or drains the fatal cup; when the worldling seeks, by unholy excitement and degrading pleasures, to drown care and purchase an immunity from memory; when the philosopher finds he has been leaning upon a broken crutch; and when the Christian alone bows his knee with tender resignation and humble gratitude to the Father, whose chastenings are so many proofs of love. Happy are they who have reached this stage in life's journey before the great trouble of their existence lays them low. Happy are they who have not to stagger to and fro like a drunken man; to put forth the hands blindly for external aid, and to strain the eyes eagerly for some gleam of light, when the inevitable evil days come, and the grasshopper is a burden, and desire doth fail. It matters not from which quarter the blow comes. It matters not whether the honourable ambition of years has culminated in disgrace; or the darling of your old age has been summoned away, or, worse still, has become an alien to you; or the one sympathetic soul is estranged; or your favourite projects have failed; or the dear objects of your earthly hopes and love lie buried one by one in a dark hole beneath the churchyard yew-it matters not which phase your correction takes,-until you can say, with the sublime faith of the Shunammite woman, "It is well," even when the heart-strings are strained almost to breaking, your sufferings will never be to you blessings in disguise. This is no mere pulpit truism. Even the polished cynic of that trifling nation whose irreligion is a proverb, tells his disciples that, though philosophy triumphs over future trials, present ills triumph over philosophy. We all

"Know how sublime a thing it is

To suffer and be strong"

when called upon to administer consolation or proffer sympathy to our brother who has fallen in the mire; but when our own coat is bespattered, and we ourselves are under the chariot wheels, we are too apt to lose sight of the sublimity of suffering, and to remember only its pain. This, at least, has been my experience; and, speaking from no platform of superiority, but as a wayworn, erring man, who has had many and heavy trials, I appeal to the inward monitor of all whether this be not their experience too. When indeed it is given us to say, with Job, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him,” we have taken an important step towards that faith which not only accepts meekly, but glories in temporal affliction. "Although the fig tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation," is the grand uncompromising utterance of a heart which had found this faith, and had come to regard suffering as a testimony

How many of

of the Creator's care. How many of us can say this? us can kiss the rod, nor seek an anodyne of our own? How many of us try to absorb our individuality in a round of occupation, and to so gain that ease which is, if we would but accept it, freely offered to all the weary and heavy laden! It is because of this inherent craving for work and change on the one hand, and the absolute certainty of relief on the other, that I venture to address those who are suffering, those who have suffered, and those who will suffer-a category which comprises, alas! the entire human race, and to point out means whereby their warmest human energies may find an ample sphere, and their spiritual needs a glorious sufficiency, at one and the same time. For we must not lose sight of the necessities of the body; and as the first resource of the goaded steed is movement and flight, so the instinct which prompts a healthy man, smarting under disaster, to plunge eagerly into action, is the earliest and strongest impulse of all. If, then, we can make it subservient to the great end,-if we can lead the wounded spirit, through the works of the flesh, to look for solace where real solace can be only found,-we shall effect a permanent, a substantial, and a practical good. Midway between the ascetic monasticism of the Papacy, and the fierce demand for exciting occupation which tinctures the world, lies my modest scheme. It possesses some of the self-abnegation, and infinitely more of love and charity than the one, and all the variety, engrossment, and absorption of the other. know not why a broken spirit or a sorely tried heart should not be treated as a speciality, like some physical ailments; and I should be gratified indeed if my suggestions were adopted as a panacea by all who felt that the gaunt hand and sad presence of mental suffering was upon them. Let them, at the very first sign of its approach, plunge beneath the current of their daily life. Let them go out into the highways and byways, among the poor and miserable, the guilty and the fallen. If their regular bread-and-cheese-earning labours occupy them engrossingly, let them still set apart a specified portion of time for good deeds. If they cannot spare half a day in the week, let them give half an hour; but let it be a compact between us that there shall be neither lukewarmness nor hanging back when the hand is once put to the plough. It is not the amount of exertion, but the extent to which the whole soul is thrown into it, which makes the prescription effectual; and with misery at every street corner, and with anxious, careworn, pining hearts in many a house, it is impossible to doubt that the one may be relieved as much as the other will be assuaged.

It must be so. Holy Scripture declares it; modern philosophy enforces it; knowledge of the human heart confirms it; and personal experience, if it be needed, corroborates them all. Living in this vast London of ours,—

"The common sewer of Paris and of Rome;"

or, as I prefer to think of it, in the language of Carlyle, "this monstrous tuberosity of civilized life, the capital of England;" I was led, before the numb, stunned darkness of my affliction had been irradiated by the faintest gleam of light, to peer into the hidden places about me, at first by that fierce unrest which those writhing under sorrow so keenly know; then by awakened curiosity, and a desire to know and see more; and finally by an honest, humble wish to alleviate, to elevate, and to console. These are the stages through which such patients as will accept me for their physician will probably pass too, and with the assurance-nay, the certainty-that they will gain that pearl of price, peace of heart, I shall surely find my followers neither halting nor few. Come with me, then, into the alleys and the courts, the hidden places, the secret dens, where the foulest ignorance, the densest superstition, the blackest sin, and the most degrading habits, are all festering in one huge and loathsome social sore. Come where unnameable vices rear their heads unblushingly; come where there are large tracts of densely populated country, to which, as Professor Kingsley said of one of the corrupt cities of old, "Paris is earnest and Gomorrah chaste." In many a noisome alley and foetid court, in many a thoroughfare where poverty, wretchedness, and crime go hand in hand, are fit objects for your sympathy and assistance. The vineyard has never labourers enough; and if, as the wise philosopher of Chelsea just quoted has it, "the wealth of a man is the number of things he loves and blesses, which he loves and is blessed by," there are assuredly riches for all in this London of ours alone. Still, it is one of the most cheering and encouraging facts connected with the experience of those who earnestly dive below the surface of society, that, concurrently with the horror their discoveries inspire, comes a recognition of the good inherent even in things evil, and of the self-imposed efforts of other labourers in the same field. There are both associations and individuals humbly and persistently endeavouring to elevate the poorer and degraded, of whom the world never hears, and who would blush, indeed, to have the sort of fame which tearing the veil from their anonymity would give. The newspapers publish an outline now and then of a refuge, or an hospital, or a workhouse, or an asylum; but we then see results rather than the means whereby they are reached. We hear of the practical working of a midnight meeting, a thieves' reformatory, or an outcasts' home; but the complex difficulties of their establishment, the constant care and trouble attending their supervision, and the fervent, prayerful efforts by which their leading spirits seek to bring lost sheep into the fold, seldom come before us. The ridicule and opposition of the world; the lukewarm competition of those who sympathize with our wishes, but demur to our mode of carrying them out; the obstacles which spring from and are an

integral portion of the very nature of such institutions as I have named, should be all estimated by those wishing to arrive at truth. It was not until after many a visit and exploration that I came to know this. For when my trouble was at its deepest I wandered here and there, objectless and purposeless; and it was by what fools call chance, and the wise recognize as the mysterious workings of Providence, that my desultory strollings became replete with interest and animate with life. Passing by the intermediate stages by which this was gradually effected, and deferring for a future season the details of the varied experience among criminals, outcasts, and others at war with the world, I have acquired since, I propose to briefly state how I became interested in the institution of which I shall give a necessarily imperfect sketch.

Years ago a girl in humble circumstances was tempted by a scoundrel, and yielded to temptation, as you and I, my brother, have done, how often is only known to our God. Deserted, heartsore, and weary of the world, she was rescued, when on the very brink of suicide, by a dear and good friend who has long since gone to receive his reward. He either did not know of THE MAGDALEN HOSPITAL, or thought its scope was confined to the professional harlot, or shrank from exposing the poor bruised reed to the chances of rejection, of harsh discipline, or of further contamination from bad companionship; and he therefore, not without considerable difficulty, procured her a private resting-place, where she soon afterwards died from what the doctors called atrophy, but which we knew to be deep contrition of spirit and a broken heart. The harrowing particulars of this poor creature's sorrow-she was a mere child,-her patient acceptance of suffering and degradation as her lot, was enough to rouse any one from the selfish contemplation of his own grief, and deeply interested me in the horrible social problem which such cases as hers compel all earnest men to endeavour to solve. Other circumstances tended to direct my steps aright, but I date from this sad incident my devotion to the pursuits which now absorb so great a portion of my time; and this it is which eventually determined me to inquire into the constitution and working of the various establishments designed to relieve such poor creatures as the one I saw sink under the heavy punishment awarded to her sin.

It was probably after some such shocking experience as this, that a small band of philanthropists met, more than a hundred years ago, to consider that great sin of great cities, to cope with which so many noble efforts have been and are now being made. In spite of “much ridicule and opposition," say the old minute-books of THE MAGDALEN—which, musty, yellow, and timeworn, contain an accurate history of the charity from its commencement until now,-they persevered, and at their third meeting upwards of a thousand pounds

was subscribed towards providing a home for such fallen women as were penitent, and willing to give up their way of life.

To Mr. John Dingley belongs the credit of originating this noble scheme, and it is gratifying to find his memory kept greenwithin the walls of the asylum. Before his time, the dunghill, the lazar-house, and the hospital were not only thought the most appropriate, but the most righteous, dying-places for such poor women as had succumbed to the sinful wiles of man. It would be interesting to know what led worthy Mr. Dingley to consider the subject, not as an abstract question for fireside moralizings, but as a fearful stain on the conscience of the community, to be dealt with boldly and at once. It would be pleasant to clear the memory of this good citizen of the dust left on it by time, to discover his habits, tastes, and pursuits, and the surroundings of his life. It would be curious to learn his private history, and to see whether it was the softening influence of sorrow which brought about the desire to benefit the people of his generation. We learn from the same old brass-bound ledgers, from pages which are yellow, and in characters rusty from lapse of time, that he was appointed treasurer of the charity, and authorized to take the lease of the premises occupied by the London Infirmary in Prescott Street, Goodman's Fields. Here, on August 18th, 1758, the Magdalen Hospital was opened, and fifty beds provided for the people it was designed to serve. The Rev. Jonathan Reeves was appointed chaplain, and preached the opening sermon on the above day from the 20th verse of the 15th chapter of the Gospel according to St. Luke::And he arose, and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him." Surely these sacred words must have tingled on the ears and vibrated on the hearts of those assembled to ask a blessing on the new venture. Surely both

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teacher and hearers must have been affected even to tears at the thought of the poor prodigals to whom they were about to offer, not indeed a fatted calf, but life-giving food, in place of the wretched husks wherein they were wallowing with the swine. From the day on which this sermon was preached, interest in the institution gradually spread. Allusions are made to it in contemporaneous publications; it is named in the biographies of the period; and its anniversary sermons were almost invariably preached by men of learning and repute. On the two years immediately following the one just quoted, the unhappy Dr. Dodd was the preacher selected; and further reference to the old books of the hospital furnishes the text of each of his discourses. In 1759 this was the 12th and 13th verses of the 9th chapter of the Gospel according to St. Matthew:-" But when Jesus heard that, He said unto them, They that be whole need not a physician, but they that are sick. But go