SURRENDER. Yield to the Lord with simple heart THE PULPIT IN THE FAMILY. THE HIDDEN TREASURE. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto treasure hid in a field: the which when a man hath found, he bideth, and for joy thereof goeth and selleth all that he hath, and buyeth that field."-Matt. xili. 44. T has often been a practice in troubled times to hide treasure in some secret place, with the intention of finding it again when peace should be restored. Various are the hiding places that have been chosen an old wall, the hollow of a tree, a hole in the ground. But it has happened not seldom that some one else has been so fortunate as to discover the hiding-place, and to possess himself of the treasure, to the bitter disappointment of the owner when he went to look for what he had hidden. Such a finding is represented here. A man finds treasure hidden in a field. He tells his secret to no one, but, full of joy, takes instant measures to make the prize his own. Carefully hiding it again out of sight, he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field. Now, no one can dispute his right. When once the field is his, he may claim all that is in it. He has made a sacrifice, it is true; but he has secured the treasure as his own. Our Lord likens the kingdom of heaven to this treasure. He represents to us by this parable the gospel itself, and the conduct of one who truly embraces it. The gospel is a treasure indeed-better than gold and silver, more precious than rubies, worth more than all the world. A man may have all that the world can give, yet without the gospel he is poor; and he is rich who has the gospel, though he may be in want of almost all besides. But the gospel has not always been made known even now it is unknown to a great part of mankind; and where it is known, numbers know it only with. the understanding, not with the heart. In all these cases it is like "treasure hid in a field." The heathen are altogether ignorant of it, from them it is quite hidden. The nominal Christian knows its existence, but not its preciousness; and it is no treasure to one who feels no need of it, and sees no value in it. But when the conscience is awakened, and the heart is touched, and a man is led to feel his sinfulness and need, and to see light and life and salvation in the gospel, then it is as though he had found hid treasure. Many among the heathen, hearing the gospel for the first time, have at once been brought to see its preciousness, and thus have found the treasure; but the change is hardly less, when one who has heard the sound of the gospel all his life first feels his heart affected by it. The treasure was close by him before, in the field, as it were; but it was an unknown treaIt may be that the man in the parable had passed by the spot where the treasure was a hundred times, had trodden it down with his feet, or driven his plough over it; but he never suspected what lay so near, till the happy day when perhaps the ploughshare, in turning up the soil, disclosed what was beneath. So one may have heard the gospel year after year, and yet never have found out its preciousness, till some sermon or some word was brought home to his heart by the Holy Spirit. sure. When once the heart is truly awakened, then there is a change indeed. Other things lose much of their value, the soul is felt to be of the deepest importance, and the good news of salvation through Christ is prized above all. To gain a share in this great salvation, to be forgiven, reconciled, and saved, this is now felt to be the great concern; and all else is of comparatively trifling moment. The man in the parable went and sold all that he had, and bought the field where the treasure was. Paul declared that he had willingly suffered the loss of all things, that he might win Christ. Our Saviour taught us that there is but one thing needful. Even so must we embrace the gospel. We must seek salvation as the one thing needful; we must be willing to part with all for Christ's sake; we must count all but loss for him. No bosom sin must be spared-no vain attempt must be made to serve two masters-all that stands in the way of our souls must be freely parted with. Paul never repented the sacrifice he had made: "Yea, doubtless," he said, "and I count all things but loss, for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord." So highly should we prize this treasure, so joyful should we be to find it, that all else should seem to us as dross in comparison. Edinburgh, and to retire from the public duties of the ministry. A portion of his farewell address to his people will be read with deep interest by all who feel the responsibility of hearing as well as preaching the gospel: inform you that I am called to withdraw from the active duties of "MY DEAR FRIENDS,-It is due to you that I myself should the ministry. A predecessor of mine in my first charge at Arbirlot dropped dead at the Lord's table, with the words of communion on his lips, and its bread in his hand; and falling on the field, rose to receive the crown, if I may say so, with his armour on. I had hoped to die also in, and not out of harness- preaching on to the end of life, though with faltering tongue. But God, who knows best, has determined otherwise; and I desire to bow my head, saying, Good is the will of the Lord-Father, not my will, but thine be done.] * * * "In regard to my pulpit and public office, I have heard the words, Thou shalt be no longer steward; and though there is a pause between these and what follows, the time, the solemm time, cannot be far distant when the same voice shall be heard have endeavoured to preach: I would otherwise tremble at the sword which now hangs above my head, ready at any moment to fall and sever the thread of life. And as I have to render an remind you that you have to do the same of your hearing. If account of my preaching, let me affectionately and earnestly there is, as doubtless there is, an unconverted sinner among you, I implore him to enter in at the strait gate. There is time enough yet to win the battle-not of time as of the bread of life, enough and to spare; but enough, and none to spare. As if I stood, as I may now be standing, on the verge of another world, about to pass from your sight for ever, at least till we meet at the judgment, I turn round to beseech you, Come to Jesus! No carthly treasure can fully represent the precious-again, saying, 'Give an account of thy stewardship. In view of ness of the gospel. The man in the parable was glad that account, I have no resource but to cast myself on God's forto part with all that he had, in order to possess him-giveness and great mercy. My hope is in the Saviour whom I self of that field; and he did wisely, for the hidden treasure was of far greater value than the price paid. Yet it was but eartlily treasure after all; the same in kind as what he parted with for it, though larger in amount. But a little while, and all treasure of this kind, whether larger or smaller, whether inherited, or carned, or found (as they say) by some lucky chance, must be left for ever. Not so the treasure of the gospel, the true riches. This is a treasure which no moth or rust can corrupt, which no thief can steal, and of which death itself cannot deprive the happy owner. On the contrary, death, which parts us from gold and silver and lands and houses, will but put us in fuller possession of these gospel riches, this heavenly treasure. "To me to live is Christ, and to die is gain." He said this who had already found "the unsearchable riches of Christ." There are also other points of difference between the parable and what it is meant to teach. The man in the parable bought the field; but there is no buying the spiritual treasure. We must indeed part with all that comes between us and salvation; but not in the way of a price paid. "The gift of God is eternal life, through Jesus Christ our Lord." This is without money, and without price." 66 Again, this treasure is enough to supply the wants of all. In the parable, but one could have it; in the gospel it is offered to all. "Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money." "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." He, therefore, who finds it needs not to hide it, lest another should discover it and rob him of it. On the contrary, the newly-awakened man desires to make all sharers in the blessing he has found. "Come hither, and I will tell you what he hath done for my soul." "The Spirit and the bride say, Come: and let him that heareth say, Come!" One sign of a man's having found the treasure himself is, that he desires to lead others to find it too. One who has found Christ loves Christ; and he who loves Christ loves all for Christ's sake, and longs that all should know and love him. A PASTOR'S FAREWELL TO HIS PEOPLE. THE Rev. Dr. Guthrie, whose fame as a philanthropist and a preacher is in all the churches, has been compelled by ill health to resign his pastoral charge in All partings are sad; but in this sad and solemn hour when, as it were, I leave my place and pulpit for ever, it is a great comfort for me to know that you are not as sheep without a shepherd, scattered on the mountains; and that in my beloved colleague you have one who will watch over your souls with pious and tenderest care. May the good God have you all in his holy keeping, preserving you in these days of doubt and change, stedfast in the faith! May his light shine in all your dwellings, and his peace dwell in all your heart! The Good Shepherd lead his flock by quiet waters and verdant pastures! I commend you all very affectionately to the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Ghost. And now, and finally, my brethren, farewell! Farewell to you; farewell to my pulpit; I preach no more-the voice is in my ear which says, Go thou thy way till the end be; for thou shalt rest, and stand in thy lot at the end of the days.'" Sabbath Thoughts. JESUS WEEPING OVER THE CITY. "And when he was come near, he beheld the city, and wept over it."-Luke xix. 41. If we could see sin and the consequences of sin, as Jesus does, should not we weep like him when we behold the city," however great, rich, or glorious it may be? Let us think how he would have looked upon London-nay, how he does even now look upon it: its splendours, its sorrows, its intense energies, its appalling contrasts; its full churches, its still fuller church-yards; its good and its evil, its known and its unknown deep sin? Oh, what a sight is a city to a holy Christ-like eye! How overwhelming is the thought of the crowds of souls in it that are going down, down in their sin and ignorance in spite of every warning! Well might the psalmist cry, "Rivers of water run down mine eyes, because they keep not thy law." thoughts sadden the mind of the Christian, but they ought not to paralyse it; they ought rather to stimulate his efforts, to add fervour to his prayers for others, to increase his watchful hatred of sin, and to make him look forward with greater delight to the prospect of "a new heavens and new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness;" for we are not content with this world, with this city as our portion, and home; "we look for a city that hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God," These Page for the Young. LITTLE ESA'S" WISH. LITTLE "ESA'S" WISH, AND HOW IT WAS FULFILLED. ARLY in the spring of 18, a lady, who spends her life in going about doing good, visiting and relieving the sick and suffering in hospitals, and in cellars and garrets, and teaching little children about the Good Shepherd, who loves so tenderly the lambs of his flock, entered one of the wards of a large hospital in a back street of our city, specially set apart for children. She had to ascend many a wearisome flight of steps before she could reach this large upper room; and when she reached it, opened the door, and walked in, what do my readers suppose she saw? Perhaps some of them have never visited a hospital, though most of them probably know that a hospital is a large house set apart for the use of poor and sick people, who cannot afford to pay for a doctor, and have not a comfortable room and bed in which to lie down when too ill to sit up, and walk about, and work or play as usual. Well, for the sake of some little country child, who has little or no idea of what it is like, I will try to describe this children's ward. It is, as I have said, a large room, with two large windows, one at each end, one of which generally stands open at the top, to admit such fresh air as can be had. But the air to be had in a crowded city is not so balmy and refreshing as the breezes which fan your rosy little cheeks as you run along the sea shore picking up shells or sea-weeds, or climb some heath-clad hill, looking for wild flowers, harebells, stonecrops, eyebright, and perhaps for the rarer sun-dew, or fly-catcher, sometimes to be found on the hill-side. The poor little children I am going to tell you of have rarely enjoyed such pleasures as these, and the few who have cannot enjoy them now; for they are sick, and often in pain. Some of them have broken arms and legs, some have sore eyes and heads, and others are so weak they can do nothing but lie down and moan feebly when they are not asleep. I have often stood beside one of the little iron cribs, ranged along side by side, with just a little passage large enough to admit a rough wooden chair or stool between each, and looked smilingly at a dear little face peeping up from under the bedclothes, and then hiding again, as if half afraid to look at me, till I drew forth from my bag an orange, or a little box of tea-things, or soldiers, or some other toy or pretty picture; and then the little arms would appear above the coverlid, and a tiny hand be outstretched to receive the presents, and I and that dear child seemed no longer strangers, but the best of friends. But even when I have looked quite gay I have felt very sad, as I walked along the ward from one little bed to another, and heard the nurse tell how this dear little child had a broken leg, and that one had been severely scalded, and another had to wear heavy irons upon its tender feet, to bring them into the right shape before it grew any older, or else it could never be cured, but must be lame all its life. And sometimes sad sounds of cries and moans entered into my ears; and either I knew that it was because the poor little patient was in great pain, or I saw another cause for its tears and sobe not less mournful-a weeping mother tearing herself away from her darling's arms, because the clock had struck, and the time in which friends and relatives were allowed to visit the sick ones whom they loved was past. "One more kiss, mother-one more kiss !" and many such sad parting words fell upon my ears and into my heart, filling it with pity and with sorrow. But there was one thought which more than all others grieved me, dear children, as I looked on the sad sights before me, and heard the sad sounds of "lamentation, and mourning, and woe." Can you guess what it was? If you can read, and have read God's holy word, -the book we call the Bible,-I think you can; for then you will have learned what is the sad cause of all the pain, and sickness, and death in the world-sin. You will have seen that before Adam sinned the beautiful garden of Eden was man's happy home,-God was his friend, and he was the friend of God. And nothing can make the heart of man happy-nothing in earth or heaven-but friendship with God. If you do not know this yet, may God, for Jesus' sake, teach you to know it! "Ye are my friends," said the Lord Jesus Christ, when on earth, to his disciples, "ye are my friends, if ye do whatsoever I command you;" and you know Jesus Christ was God; so those who are his friends, who by his grace and the teaching of his 479 Spirit have learned to love him, and do what he commands, and who are cleansed by his blood from all sin, are the friends of God. But to return to my story. When the lady came to the children's ward she looked about to see if a child was still there who had gone in some time before; and when she could not discover its well-known face, she asked the nurse what had become of it, and heard the joyful news that it had been sent home cured some days before. Well, when the lady heard that her little friend was gone, she walked out of the ward, intending to visit a grown-up patient with whom she was acquainted, in what is called the adult ward, But as soon as she was out upon the landing the nurse, who had followed her, went up to her, and stopping her, asked if she knew of any good school for the children of the poor, and if she could get a child taken in to it? The lady inquired "what kind of school she meant?" She replied, "A boarding-school for little girls." "None whatever," said the lady, and would have walked on; but the nurse continued: "There is a child in here most anxious for admittance to a school; and she hopes to be taken into one next Monday, when she leaves the hospital." "Oh," replied the lady, "then of course she has some friend who means to settle everything for her?" "Not at all so," nurse continued; "there is no one to get her in to one. Please come and speak to her yourself." Thus invited, the lady returned to the children's ward, and followed her guide to the bedside of a little girl between eight and nine years of age,-very small for her age, but with a bright and intelligent countenance. She was sitting up in bed, and looked thin and pale, as if half starved. She had just had the hooping-cough very severely, but was over the worst of it; and so the time was coming when she must be sent out of hospital, to leave her bed for some other girl more sick and suffering than herself. "My child," said the lady, addressing her in a gentle, loving tone-for she felt very sorry for her as she looked into her pale, sickly-looking face-"My child, nurse says you wish to get into a school, and that you think you will succeed on Monday?" 66 Yes, ma'am," said the little creature, looking up half timidly half confidingly into the kind face that looked down upon her. "And why do you think so?" the lady continued. "Because I have been asking the Lord," was her simple, touching answer. Turning from "Esa," and taking the nurse aside, the lady made some more inquiries about her little patient, in whom sho had now become warmly interested. From nurse she learned that, though very poor and destitute, Esa was not an orphan. So she thought to herself, "I do not know what I can do to forward her wishes. The only boarding schools I know of are for orphans, and it will be vain to seek for admittance for a child whose parents are living, however poor and needy they may be." But her sad and perplexing thoughts did not make her forget little Esa, and in a moment or two she seated herself again by her tiny crib, and said gently, "Dear child, I do not think I can do anything about getting you into a school. Your father and mother are living-God has been so good that he has spared them to you-and the only schools I know of are for poor little orphans, whose parents are dead. I fear it will be impossible to get you taken in." While she spoke, tears filled Esa's eyes, and chased each other down her pale cheeks; and on being asked why she was so anxious to be taken into a school, she gave, in her simple way, a sad picture of her parents' poverty, and said she could not bear to be a burden to them, for she saw they could not even get food enough for themselves and the younger ones, and they would take the bit out of their mouths to give it to her; and if she could but get into a school, they would have one less to toil for. It may seem unnatural to some of my readers that so young a child should so well understand the troubles and sorrows of her parents, and feel herself a burden to those who loved her so much. But suffering is a great ripener of character, and makes the young old before their time. Touched by her evident disappointment, the lady said: I see no chance of your wish being fulfilled, Esa; yet it may be, nothing is too hard for the Lord. Perhaps he may open a way for you. But do not so confidently settle that Monday is to be the day," she continued, "for the Lord may not see fit to place you in a school until your cough is well, on account of the other children, who might take it from you. Nurse tells me your desire is to learn to read the Bible, as well as to remove a care from your dear mother; and as you say you have been praying |