pounding a second time our Lord's sermon on the Mount, 1739; at Dublin, found the society consisting of 420 members, 1752; an immense and quiet congregation in Barracks-square, Dublin, 1765; as a writer, I have gained, in seventy years, a debt of five or six hundred pounds, 1773.

Whilst

July the Twenty-second. preaching, the press-gang came and took off one of the hearers, 1739; never saw a more stupid, senseless people, both in spiritual and natural sense, than those at Abingdon, 1741; spoke to the society one by one at Plymouthduck, 1753; preached for Mr. Fletcher at Madeley, on, "I am the good shepherd," 1764; commenced the Conference at Dublin, 1767; took coach at Coventry for London, with ten felons, loudly blaspheming, and rattling their chains, 1779.

July the Twenty-third. Our little company met at the Foundery, instead of Fetter-lane, 1740; witnessed the peaceful death of his distinguished mother, 1742; at Huddersfield, preached to the wildest congregation I have ever seen in Yorkshire, 1759; rich and poor flocked together at Tadcaster, 1766.

July the Twenty-fourth.-Rode to Dublin in the hottest day this year, 1765; at Pately-bridge, a large and serious congregation, 1766.

Judy the Twenty-fifth.--Preached at St. Mary's, before the University, on the confession of poor Agrippa, 1741 ; at Kingswood, found the rules had been habitually neglected, 1749; got out of the way by Aberystwith, and wandered through rocks, bogs, and precipices, 1764; the largest congregation at Moorfields that ever assembled there, 1773.

July the Twenty-sixth.-Found the family at Kingswood lessened considerably, 1750; examined the society at St. Ives, 1753; commenced the Conference in Dublin, 1765; at Bradford, Yorkshire, the chapel is fifty-four feet square, the largest octagon we have in England, 1766; at Wigan, preached in the shell of the new house, 1775; seventy preachers present at the Conference in London, 1785.

July the Twenty-seventh.-Met with that good soldier of Jesus Christ, Angust Spangenberg, 1737; openly declared, By grace are ye saved, through faith," at Hackney, 1741;

read Law, "On the Spirit of Prayer," in which there are many masterly strokes, but it is another gospel, 1749; Mr. Fletcher present at the Conference, Leeds, 1784; at Bury, breakfasted with Mr. Peel, a calico-printer, who began with five hundred pounds, and has gained fifty thousand, 1787.

July the Twenty-eighth-Found the society at St. Just much alive to God, 1753 found five hundred in the society at Dublin, 1765; at Bolton, found 800 children in our Sunday-schools, 1787; a hundred preachers present at the Conference, Leeds, 1789.

July the Twenty-ninth.-At Dargle, saw one of the greatest natural curiosities, 1765; had thousands upon thousands in the market-place, Nottingham, 1770; at Worcester, near the cathedral, many were like the wild ass's colt, 1771; at Pontefract, opened the new preaching-house, 1773; wrote a consoling letter to Mrs. Jane Barton on the death of her daughter, 1777.

July the Thirtieth.-Rode to Rosendale, which is little else than a chain of mountains, 1766; preached in Hunslet Church, for Mr. Crook, 1769; at Bingham, admired the exquisite stupidity of the people, 1770; preached at City-road Chapel nine evenings during the Conference, 1788.

July the Thirty-first.-Many of the better rank heard me preach at Bradford, on, "What must I do to be saved?" 1739; read Hutchinson's works, a man of understanding, yet I cannot subscribe to his divinity or philosophy, 1758; I suffered Mr. Hunter to take my picture, 1765; preached with great enlargement at Heptonstall, on a tall, steep, and abrupt mountain, 1766.

TEXTS ILLUSTRATED.

A DELIGHTFUL PERSUASION.-2 Tim. i. 12. When the Rev. John Hyatt, minister of the Tabernacle, London, was on the point of death, his colleague, Mr. Wilks, said to him, "Well, Brother Hyatt, I have sometimes heard you say in the pulpit, that, if you had a hundred souls, you could venture them all on Christ can you say so now?” dying saint, almost suffocated with phlegm, made an effort to speak, and, with eyes almost flashing fire, he replied, "A million! A MILLION!!" and soon afterwards expired.

The

THE TRULY BLESSED.-Luke xi. 27. A poor Irish peasant had received an Irish Testament, which he read privately, but still attended mass, always taking care, however, to have a New Testament in his pocket. One day he heard a Romish priest preach from, "Blessed is the womb that bare thee, and the paps that gave thee suck." The priest preached up the Virgin Mary as the object of faith, and hope, and love, placing her as on the throne of Christ for the sinner to look to, pray to, and depend upon. He went on, every now and then closing a sentence with, "Blessed is the womb that bare thee, and the paps that gave thee suck," until the poor peasant became quite impatient, and, turning to the passage in his Testament, called out, Why don't you repeat the rest, sir? give us the whole. When the woman had said what you have been preaching upon, Christ directly said, Yea, rather blessed are they that hear the Word of God, and keep it.'"

I can

READING.-1 Tim. iv. 13. What are books-good, holy, and truthful books -observes Cumming, but companions? I can take down the illustrious Hooker from my library, and hold sweet communion with a master-spirit. summon to my presence the mighty Milton, and hold converse with Adam and Eve, and hear the murmuring of Eden's streams, and the rustling of Eden's leaves. Or I can take Burns, the Scottish poet, and spend with him that loveliest moment-"The Cottar's Saturday Night." Or I can appeal to the divines of former days, by referring to Milner or Mosheim; and talk with saints and holy priests, who lived centuries ago. Or I can take Fox, the martyrologist, and converse with those who faithfully laboured and who fearlessly fell. I can bid nobles come down from their halls to instruct me ; I can command kings from their thrones to talk with me. Or I can sit at the feet of David, and hear the tones of his unrivalled harp. Or I can lodge with John in Patmos, or ascend with him to the heavenly Jerusalem, and count its gates of precious stones, and measure its dimensions. Or I can take my seat at the feet of Him who spake as never man spake," and hear His accents-"Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out."

WHERE IS YOUR FORTUNE ?-Luke xvi. 19. When a gentleman who had been accustomed to give away some thousand pounds was supposed to be on the bed of death, his presumptive heir inquired where his fortune was to be found? He quaintly replied "that it was in the pockets of the poor," -a death-bed confession of very rare occurrence in modern times.

SAINTS ARE KINGS.-Rev. i. 6. An old African negro, who had long served the Lord, when on his death-bed, was visited by his friends, who came around him, lamenting that he was going to die, saying, "Poor Pompey, poor Pompey is dying." The old saint, animated with the prospect before him, said to them, with much earnestness, "Don't call me poor Pompey; I King Pompey;" referring to Rev. i. 6, in which the saints are spoken of as being kings and priests unto God.

CONTENTMENT IN WELL-DOING.-Gal. vi. 9. On the day of his death, in his eightieth year, Eliot, "the apostle of the Indians," was found teaching the alphabet to an Indian child at his bedside. "Why not rest from your labours now?" said a friend. "Because," said the venerable man, "I have prayed to God to render me useful in my sphere, and he has heard my prayers; for now that I can no longer preach, he leaves me strength enough to teach this poor child his alphabet."

In

READY TO Go.-Matt. xxiv. 44. While Dr. Doddridge was in his way to Falmouth, from which place he was to embark for Lisbon, Lady Huntingdon's house at Bath was his home. the morning of the day on which he set out for Falmouth, Lady Huntingdon came into the room and found him weeping over, "O, Daniel, a man greatly beloved." "You are in tears, Doctor," said Lady H. "I am weeping, madam," answered the good Doctor; "but they are tears of comfort and joy. I can give up my country, my relations, and friends into the hands of God. And as for myself, I can as well go to heaven from Lisbon, as from my study at Northampton.

A GOOD HOME.-John xiv. 2. When the venerable Mede, whose grey hairs were a crown of glory, being found in the way of righteousness, was asked how he was resting upon his staff, he cheerfully answered, "Why, going home as fast as I can, as every honest

an ought to do when his day's work done; and I bless God I have a good home to go to."

CHRISTIAN ZEAL.-Acts xx. 24. "If the country," said Xavier, "had sented woods and mines of gold, the Createst dangers would be braved in rier to procure them. Should merats, then, be more intrepid than

missionaries? They will destroy me, you say, by poison. It is an honour to which such a sinner as I may not aspire; but this I dare to say, that, whatever form of torture or of death awaits me, I am ready to suffer it ten thousand times for the salvation of a single soul."

Circum

THE COURT OF REVIEW. Hell is paved with good desires, says an author of great energy. Fates arise in most men's history indog for the time good resolutions as to moral and religious improvement for the future. A death in the family, site worldly loss or disappointment, an unusually forcible discourse from the palpit, or an unusually persuasive argument from the pen or life of a friend, awakens for the time man's reEgious susceptibilities so far as to lead hm to resolve that the time past shall Lore than suffice for the folly that he has wrought and for the love of sin that de has indulged. Happy would it be for mankind if vows thus made were ithfully observed. Few, if any, would erish. Each man can remember

riods in his lifetime when the solemn coments of eternal realities were felt; when the transitory nature and the inficiency of worldly good was realised; when his conscience was armed with power, and his soul sank within him

fore the contrast presented to his mind between his own immortal destury and his painful state of unpreFarsiness to meet it. Then were his demant powers aroused; his apathy for religious matters was shaken off;

began to be in earnest about his l's interests. Of him then charity entertained the persuasion that he was ot far from the kingdom of heaven; that he was putting on the whole armour of God, intent to fight the good fight of faith, and to go forth from conquering to conquer, until, sin, the world, and flesh subdued, he obtained the inheritance of the saints in light.

Have these resolutions produced a permanent effect of good upon the man? das his conduct been a living develop

ment of his expressed purpose ever since that purpose was formed? Or has he who set out a few months ago at a fair speed come already to a dead stand still? Like the cannon-ball brought to a white heat, but not continued subject to the action of the furnace, and by radiation gradually cooling down, until reduced to the common temperature of the atmosphere and the earth's surface, has he who, under the inspiration of newly-formed resolutions of piety, appeared all alive to his higher interests, already subdued the tone of his fervour to the apathy and indifference respecting religion characteristic of society at large? Is the Bible again a neglected book? Prayer again restrained before God? Self-examination again an unwonted exercise? The cultivation of a religious spirit again abandoned? Is there, in fact, a religious relapse? Are worldly principles regaining the ascendancy? Is sin reassuming its dominion? Are religious truths shunned? Are religious awakenings dreaded? Has the man closed his eyes upon his eternal destiny, and is his heart once more allured and fascinated by the syren voice of dissipation and riotous pleasure? The dog, has he returned to his vomit? The sow that had been washed, has she returned to her wallowing in the mire? Resolutions sincerely made may be faithlessly broken. Resolutions that, under powerful moral pressure, embodied the entire energy of the will, and with a Sampson strength of purpose expressed the temporary strength of the man's purpose, may already have proved feeble as the tow before the fire, and may long since have been exhausted of their moral force. The morning cloud" may have disappeared;

"the early dew" has long since evaporated.

At the close of the year 1851, and at the commencement of the year 1852, did not all our readers enter into some bond and covenant with God, sincerely promising, and earnestly purposing, that their life henceforth should be characterised by the most unequivocal zeal in working out their own salvation, and in making religion the great affair of life? Let us once again bring before our minds the sentiments of humiliation, shame, and repentance, that were at the commencement of this year awakened within us. We remember with what emotions of sorrow, and with what consciousness of our previous folly we looked back upon our past life, so little, if any, of which had been spent in harmony with the great end of our being. We were humbled; we wept, we vowed. The vows are recorded. We cannot erase the record from the tablet of our memory. The vows may be broken, slighted, abandoned, but they are on record against us. God himself has recorded them. He has them in store, ready, if necessary, to bring them as swift witnesses against us. If we are unfaithful, out of our own mouth will God condemn us, and by our own acts will he be justified in his righteous indignation against us. One half of the year, which, at its commencement, we resolved should be devoted to God, has passed by. It behoves us to ask seriously whether we have paid unto the Lord our vows; whether there has been, thus far through the year, on our part, an earnest effort to grow in grace, to redeem the time, to set our affections on things above, to make our worldly interests subservient to our eternal interests, and to allow nothing, however attractive, fascinating, and promising, to interfere with the paramount and infinitely more momentous claims of God and of immortality. Time must be found for putting these inquiries. If our reluctant souls would fly off from such a commission of inquiry, they must be brought up before it. The case is serious. It is one of life and death eternal. Conscious of our unfaithfulness, we may shrink at the idea of touching this sore place. Naturally indisposed to gauge our

moral and religious character, it may be a difficult effort to accomplish; but it must be done. God will not be mocked. We have solemnly plighted him our faith. We sacredly promised him that we would renounce sin in all its forms and degrees, and yield up ourselves to him "a living sacrifice." God holds us to our pledge. We may repeat it; He will not. It is binding upon us for ever, and, if we violate it, we perish for ever, while recollections of our vows, and sighs, and tears, wrung from us at periods of serious reflection and of awakened holy resolution, will embitter, and aggravate beyond expression, the remorse and anguish of our lost spirit.

Let us, then, review our conduct during the last six months. If, by Divine grace, we have yielded ourselves unto God, 61 as those that are alive from the dead," and our 66 members as instruments of righteousness unto God," in a degree of earnestness, and to an extent which have not characterised any former period of our lives, let us "give God thanks," and be encouraged at the beginning of the second half of the year, again, and with renewed energy of will and purpose, resolve

From this sacred hour

For God to live and die.

But, should the review of the past half-year lead to the conclusion, that our resolves have perished from our memory, and have failed to be carried out into an improved and more earnest tenor of conduct; thankful that we have an opportunity for reviewing our unfaithfulness; thankful that God has not entered into judgment with us on account of our violated vows; thankful that we may repent, and, by his grace, improve the remainder of the year in harmony with the views and sentiments we entertained when entering upon it; and seriously affected by the consideration, that if we trifle with God he will be found "a consuming fire," let us, through the merits of the blood of Christ, again devote ourselves to him, "whose we are; and, profiting by the remembered unfaithfulness of the last half-year, endeavour, by redeeming the next halfyear, to make the year 1852, even yet, the most memorable, useful, and religious period of our lives.

CHRISTIANITY THE RELIGION

OF JOY.

Christianity, says Spence, has the joy of liberty. It delivers the soul from the curse of law and the bondage of corruption, and pours the joy of conscious freedom into the heart. Every man feels that there is joy in liberty. It is the joy of the prisoner released, and of the slave restored to freedom; of the dead brought back to life, and of the lost one saved. Such a joy expands and elevates the soul, and constitutes the very strength of its inner spiritual life.-Neh. viii. 10. Christianity has the joy of peace. In the intelligent peace of the soul with God, and in solid peace of conscience, through the atoning blood of the Cross, there is a joy which transcends all the mere gladdening emotions of time, as heaven transcends the earth. What joy should equal that of the man whose sin is forgiven, to whom the Lord imputeth not iniquity, and to whom there is no condemnation, because he rests his hopes on Christ? In this is "the peace which passeth all understanding." Here, too, is the joy of love. And how thrilling is the joy which this affection is fitted to inspire! When fixed and centred on the perfect and Divine objects which the religion of Christ alone reveals, a joy is at once infused into the soul which no other love can yield. To love God because he first loved us, to commune with him as the object of supreme affection, and to enjoy his presence, is the highest delight of the regenerated soul. And there is the joy of gratitude. Thankfulness, when benefits are received and recognised, seems an instinct of the soul; and in its exercise there is a measure of gladness. Christianity evokes the highest gratitude. The uprise of thanksgiving to that Being who is the Father of all our mercies; to that Saviour, who, in the depth of his infinite love, gave himself for our sins; and to that Divine Spirit who condescends to dwell with men as the Comforter and the Spirit of truth, is attended with emotions of joy which the grateful soul alone can feel. Christianity, also, and, in fine, has, the joy of hope. Who is a stranger to "the pleasures of hope ?" Every one has felt that in it there is pure and sacred joy. Our Divine religion summons us to "rejoice in hope." The hope which it imparts is "an anchor of the soul

both sure and stedfast." It goes beyond the present, and rises amidst the scenes of the invisible, and the realities of eternity; and such a hope must have a joy worthy of its purity and value. The Christian hopes, hopes on, is "saved by hope ;" and his hope, when bright and full, is calculated to surround him with the very atmosphere of joy. And, besides its own celestial gladness, his religion is in harmony with all proper sources of enjoyment to man. It bids him, yea, it enables him, to extract the honey from every flower which decks the moral wilderness through which he travels.

PIECES FROM A LADY'S ALBUM.

NO. XI.

One peculiar beauty of our holy religion is, that it is founded on a divine certainty, and we are as sure about things future as things present. Infidelity is all doubt and conjecture: all beyond this existence is to the unbeliever an unexplored nothing; "a grand secret." But Christianity is a revealed truth; it is all broad daylight; there is no taking a leap in the dark, for we know where we are going when we launch away from the shores of earth. If we die in Jesus, we shall dwell with Him for ever; therefore, to be "absent from the body," is to be "present with the Lord." Walter Vercoe.

"Then Simon Peter answered him, Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life."

Each fabled fount of comfort dry,

Where shall I quench my feverish thirst? Is not the world one glittering lie?

Do not its swelling bubbles burst?
Systems, and men, and books, and things,
Are nothings, dressed in painted wings.
But Thou art true, and oh! the joy
To turn from other words to thine;
To dig the gold, without alloy,

From Truth's unfathomable mine
;
To escape the tempest's fitful shocks,
And anchor 'midst the eternal rocks.

Thomas Thompson.

Death, to the believer, though it remains, is no longer penal. To him it is a mercy, whenever it takes place ; for "if he dies, he dies to the Lord." Christ, in whom the Christian confides, is Death's conqueror; he hath deposed Death from his throne; and though the monster approaches the Christian and his dart proves fatal, yet the poisonous venom is extracted; and though he falls, he falls victorious

Q