faith for these thirty years, and which, through the exercise of his miraculous power, appeared to thee on the point of realisation-must they all end in this! Thy son dying in his prime-dying amid the execrations of his countrymen-forsaken by the few followers whom he had gathered around him dying a malefactor's death-the shameful and accursed death of the cross! The life whose dawn was so full of promise, whose course justified the fondest hopes, setting behind clouds of shame, in a sea of blood! How false the salutation with which the angel greeted thee! How groundless thy triumphant song! Only Simeon's words seem to be verified now: "This child is set for a sign that shall be spoken against; yea, a sword shall pierce through thine own soul !"

Now, it becometh us, from the experience of Mary, to learn the lesson that similar things, though in a lesser degree, may happen to ourselves. Not only is it true that trouble comes to us through our pleasures, and that sometimes in our blindness we rejoice over flattering appearances which conceal disaster-if this were all, we should find nothing to remind us of it in the text. It is also true, as Mary's history attests, that when God confers on us real favours, it is often at the expense of much suffering. Honour from him, while it is a most desirable, is also, to mortals like ourselves, a most awful, possession. There is indeed a time and a state awaiting us in which God's favours need excite no apprehension, and the honours he bestows will place us in no jeopardy. But in this chequered state, whether in the domain of providence or grace, every fresh endowment is attended with fresh anxieties, and every pleasure brings as its shadow a corresponding liability to pain. In the domain of providence, he who possesses most is liable to sustain the greatest loss; the most elevated is most injured by his fall; the father of the most numerous family has the greatest amount of solicitude, and may yet have to endure the severest pangs of bereavement. And even in the kingdom of grace, signal favours are often the preludes and the accompaniments of equally signal trials. Strong faith has often been followed by a call to martyrdom; and God has given much spiritual enjoyment to some whom he has afterwards deprived of all earthly consolations. No woman was ever so blessed as Mary when she clasped the infant Christ; no woman was ever so tried as Mary when she stood by the cross of her Son. And while we must not imagine that out of caprice, or for his own pleasure, God treats us so, but must rather feel assured that certain proportions of pleasure and pain constitute the discipline best suited to our earthly state, and that we cannot bear great joys unless they are balanced by great sorrows-and while we should not, even in view of the accompanying perils, refuse to seek the blessings and the honours which God bestows; we should, nevertheless, ere we ask for great blessings, consider if we are prepared to accept of their corresponding liabilities-if we can drink of the cup and be baptized with the baptism apportioned to those whom God delights to honour.

2. But, in the second place, we are taught a lesson which is the counterpart of this, and must be considered along with it-otherwise we receive only a part of the truth. If, when we see how the distinguishing favour conferred on Mary became the occasion of her bitter grief, we almost tremble to ask great things from God, we shall soon be encouraged to ask such things if we consider how her history illustrates the truth, that from our greatest griefs God sometimes causes our highest pleasures to spring. If he sends great trials where he confers great blessings, it is only that the trials may issue in still higher good. Often

when his dispensations are darkest, and he wraps himself most in clouds, he fulfils his most gracious purposes. The hopes of Mary seemed utterly blasted as she stood by the cross of her son; and yet it was all a part of the Divine plan. That suffering which she deplored so much, and was so painfully affected by, brought endless joy to her, salvation to the world. When he cried, "It is finished," though he appeared to be vanquished, he had, for himself and his, achieved eternal victory. His death opened to humanity a new and more glorious life. That was the Divine method of accomplishing the purpose of his coming. That cross of shame was the way to the throne of universal dominion. The Sun of Righteousness did set in that dark and stormy sky, that it might rise and shine in a wider horizon, shedding radiance on this, and on all the worlds. And those women that stood by his cross have long since learned how groundless were their fears. And Mary, as she now sees him surrounded with the fruit of the travail of his soul, and hears the multitude of the redeemed cry, "Worthy is the Lamb that was slain!"-" Thou art worthy, for thou wast slain, and has redeemed us to God by thy blood," knows well that her highest joy has sprung from her deepest grief, and gives thanks most of all that, in the wonderful providence of God, she was permitted to be the mother of a crucified son.

Charge me not with profanity if I say that such is the Divine planthat not only is it true in the case before us, but of all tried saints, that their joy springs oftentimes from their greatest sorrow. This has been verified in the experience of thousands already; it will be verified in the experience of thousands still. "A grain of wheat cast into the ground is not quickened except it die;" so it is always-death in order to life. The crucifixion of nature in order to the growth of grace. Trials mortifying the flesh, that the spirit may become strong in faith, and hope, and love. Hopes which awakened and gratified ambition, while they stimulated to effort and sustained under trial, all apparently extinguished, no stay for the soul but God;-this is often preparatory to, and the harbinger of, still greater blessings. Think not that because your course is not so pleasant as the blessings realised at its commencement led you to anticipate-think not on that account that God has forsaken you. That is his plan. He is leading you in the way in which he has led many. And instead of fretting and murmuring that where he confers great favours he sends heavy trials, you should rather rejoice that those trials are designed to prepare you for the higher good which he has in store for his chosen. For

"Knowledge by suffering entereth;
And life is perfected by death.”

3. It would occupy more time than we have now at command were we to notice the lessons taught by the Saviour's address as recorded in the following context. There is one, however, which we cannot pass byChrist's care and compassion for the penitent, as evinced by the fact that he speaks to the thief, assuring him of immediate admission to paradise, before he makes provision for his mother.

It will not be supposed, especially after what has been said, that this detracts in any degree from his filial affection. There were good reasons why he should speak to the thief first. His work as a Saviour is still more important than his duty as a son. Besides, his mother, though distressed, was safe; whereas this poor man is just escaping from the devil's clutch. No time, therefore, must be lost ere he is placed in a state

of security, and his terror-stricken soul set at rest. Moreover, it was important that the Saviour should show at such a moment his readiness to receive the penitent; it might prove-as it has proved-a source of encouragement to seeking sinners throughout all succeeding generations.

We dare not, of course, say positively that any or all of these considerations account for the Saviour's procedure; but we do insist that the fact is most encouraging to every awakened sinner. It is in beautiful harmony with what we are elsewhere told of God's great desire to save, and of the joy with which he receives returning sinners. Just think of it, my poor, doubting, desponding friend. You dare not suppose that the Saviour will notice you, when there are so many who have a prior claim to his notice-so many who have never sinned so grievously who look to him for salvation-so many whom he has already saved whose prayers he has to answer, to whose praises he listens-when the government of all worlds devolves on him-you have no hope of attracting his regard. Ah, my friend, you know not how large his heart is-how much he desires the salvation of the worst-or you could never doubt his readiness to save you. Look here. Take your stand with the Marys by the cross, and mark his procedure. See him as he hangs there. His body is full of pain, and his soul is wrung with anguish. He has to contend with all the powers of hell. He has to bear the mockery and malice of his murderers. His strength is failing, and the closing struggle is near. His mother stands there in silent grief; she must be provided for. by his side hangs a dying thief, who a short time since was reviling him, but is now pleading for mercy:-"Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.' And though all that is pressing on him, though he bears a world's guilt, though anguish will soon break his heart, though he has his mother to comfort, he turns aside to speak the word of acceptance to that poor malefactor, to allay his fears, to snatch his guilty soul from the gulf of perdition over which it trembles, to promise him a place by his side in his own kingdom and glory. Yes, even now when he has so much to engage his thoughts, now when if ever we might suppose he was too absorbed in other cares to hear the suppliant's cry, even now he befriends one who has so little claim to his regard. He is overwhelmed with anguish; yet he has time to save. He is engaged in a fearful conflict; yet he has time to save. He has his mother to care for; he is not undutiful towards her, the text gives proof enough of that; yet his mother must wait while he takes time to save. Salvation is his favourite work, and he saves even now. And, O my friend, if he could save even then, think not-think not there is anything in the numberless worlds which he governs, or in the myriad creatures who pay him homage, or in the thousands who look to him for salvation, to prevent him feeling for you and saving you.

But then you are so unworthy of his notice, you have no claim to his regard; very much the contrary. Well I know it all. But neither had this thief. Rebellion had marked his course hitherto-daring and open rebellion—and it is but an hour ago since he capped his other crimes by uniting with his companion in reviling the Son of God. He has no opportunity either of making compensation for it now. He cannot make amends for a guilty past by an obedient future. His life is forfeited. He must die where he hangs. And yet in this extremity he dares to appeal to the Saviour for mercy. I almost marvel at his boldness. Can he hope that the Saviour will have pity on him now-after such a life-when he has just offered him such insult-when he is brought to such extremity?

VOL. III.-NEW SERIES.

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Verily he must have wonderful faith in the Saviour's kindness! Yet he does it. He sees a pity beaming in that bloodshot eye-benevolence lighting up those pale anguish-stricken features-a compassion swelling that burdened heart, which assures him that he will not be rejected; and he ventures to appeal to the Dying One. Was he mistaken? Did he presume too much on the Saviour's kindness? Did the illustrious Sufferer, absorbed in his own sorrow, in the many thoughts which crowded on his mind in his care for his friends, pass him by in indignant silence? Ah! mark his readiness, I might almost say his eagerness, to save. Without permitting him to wait for one moment in anxious suspense, before he speaks to his mother even, he stretches out the hand of friendship to the poor malefactor, and pronounces him an heir of heaven! "To-day shalt thou be with me in paradise." Just as if his great guilt and extreme danger did but more powerfully attract his benevolence, and make him more ready, yea, more eager, to save. O blessed Saviour, shall any after this doubt thy readiness to receive them because of their having no claim to thy regard!

HINDRANCES TO SELF-IMPROVEMENT.

ADDRESSED ΤΟ YOUNG MEN BY ONE OF THEMSELVES.

HAVING entered upon a new year, in reviewing the past and anticipating the future we are led to deplore the little progress we have made in comparison with our resolves and hopes. It is well to inquire, in relation to our failure, what have been the prominent difficulties in our way.

The desire for knowledge is assumed, for it can scarcely be said that hindrances exist where there is no sincere effort to move forward. Wherefore is there a price in the hand of a fool to get wisdom, seeing he hath no heart to it ?" Where this desire is pre-eminent, the hindrances will soon be removed; but our own experience testifies that sometimes it is found smouldering amidst a mass of contending elements, and is thus prevented from burning with a bright and powerful flame.

These hindrances may be classified as internal and external-they have reference to the heart, and the outward circumstances of life.

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I. Pride. Ignorance is usually found hand in hand with it. An overweening self-esteem will rarely condescend to confess that it requires more knowledge. "Thank God," said a man, in conversation, "I know very little of geography." "What! thank God for your ignorance!" said a bystander. "Yes-why not?" Only that you have much to be thankful for," was the rejoinder. It is this pride that leads to the pretence of "seeming wise," of which Lord Bacon saith, "It is a ridiculous thing, and fit for a satire, to persons of judgment, to see what shifts these formalists have, and what prospectives to make superficies to seem body that hath depth and bulk. Some are so close and reserved as they will not shew their wares but by a dark light, and seem always to keep back somewhat; and when they know within themselves they speak of what they do not well know, would nevertheless seem to others to know of that which they may not well speak." It is this spirit of self-esteem that so frequently clothes itself in a "coat of mail" of reserve-forbidding a question to be put to itself for the information of others, and refusing to ask one for its own information. It would not have it even implied that ignorance exists on any point within the range of human intelligence. But how different a course was pursued by the great essayist, "John Foster." He was a vitalised note of interrogation. He could write great things we all know, but he was ever putting questions upon small ones. When the learned Dr. Carson paid him a visit on one occasion, he did not attempt a display of intellectual prowess, but set himself to get as much

information as possible as to the nature and efficacy of the manure used in that part of Ireland from which the doctor came.

This pride may sometimes exhibit itself in refusing to be indebted to any but a dignified source of information. It would not soil its hand with mud even to pick up a jewel. Sir Walter Scott, however, had no such false shame, for he stayed to make a note of a word which he had long been trying in vain to find, but which slipped out of an ostler's mouth in connection with an oath during a quarrel!

II. Conceit. This is quite as great a hindrance as pride. Some may charitably mistake pride for timidity, and so volunteer to communicate what they know. But where there are indications of assumed intelligence, the subject of it is more frequently despised than informed! Besides, if we flatter ourselves that we know, what motive have we to inquire; and if we are self-satisfied with present attainments, and so refuse to recognise our own necessities, what is left to impel us forward in the race?

The great hindrance here will be found in the weakness which it generates; for by the time we wake up to a true appreciation of our real position, we find that the prime of our power has been expended upon trifles-that we are bankrupt intellectually, and have been fancying ourselves rich only because we refused to look into our affairs. Unless this fault be discovered in due time, it has the effect at last of creating a timidity and seclusiveness of mind almost as fatal to self-improvement as conceit itself. But unmask self-conceit, and you see nothing but a trembling cowardice. What is the inspired dictum on this head? "Be not wise in your own conceits." And what saith the wisest man?"Seest thou a man wise in his own conceit? There is more hope of a fool than of him!" And again-"Let no man deceive himself. If any man among you seemeth to be wise, let him become a fool that he may be wise." With regard to the hindrances that are external, we noticeI. The indulgence of luxurious habits.

A man may love his book much, but, if he loves his ease more, his progress will not be rapid. And this holds in relation to all sensual enjoyments, i.c., any pursuits not necessary to health, or the true pleasure of life. Yet without excusing the sluggard, or giving undue importance to the requisite nourishment and sustenance of the body, any extreme self-denial, either with regard to sleep or food, so far from serving to stimulate, will tend to impede. Anything that interferes with sound health is a hindrance, whether it is excess or abstinence. It is true that "Franklin," while an apprentice, found gruel serve him for dinner; but had he held the plough, instead of being confined in a printer's office, he might have called out for something more substantial. Much depends on the nature of the occupation, and much on the nature of the constitution; but many have confessed, while intent upon the pursuit of knowledge, that the severity of their discipline checked rather than impelled their movements. But by far the greater number of instances are on the other side, and many have had to lament, that while the sun shone they were intent on pleasure, and neglected to reap the golden harvest. It is this spirit of self-indulgence which produces procrastination, that fatal bane to all selfimprovement; little pleasures, which will hardly bear the larger application of the term "indulgences," interfere oftentimes, till we wake up surprised to find that "the summer is ended."

"At thirty man suspects himself a fool,
Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan;
At fifty, chides his infamous delay;
Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve,

Resolves and re-resolves-then dies the same."

Many examples, doubtless, might be cited to show that, in connection with self-indulgence-in fact, in close alliance with vice itself-accomplished and great men have arisen. These will prove the exception rather than the rule. They were heaven-born geniuses, not ordinary men. "Byron," and "Burns," and others like them, stand alone. How much greater would they have been if their lives had always been conformed to Christian rule? It is said that