and tell him if he appeared like one who understood that of which he spoke.

Erelong the sad hour of farewells came. Amongst his kind attendants was a young friend for whose eternal welfare he was deeply solicitous. To him he turned and said, "Promise me— promise me, that you will meet me at the last day with an unclouded brow."

Once, as he lay with closed eyes, apparently asleep, he suddenly lifted up his hands and eyes, and exclaimed,

"A guilty, helpless wretch am I!
But Jesus died for me."

Mark how, when the end was still nearer, he conveyed to those beside him his humble view of himself. "Oh," said he, "that I could give expression to some of the sentiments and thoughts which at this moment fill my heart, even to bursting!" And after a pause, for he laboured to articulate, he added, "You see in me such an utter negation of all goodness, that I do not suppose it could be surpassed even if the universe were burnt up to its last fragment-its last cinder; and yet, if the great and glorious God has condescended to make such a feeble, worthless creature as I am, in any measure an instrument in the promotion of his glory, O what a wonder! what a miracle !"

The next night he was sleepless. As one whom he greatly esteemed was reading some precious promises from God's word, he gently interrupted him, saying, "I want to ask you a question. You have seen how much God has enabled me to bear. Now, if it should be after all His will that I should recover, how ought I to welcome it? You know I have a desire to depart; is that sinful? May I have a preference?" The answer was, “Yes; assuredly you may. The apostle had, and it was not sinful in him; but it would be sinful in you if you allowed your inclination to interfere with the will of God." "Ah!" said he, "that's right."

From this time he spoke little. The symptoms grew more and more alarming; and the excessive torture of pain very nearly deprived him of utterance. At length all became peaceful; but it was the stillness of a long repose. Just three weeks after the daughter's decease, her brother was beside him; the drooping head sustained in his arms. He looked into the

worn countenance-he strove to mark the labouring breathbut no! tears filled his eyes as he said, "His happy spirit is with the Lord." So gentle was the dismissal, that they were unable to ascertain the moment of its flight. The mortal

struggle could only be marked by the evidence that it was passed for ever.

Reader, for what purpose, think you, have we called you to visit these scenes, and dwelt so much upon the dying words of persons you never knew, whose names probably you never heard? You understand it already. Are you possessor of that grace which, in the case of the daughter and her father alike, was found all-sufficient? Have you the same simple, child-like, self-renouncing faith, which distinguished the latter not less than the former? If not, rely upon it you are wholly unprepared to lay your head upon a dying pillow. What would the amiable temper, unobtrusive gentleness, unstained life of that dear girl have availed her then, had she not possessed a sense of the pardon of sin through a Redeemer's merits? For she knew she had a weak, yea, a guilty heart, so that she could not die happy without Jesus. And what would the refinement, intellect, speculations, of her father have availed him, had he not possessed the same? He endured excruciating pains, and was cut down just in the midst of life; yet a holy calm reigned in his breast, and not a gloomy fear disturbed his peace. Where could that relief have been found, had he not been prepared, from the heart, to exclaim

"A guilty, helpless wretch am I !
But Jesus died for me."

The two, though in history, temperament, career, so contrasted, were brought in the very same spirit to the very same place. The striking analogy between their last earthly experiences might be traced even in several minute circumstances. Both, shortly before dissolution, requested to be left quite alone and in darkness. Both emphatically testified the affection of their spirits, declaring that they died at perfect peace with all the world. And both passed away without a struggle or a sigh. Their very language, who would have spoken upon the same theme in most dissimilar modes before, appeared, at last, to be suggested from the same fountain of thought, as it told of the same Object of faith and love. And thus it might be said of them, in all the tender sweetness of that expression, death they were not divided."

"In

Well, what is the language of this striking coincidence to you? You cannot mistake; oh, do not seek to evade it! When you come to die, unless you have the same "anchor of the soul," you cannot die truly happy. Whoever you may be, and in whatever circumstances, these blended voices from the "cloud of witnesses warn you, that except you become as a

And what is it to become

little child you cannot die in peace.

as a little child? From the heart to say,

“Just as I am-without one plea,

But that thy blood was shed for me;
And that thou bid'st me come to thee,
O Lamb of God, I come."

Your course, probably, is not arrested yet. You have yet strength, and cheerfulness, and hope of life. But remember, they came to Jesus before their course was arrested. If you would resemble them in the hour of mortality, oh! imitate them in leaving a vain world for Christ, and giving an undivided heart to him. In a word, if you would die like them, live like them. And beware of making exceptions and distinctions now, which, as you must feel, will not bear the test of death and judgment.

Dear friend, will you let these dying testimonies have entrance to your heart? Perhaps you are hesitating whether you should comply with this entreaty or refuse it. Oh! reject it not until you have considered one remaining plea, to which allusion has been made, and by which the writer would enforce it.

Where, at this moment, are they? those loved ones! I think they are not far from me now as I write, nor will they be distant from you as you read. For I have not dealt in fictions or exaggeration; I have not even written from hearsay, or written respecting strangers. No; I have told you of those over whose dear remembrance my own heart bleeds and rejoices. I could take you where, in the centre of a little green plot, a tree with pendant branches shades a humble tomb, and show you their names recorded together on the stone beneath which they lie in death's long sleep. I am myself that only son. I saw their fading countenances. I heard their dying words. I stood by as they were laid in one grave. Can you refuse, when a son entreats you to let his father and his sister, "being dead, yet speak" to you? To write of them thus, makes me feel as if I had lost them but yesterday. How fresh, though years have passed, the wound! And yet I love to dwell upon their holy lives and happy deaths; most of all, because I hope soon to rejoin them in that better home, where we shall be one family again. Reader, when your short life is over, will you meet us there?

J. F. SHAW, BOOKSELLER, SOUTHAMPTON ROW, AND
PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON;

AND W. INNES, BOOKSELLER, SOUTH HANOVER STREET, EDINBURGH.
J. & W. Rider, Printers, 14, Bartholomew Close, London.

THE INFALLIBLE GUIDE.

It was a beautiful evening in autumn, when the leaves had exchanged their summer pride for more varied hues, that my friend, who resided in the neighbourhood of Bristol, proposed a walk to the Observatory, at Clifton. Arrived at that lofty point, how exquisite the scene that broke upon our view! At our feet rolled the Avon between its stupendous rocks; before us the Nightingale valley, like modest beauty, seemed to retire from our gaze. Tracing the windings of the river, we caught in the distance the glistening of the channel returning the beams of the setting sun; and beyond its wide waters the blue hills of Cambria faded into the heavens. For a time we abandoned ourselves to the enjoyment of the scene, and only spoke in broken exclamations of delight. At last my friend began. "Resuming the subject of our discourse, have we not here an illustration of my remarks? The creation stretches itself before us in grandeur and beauty. It is a revelation of the power and goodness of God. He has formed the eye to convey to our minds perfect images of all this loveliness. But something more is necessary to bring the external world into contact with our internal perceptions; and that something is light. We may have the power of perceiving. These hills, and rocks, and woods, and waves, may all be formed to fill our hearts with gladness; but without the rays of light emanating from that setting sun both would exist in vain. Even thus the Bible contains a revelation from God. Christ, in whom dwelt the fulness of the Godhead bodily, is there unfolded in the prophecies of the old time, in the histories and doctrines of the new. All that can be known of God and of his will, lies treasured there in Him. We have on our parts all the necessary qualifications to read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest; but something more is needed, and that something is the SPIRIT OF GOD. He is the Light who brings the external revelation and the human spirit into contact. Without Him darkness rests upon the scene, and man has no trustworthy guide to glory.' Then," said I, "you are scarcely prepared to adopt unreservedly the common maxim, that the Bible, and the Bible only, is the religion of Protestants.'

Yes," he replied. "In the sense in which it was originally uttered I adopt it fully. The Bible, as distinguished from the traditions of the church, the opinions of the fathers, and the decrees of the popes, all of which Romanism had exalted into co-equal authorities with the scriptures,-the Bible, thus alone, contains the doctrines, the precepts, the discipline, which Protestants admit to be binding on the conscience. But if you ask whether the Bible alone—that is, the mere letter of the sacred volume-be sufficient of itself to guide the 'natural man' into

all truth, then I must reply, that no man, who understands the teaching of the Bible itself, can believe the statement.

"Let us," my friend continued, "hear what the scriptures say on this matter. The promise of our Lord to his apostles was this: Howbeit when he, the Spirit of truth, is come, he will guide you into all truth: for he shall not speak of himself; but whatsoever he shall hear, that shall he speak and he will show you things to come. He shall glorify me: for he shall receive of mine, and shall show it unto you." The apostles had been the companions of Christ during his ministry. They had enjoyed every opportunity of hearing his words, and beholding his works. They were possessed of the intellectual powers necessary for comprehending whatsoever they saw and heard, and yet the mystery of godliness' was wholly concealed from their view. Why was this? The light had not shone. But as soon as the Spirit arose, Christ was unfolded to their hearts, and they saw with rapture God in man, the Saviour of his people, the King of Zion. The Spirit was their guide into all truth. That Spirit, believe me, is equally required by every child of Adam, to bring the truth of Christ into contact with his soul. St., Paul not only asserts the possession of the Spirit, as the revealer, by the apostles, but also the necessity of his action upon every mind, ere it can know the things revealed. God hath revealed unto us (the hidden wisdom, which the princes of this world could not comprehend) by his Spirit. But (though thus revealed to us, and by us proclaimed) the natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness unto him; neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned.' With this declaration experience accords. The apostles have detailed in their epistles, the truths in which they were enlightened by the Spirit; but what 'natural' man sees, or knows, or feels their power? Whatever he may profess, through the force of early prejudice, when he comes seriously to reflect on the apostolic doctrine concerning Christ, it will be foolishness to him. Hence scepticism is more likely to prevail in a thoughtful than in an inconsiderate age. Till he humbly seek from his Father in heaven, the Spirit of God, who is given to all who ask him, the profoundest philosopher can no more perceive and know Christ as the revelation of God, than he could be conscious of all this surpassing loveliness without the light. Hence St. John, in his first epistle, declares the Spirit to be the true teacher of the church. But ye have an unction from the Holy One, and ye know all things.: . . The anointing which ye have received of him abideth in you, and ye need not that any man teach you: but as the same anointing teacheth you of all things, and is truth, and is no lie, and even as it hath taught you, ye shall abide in him.' The kings and priests of old were anointed with the sacred oil. John recognises all believers as kings and priests unto God. The Spirit, which they have received from Christ the Holy One, is their consecrating unction; and by him their