no spring rises and no streamlet flows, and the long caravan plies its weary march amid the blinding glare of the sand, and the red-unshaded rays of the 'fierce sun. But once and again, and yet again, has the roar of Ocean been there. It is his sands that the winds heap up; and it is the skeleton remains of his vassals-shells, and fish, and the stony coralthat the rocks underneath enclose. There is silence on the tall mountain peak, with its glittering mantle of snow, where the panting lungs labour to inhale the thin bleak air-where no insect murmurs and no bird flies, and where the eye wanders over multitudinous hill-tops that lie far beneath, and vast dark forests that sweep on to the distant horizon, and along long hollow valleys where the great rivers begin. And yet once and again, and yet again, has the roar of Ocean been there. The effigies of his more ancient denizens we find sculptured on the crags, where they jut from beneath the ice into the mistwreath; and his later beaches, stage beyond stage, terrace the descending slopes. Where has the great destroyer not been-the devourer of continents-the olue foaming dragon, whose vocation it is to eat up the land? His ice-floes have alike furrowed the flat steppes of Siberia and the rocky flanks of Schehallion; and his nummulites and fish lie embedded in great stones of the pyramids, hewn in the times of the old Pharaohs, and in rocky folds of Lebanon still untouched by the tool. So long as Ocean exists there must be disintegration, dilapidation, change; and should the time ever arrive when the elevatory agencies, motionless and chill, shall sleep within their profound depths, to awaken no more-and should the sea still continue to impel its currents and to roll its waves-every continent and island would at length disappear, and again, as of old, "when the fountains of the great deep were broken up,"

"A shoreless ocean tumble round the globe." Was it with reference to this principle, so recently recognised, that we are so expressly told in the Apocalypse respecting the renovated earth, in which the state of things shall be fixed and eternal, that "there shall be no more sea?" or are we to regard the revelation as the mere hieroglyphic-the pictured shapeof some analogous moral truth? "Reasoning from "what we know,"--and what else remains to us?an earth without a sea would be an earth without rain, without vegetation, without life-a dead and doleful planet of waste places, such as the telescope reveals to us in the moon. And yet the Ocean does seem peculiarly a creature of time—of all the great agents of vicissitude and change, the most influential and untiring; and to a state in which there shall be no vicissitude and no change-in which the earthquake shall not heave from beneath, nor the mountains wear down and the continents melt away-it seems inevitably necessary that there should be "no more sea."-Hugh Miller.

A LOOK INTO THE CHURCHES AT ROME. AMONG the people who drop into St. Peter's at their leisure, to kneel on the pavement, and say a quiet prayer, there are certain schools and seminaries,

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priestly and otherwise, that come in twenty or thirty strong. These boys all kneel down in single file, one behind the other, with a tall grim master, in a black gown, bringing up the rear, like a pack of cards arranged to be tumbled down at a touch, with a disproportionably large knave of clubs at the end. When they have tarried a minute or so at the chief altar, they scramble up, and filing off to the chapel of the Madonna, or the sacrament, flop down again in the same order; so if any body did stumble against the master, a general and sudden overthrow of the whole line must inevitably ensue.

The scene in all the churches is the strangest possible. The same monotonous, heartless, drowsy chanting, always going on; the same dark building, darker from the brightness of the street without; the same lamps dimly burning; the self-same people kneeling here and there, turned toward you from one altar or the other; the same priest's back, with the same large cross embroidered on it; however different in size, in shape, in wealth, architecture, this church is from that, it is the same thing still. There are the same dirty beggars stopping in their muttered prayers to beg; the same miserable cripples exhibiting their deformity at the doors; the same blind men rattling little pots like kitchen pepper-castors, their depositories for alms; the same preposterous crowns of silver stuck upon the painted heads of single saints and virgins in crowded pictures, so that a little figure ple in the foreground, or adjacent miles of landscape; on a mountain had a head-dress bigger than the temthe same favourite shrine or figure, smothered with little hearts and crosses, and the like, the staple trade and show of all the jewels; the same mixture of respect and indecorum; kneeling on the stones, and spitting on them loudly; getting up from prayers to beg a little, or to pursue some other worldly matter; and then kneeling down again, to resume their contrite supplications at the point where it was interrupted.-Dickens.

A LETTER OF CONSOLATION. QUEEN KATHERINE (WIFE OF HENRY VIII.) TO THE LADY WRIOTHESLY, COMFORTING HER FOR THE LOSS OF HER ONLY SON.

GOOD my Lady Wresely; understandying yt hath pleasyd God of late to dysinheryte your sonne of thys world, of intent he schuld become partener and chosen heyre of the everlastyng inherytance (which) callyng and happy vocatyon ye may rejoice); yet, when I consyder, you are a mother by flessche and nature, doubtyng how you can geve place quyetly to the same, inasmuch as Chryste's mother, indued with al godly vertues, dyd utter a sorrowful, natural passyon of her Son's dethe, whereby we have all obtayned everlastyngly to lyve; therefore, amongst other dyscrete and godly consolatyons gyven unto you, as wel by my lord your husband, as other your wyse frendes, I have thowght with mine own hand, to recommend unto you my symple consel and advyce; desyring you not so to utter your natural affectyon by inordynate sorrow, that God have cause to take you as a murmurer ageynst hys appoyntments and ordynances. For what is excessyfe sorow but a pleyne evydens ageynst you, that your inward mynd doth repyne ageynst God's doyngs, and a declaratyon that you are not contented that God hath put your son by nature, but hys by adoptyon, in possessyon of the heavenly kingdom? Such as have doubtyd of

the everlastyng lif to come, doth sorrow and bewayle the departure hens: but those whych be persuadyd that to dy here ya lyf ageyne, do rather honger for death, and count yt a felicite, than to bewayle yt as an utter destructyon. How much, Madam, are you to be counted godly wyse, that wol and can prevent, thorow your godly wysdom, knowlege, and humbler submyssyon, that thyng that tyme wold at length fynyssche. If you lament your son's death, you do him great wrong, and schew your self to sorrow for the habpyest thynge ther ever came to hym, being in the hands of his best Father. Yf you are sorry for your own commodite, you schew your self to lyve to your self. And as of hys towardness you could but only hope, hys years war so yong, whych could perfourm nothyng, yt semyth that he was now a mete and pleasant sacrifice for Christ.

Wherefor, good my Lady Wreseley, put away al immoderate and unjust hevynes, requyryng you with thanksgyving to frame your hart, that the Father in heven may thynk you are moost glad, and best contentyd to make hym a present of hys spyrytual and your only natural son; gloryfying hym more in that yt hath pleased hys Majesty to accept and able hym to hys kyngdom, then that yt fyrst pleased hym to comforth you wyth such a gyft; who can at his pleasur recompence your loss with such alyke juell, yf gladly and quyetly ye submyt and refer al to hys pleasur.-Strype's Ecclesiastical Memorials.

MORNING HYMN. JESUS, kind Shepherd of the sheep, Thy little lamb in safety keep; Guard me this day from every ill, And with thy grace my spirit fill. Teach me to love thee, O my LORD; Help me to read thy holy Word; May the first sounds my lips can raise, Be sounds of joy, and prayer, and praise.

EVENING HYMN.

JESUS, underneath thy care,

Let me sweetly sink to rest; Hear my simple evening prayer-May the little child be blessed. I thank thee for my happy home, And all that thou hast given; O make my infant heart thy own, And train thy child for heaven.

BLOODY QUEEN MARY.

GOD shortened the time of her reign for his elect's sake; and he seemed to have suffered Popery to show itself in its true and natural colours-all over both false and bloody-even in a female reign, from whence all mildness and gentleness might have been expected, to give the nation such an evident and demonstrative proof of the barbarous cruelty of that religion, as might raise a lasting abhorrence and detestation of it. -Burnet.

THE NEW CUT.

AN old clergyman, who had an old tailor as his beadle or officer for many years, returning from a neighbouring sacrament, where Thomas was in the habit of attending him, after a thoughtful and silent pause, thus addressed his fellow-traveller, the "minister's man:" "Thomas, I cannot tell how it is that our church should be getting thinner, for I am sure I preach as well as I ever did, and should have far more experience than when I first came among you." Indeed," replied Thomas, "old ministers now-a-days are just like old tailors, for I am sure I sew as well as ever I did, and the cloth is the

same; but it's the cut-it's the new cut!"

DENY THYSELF.

HAVE I found my God so gracious to me, that he hath denied me nothing, either in earth or heaven; and shall not I so much as deny my own will for his sake? Hath my dear Saviour bought my soul at such a price, and shall he not have it? Was he crucified for my sins, and shall I by my sins crucify I serve the devil? O God! is this the fruit of thy him again? Am I his, in so many bonds, and shall beneficence to me, that I should wilfully dishonour thee? Was thy blood so little worth, that I should tread it under my feet? Doth this become him that shall be once glorious with thee? Hast thou prepared heaven for me, and do I thus prepare myself for heaven?-Hall.

VICISSITUDE.

CHRIST'S children must not expect always to lean upon his bosom. He sometimes sets them down on the cold, frosty side of the hill, and makes them walk barefooted upon thorns. Yet does he keep his eye of love upon them all the while. Our pride must have winter weather to rot it.-Rutherford.

TRIALS.

I NEVER had in all my life so great an inlet into the Word of God as now [viz., as during his twelve years' imprisonment]; insomuch that I have often said, "Were it lawful, I could pray for greater trouble, for the greater comfort's sake."—Bunyan.

WAITING.

WAIT patiently on God. It is becoming of a dutiful child, when he hath not presently what he writes for to his father, to say, "My father is wiser than I; his own wisdom will tell him what and when to send to me." Oh Christian! thy heavenly Father hath gracious reasons which hold his hands for the present, or else thou hadst heard from him ere now.— Gurnall.

LITERATURE.

IT opens a back door out of the bustle of the busy and idle world into a delicious garden of moral and intellectual fruits and flowers, the key of which is denied to the rest of mankind. Our happiness no longer lives on charity, nor bids fair for a fall, by leaning on that most precarious and thorny pillow-another's pleasure, for our repose.-Young.

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THE writer of this will not easily forget the impression which the following sentence from a forcible writer once made on his own mind: "When one great sinner finds mercy, another great sinner is encouraged to hope that he may find mercy also." It is a simple thought; but there are states of mind in which it is unutterably precious. The great mass of awakened and convinced sinners would be utterly discouraged by a view of their own ignorance, weakness, darkness, and wickedness, were it not for just such facts and assurances as these. But who shall be depressed, when he looks at the long catalogue of vile and atrocious offenders, from Adam down to the present hour? "Oh! I am a reprobate. The measure of my iniquity is full. I am just fit for eternal burnings. It is not possible there should be hope for such a sinner!" Who is it that says this? It sounds like a voice from the caverns of despair, rather than from this world of mercy where Jesus wept and died. And who is it that is the prompter to such despondency? It is some dark spirit of the pit. It is not the Spirit of God; it is not the Saviour of men; it is not the Bible; nor is it the prompting of those multiplied proofs of the power of grace with which heaven has been filled from our apostate world. God does not save men from tenderness to their own souls merely, but that, through his mercy to them, others may also find mercy. Eternity alone can reveal the number of those who have been kept from sinking into despair, and into hell itself, by those narratives of conversion which have abounded in this land within the past twenty years. If Christ "had rather save than damn" that poor drunkard, that vile debauchee, that hardened infidel, that son of godly parents who has become a very maniac in wickedness, and every one of these is now hoping in his mercy, and adorning that hope by a well-ordered life and deportment; what encouragement is there for me--for you-for all! Never was a truth more fitted to the condition of our lost world than this. Oh, the unspeakable fulness, and riches, and sovereignty of grace in the cross! What can the guilty sinner want more? Not until a voice from heaven, calling him by name,

and foretelling his awful doom-no, not until he has passed the regions of this world of hope, and actually made his bed in hell, may he despair of mercy. Tell me where the vilest sinner is to be found that dwells on God's footstool; conduct me to his abode of wickedness and gloom; and if it be anywhere this side the grave, I would assure him, in God's name, that He who was lifted up from the earth came to save just such sinners as he. Question not the truth of God. Limit not the infinitude of his mercy. Distrust not his omnipotent power. Reject not his only Son. He is the sinner's friend, and his last hope. His language is, "Let him that heareth say, Come; let him that is athirst come; and whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely."

There is one most beautiful feature in this arrangement of the divine mercy it is, the reaction which it exerts upon the mind of the saved sinner himself. "Simon," said our Divine Lord, "I have somewhat to say unto thee. There was a certain creditor which had two debtors: the one owed five hundred pence, and the other fifty. And when they had no. thing to pay he frankly forgave them both. Tell me, therefore, which of them will love him most. Simon answered and said, I suppose that he to whom he forgave most. And he said unto him, Thou hast rightly judged." Great sinners who have found mercy, never forget the love of Christ. They more usually have deeper and more pungent convictions of conscience and of sin, both before their conversion and afterwards, than other men, and are very apt to carry these convictions through all their subsequent life, and with these a befitting and corresponding sense of God's wonderful love and mercy. David's convictions of his great sins, as recorded in the 51st Psalm, were of this kind; and when he speaks of God's redeeming mercy, his language partakes of the same strong and deep feeling. "He brought me up out of an horrible pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings. And he hath put a new song in my mouth, even praise to our God. Many, O Lord my God, are thy wonderful works which thou hast done, and thy thoughts