Butcher Hancocks was the strongest man in the parish, but he was no match for Death. His chest was broad, his arms sinewy and strong, and his frame bulky and well knit together. "As hearty as Hancocks," was a common adage. No matter! sickness soon robs the stoutest of his strength, and pulls down the tallest man to the ground. The fever fastened upon him, so that one hour he raged with heat and thirst, and the next his teeth chattered with cold. "Lord, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what it is; that I may know how frail I am. Behold, thou hast made my days as a hand breadth; and mine age is as nothing before thee: verily every man at his best state is altogether vanity," Psa. xxxix. 4, 5. Death crossed the village in the AUTUMN, the orchard trees were bending beneath their load, the sickle was at work among the wheat, and the scythe was sweeping down the barley. Never was known a more abundant year. The loaded teams were seen in all directions, and the gleaners were picking up the scattered ears from the stubble. Farmer Blount was a wealthy man. He was in the corn-field with the reapers, when he suddenly fell to the ground. Some said that he was struck by the sun, and others that it was a fit of apoplexy; but whatever it was, Farmer Blount never spoke after. You may, perhaps, have seen his tomb by the stone wall of the churchyard, with the iron pallisades round it. Truly may each of us say, "There is but a step between me and death," 1 Sam. xx. 3. Widow Edwards lived in the shed, at the back of the pound. It was a wretched habitation, but the poor cannot choose their dwelling-places. The aged widow had wrestled hard with poverty; her bits and drops were few and far between. Her son Tom, who ought to have been a staff for her old age to rest on, was at sea. He was roving and thoughtless; but there is a heartache in store for him on account of his aged mother. Death found the widow alone, lying on her straw. No one was at hand to comfort her or to close her eyes. "Watch therefore: for ye know not what hour your Lord doth come," Matt. xxiv. 42. Death went round the village in the WINTER, the icicles were a foot long, hanging from the pent-house in the carpenter's yard, and the snow lay here and there in heaps, for it had been shovelled away from the front of the cottages. Not a stone's throw from the finger-post at the entrance of the village dwelt Abel Froome the clerk's father. For years he had been afflicted, but his mind was stayed upon Christ the Rock of ages, and he loved to think of eternal things. He had lived to a goodly old age, and as a shock of corn ripe for the harvest, he was ready to be gathered into the garner of God. While his days were numbering his heart had applied unto wisdom, and he knew Him, whom to know is eternal life. Death found him sitting up in his bed with the Bible in his aged hands, and the last words that faltered from his lips were, Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word: for mine eyes have seen thy salvation," Luke ii. 29. Thus died Abel Froome. "Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright: for the end of that man is peace," Psa. xxxvii. 37. « The habitation of Harry Tonks was in a wretched plight when Death crossed the threshhold. Harry was an infidel and scoffed at holy things. His days were mostly spent in idleness, and his nights in poaching, and in tippling at the Fighting Cocks. Often had Harry defied Death at a distance, as a bugbear, but when he came in reality, he trembled like a child. Pain racked him, and poverty distressed him; but that was not all, for his conscience was at work within him, and his mind was disturbed. "The spirit of a man will sustain his infirmity; but a wounded spirit who can bear?" Prov. xviii. 14. It was a horrid sight to see Harry clenching his hands, tearing his clothes, and gnashing his teeth in anguish, and quite as bad to hear the curses he uttered in his despair. He died as the wicked die, without hope, “driven from light into darkness, and chased out of the world," Job xviii. 18. "Rend your heart, and not your garments, and turn unto the Lord your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness, and repenteth him of the evil," Joel ii. 13. If thus Death goes up and down, and across and around the village at all seasons of the year. If he takes away the young and the old, the feeble and the strong, the rich and the poor, the righteous and the wicked, how long will he pass by THEE? Is it thy prayer, "Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his," Numb. xxiii. 10? Is Christ thy hope, thy trust, and thy salvation? If so, thou mayest indeed rejoice and say with exultation, "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me," Prov. xxiii. 4. THE MARINER'S COMPASS. "Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth," Isa. xlv. 22. THE finger of the compass points toward the north. The vessel by its reeling and tossing may cause it to quiver and shake, and force it for a time from its natural bent; but, even in its quivering, you may still discover the point from which it unwillingly turns, and when the vessel is again quiet, again will it quickly settle pointing northward. Christ is the point towards which the hearts of his people are directed by the hand of God, who has made them willing in the day of his power. But temptation, sin, and affliction may toss the followers of the Redeemer to and fro, and for a season force them from their proper position. The world, the flesh, and the devil, may succeed for a time in turning them from the supreme object of their adoration, but even in the storm of temptation Christ is the point to which their desires struggle to steady themselves. Yea, and the point to which they shall be steadied eternally, when there is no more rocking in the tempest of this world's tribulation. THE LIFE OF FAITH EXEMPLIFIED AND RECOMMENDED; In a Letter found in the Study of a Minister, since his decease: being an answer to this Question, "How to live in this World so as to live in Heaven." DEAR Brother.-Yours I received, and thought on that question, being "How to live in this world, so as to live in heaven?" It is one of the common pleas of my heart, which I have often occasion to study, and therefore takes me not unprovided. It is hard to keep the helm up against so many cross winds as we meet withal upon this sea of fire and glass. That man knoweth not his own heart that finds it not difficult to break through the entanglements of the world. Creature-smiles stop and entice away the affections from Jesus Christ; creature-frowns encompass and tempestuate the spirit, that it thinks it doth well to be angry; both ways grace is a loser. We had all need to watch and pray, lest we enter into temptation. The greatest of your conflicts and causes of complaints, seem to have their original here. Temptations follow tempers. As there are two predominant qualities in the temper of every body, so there are two predominant sins in the temper of every heart. Pride is one in all men in the world. I will tell you familiarly what God hath done for my soul, and in what trade my soul keeps toward himself; I am come to a conclusion to look after no great matters in the world, but to know Christ and him crucified. I make the best way in a low gale. A high spirit and a high sail together will be dangerous; and therefore I prepare to live low. I desire not much; I pray against it. My study is my calling; so much as to tend that without distraction, I am bound to plead for, and more I desire not. By my secluded retirements I have the advantage to observe how every day's occasions insensibly wear off the heart from God, and bury it in self, which they who live in care and lumber cannot be sensible of. I have seemed to see a need of everything God gives me, and to want nothing that he denies me. There is no dispensation, though afflictive, but either in it, or after it, I find I could not be without it; whether it be taken from me, or not given to me, sooner or later God quiets me in himself without it. I cast all my concerns on the Lord, and live securely on the care and wisdom of my heavenly Father. My ways, you know, are in some sense hedged up with thorns, and grow darker and darker daily; but yet I distrust not my God in the least, and live more quietly in the absence of all, by faith, than I should do, I am persuaded, if I possessed them. I think the Lord deals kindly with me, to make me believe for all my mercies before I have them; they will then be Isaacs, sons of laughter. The less reason has to work upon, the more freely faith casts itself upon the faithfulness of God. I find that while faith is steady, nothing can disquiet me, and when faith totters, nothing can establish me. If I tumble out amongst men and creatures I am presently lost, and can come to no end; but if I stay myself on God, and leave him to work in his own way and time, I am at rest, and can sit down and sleep in a promise, when a thousand rise up against me. Therefore my way is not to cast beforehand, but to work with God by the day; "Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof." I find so much to do continually with my calling, and my heart, that I have no time to puzzle myself with peradventures and futurities. As to the state of the times, it is very gloomy and tempestuous; but "Why do the heathen rage Faith lies at anchor in the midst of the waves, and believes the accomplishment of the promise through all those overturnings, confusions and seeming impossibilities. Upon this God do I live, who is our God for ever, and will guide us to the death. Methinks I lie becalmed in his bosom, as Luther; in such a case, I am not much concerned, let Christ see to it. I know the prophecies are now dark, and the books are sealed, and men have all been deceived, and every cistern fails; yet God doth continue faithful, and "faithful is he that hath promised, who will do it." I believe these dark lines will give birth to a bright morning. Many things more I might have said, but enough. O brother! keep close to God, and then you need fear nothing. Maintain secret and intimate communion with God, and then a little of the creature will go a great way. Take time for duties in private, crowd not religion into a corner of the day. There is a Dutch proverb, "Nothing is got by thieving, nor lost by praying." Lay up all your good in God, so as to overbalance the sweetness and bitterness of all creatures. Spend no time anxiously in fore-hand contrivances for the world; they never succeed; God will run his dispensations another way. Self-contrivances are the effects of unbelief; I can speak by experience. Would men spend those hours they run out in plots and devices in communion with God, and leave all on him by venturesome believing, they would have more peace and comfort. I leave you with your God and mine. The Lord Jesus be with your spirit. Pray for your own soul, pray for Jerusalem, and pray earnestly for your poor brother. In all my troubles sharp and strong My anchor-hold is firm in him, When swelling billows rise. J. B. |