dead. Ellen sought the crowd of fashion and folly, to reign the evening belle. . . . .

The next day I stood beside an open coffin. Though the once varying expressive countenance was motionless, though the glow from the cheek and lip was gone, and the lids with their long, dark lashes drooped heavily over the eyes, I needed but one glance to assure me that the features of the occupant were those of Ellen D. Yes, it was even she, the same, and yet how fearfully changed! Changed, but not outwardly, for the impress of age and decay, that by protracted anguish is so often wrought into the face of youth, was not upon her. It seemed as if in a moment of her pride and loveliness, death with a spell had suddenly fastened the beautiful features, and departed. But the light-hearted and thoughtless expression that had beamed upon me the evening before-O that, that was indeed changed! The calmer repose of the clay seemed but a mockery, for I fancied that a spirit dwelt within, but a spirit writhing in agony, striving to burst its frail tenement and warn others to escape its doom. From the attendant I learned the short history of the last evening of her life.

She mingled in the dance till after midnight, the gayest of the gay. When others laughed, her laugh was loudest, and the bewitching music of her voice when she sung, never seemed so full and clear. Whether her gaiety was the natural result of a light heart, that could easily throw aside and forget all unpleasant feelings; or whether, as is too often the case, she sought to hush the still small voice of conscience with the loud tones of mirth, was never known. Shortly after the last dance, she complained of a strange sensation and dizziness in her head; this feeling increasing, a carriage was called for her and ordered home. As soon as she reached the threshold of her own door, she sprang from the arms of her attendant, pressed her hand upon her heart, uttered one piercing shriek, and fell to the floor. The household gathered wildly and anxiously around her they raised her quickly and bore her to the light. Its rays fell upon the still, white features of a corpse !

They buried her in a lonely spot, in one of the beautiful cemeteries that lay near her home. A costly marble monument was erected over the place of her rest. On one side, containing the name and age of the deceased, was sculptured a cherub with its finger pointing to heaven; dictated as a solace to the agony of the heart-broken parents, who could not endure the thought that their idol was lost to them for ever; but to the hearts of others who muse upon the life and death of the lovely Ellen Dthe simple startling inscription upon the opposite side sends a hopeless thrill. It is but one word,

"WATCH!"

FOR MINISTERS.

THE grand object of the Christian ministry is to effect a reconciliation between Christ and sinners, and to bring them sincerely to love him. To secure this result ministers are justifiable in attempting to attach men to their own persons. They ought to seek

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an influence over them, that by it they may the better induce them to become reconciled to God. There

is, however, a strong temptation to them to seek the applause and esteem of men for its own sake, and to gratify their pride and love of approbation. When this is the case, they attach their hearers to themselves, but not to Christ. When they die or leave the congregation over which the Holy Ghost hath placed them, the religion of their friends goes with them. Such popularity as this in a minister is often a curse to a church, as well as to himself. It makes it extremely difficult for a faithful minister to succeed him, without driving off many of his hearers. It is but a poor compliment to a disciple to say that he is greatly beloved by and freely welcomed to circles in which his Master is hated, especially when he is the commissioned ambassador of that Master, sent by him to negotiate with men. The sum of the whole matter is, that the minister who seeks the applause of men, except as a means to a higher end and to be used for the promotion of that end, commits a great sin in the sight of God. He may obtain his object, but he will get nothing else. The Pharisees that prayed to be seen of men, the Saviour tells us, had their reward, which was a reputation for great piety; but the favour of God was forfeited, and their usefulness prevented.

EVIL SURMISINGS.

AND what are evil surmisings? The apostle Paul ing, perverse disputings of men of corrupt minds, and classes them with pride, ignorance, envy, strife, railsuchlike. This is placing them in bad company, where they properly belong. A "surmise" is a suspicion, an imagination that something may be wrong of which there is no evidence at all, or none which warrants the suspicion. An "evil surmise" is an injurious and unwarranted suspicion, which one person harbours toward another. He may be censurable, but there is no evidence that he is; and ofttimes a little inquiry and a little charity would satisfy the surmiser that he has no ground of suspicion.

fied me, that these evil surmisings are fraught with The observations of a pretty long life have satisinfinite mischief in neighbourhoods and larger communities. As such all persons ought to be put on their guard against indulging them, and the grievous wrong of cherishing them ought to be placed in its true light. It is a dictate of common justice, as well as of scripture, that in judging of other men's characters we should put the most favourable construction upon their actions which the circumstances of the case will allow. We all hold them bound to do so by us, and the golden rule binds us just as strong as it does them. Instead of giving place to evil surmisings, to injurious suspicions concerning others, we are religiously bound to exercise that charity of the thirteenth of Corinthians, which "hopeth all things and believeth all things." It is often, if not always, as sinful and malignant to cherish suspicions against a man, as it is to speak evil of him without chief, is not the less because the venom works secretcause; as it is to slander him. The wrong, the misly. It may rankle as deeply in the heart of the surmiser, and in the end be as destructive of all confidence and good neighbourhood.

Mr A., being of a jealous disposition, imagines that his neighbour, Mr B., is not friendly to him. By putting things together which perhaps have no connection but in his evil surmisings, he persuades himself that Mr B. is secretly trying to undermine or injure him and his family in some other way. The more he broods over it, the stronger do his suspicions

become, till every word and action which can possibly be seized upon goes to confirm them. Mr B. is undoubtedly his enemy, and not to be trusted. To be sure there is no evidence of it, but his evil surmisings have supplied the deficiency. Now if, instead of entertaining them, he would put the most favourable construction upon his neighbour's intentions, all his suspicions would perhaps be allayed at once. Or if nct, by just going to him, and frankly asking for an explanation, he might be perfectly satisfied in five minutes.

So Mrs C. imagines that Mrs D. in the next house slights her, and purposely shuns her society, when such a thought never entered into the heart of Mrs D. It is an evil surmising which ought never to have been given place to, "no, not for an hour." And so I might go on to the end of the alphabet. There is no estimating the evils which grow out of groundless suspicions, which often lurk in half the families of a populous neighbourhood. There are surmises and counter-surmises without number, which, where they are indulged, inevitably ripen into strife, evil speaking, and the indulgence of all those jealousies and evil passions which destroy the peace of society. So long as men are disposed to think well of one another, and look upon the favourable side, they can hardly fail of dwelling together in harmony; but as soon as ever they "give place to the devil," by indulging in evil surmises, trouble and open discord are sure to follow. This is true, not only in the social relations of life, but in religion, in politics, and in all other relations. O, when will men be governed by the spirit of the gospel? When will their minds be imbued with that charity which "suffereth long and is kind, which envieth not, which seeketh not her own, which believeth all things, hopeth all things, and never faileth?"

It is a righteous retribution, that evil surmisings torment those who indulge them as much as they wrong those towards whom they are indulged. I hold it impossible that any person can be happy, can enjoy a quiet and peaceful state of mind, who is jealous, who is suspicious of his neighbours, without proof. It is an uncomfortable feeling. It sours and irritates the temper. It stirs up the bile. The evil surmiser may not know what the matter is, but he really makes himself unhappy, and, till he learns to look upon others with charitable eye, he will be. "Can a man take coals of fire in his bosom and not be burned?"

And one thing more: a person who indulges himself in evil surmisings, who is suspicious of every body, and ready to ascribe sinister designs and motives to his neighbours, lays himself open to the retort, which may have as much truth as severity in it, "You judge others by yourself." "How could you, without a particle of evidence, suspect me of such a thing, if you was not conscious of being chargeable with something equally dishonest or dishonourable yourself?"

As we would be judged by the golden rule, as we value the rights of others, and our own peace of mind, let us put all these evil surmisings far from us. The moment they tempt us to harbour them, let us chase them away.

OVERCOME EVIL WITH GOOD. MANY years since, there lived in one of the central counties of New Jersey a poor mechanic, eminent for his pious zeal and consistency. He was very much tried by the conduct of an ungodly neighbour, who was in the habit of cutting his wood for the week on

the Lord's day, and the sound of whose axe continually disturbed the old Christian's meditations. Father H., as he was called, often remonstrated earnestly and kindly with his neighbour, but without any effect. At length he adopted a different course. One Saturday afternoon his neighbour found the old man very busy at his wood-pile, and inquired in astonishment what he was doing." Why," replied father H., "you will persist in cutting your wood on God's holy day, and it grieves me so much that I mean to do it for you this afternoon, so that you will have no temptation to do it to-morrow." The man was at once overcome, and exclaimed, "No, you shall not; I will do it myself. Nor will you ever after this have reason to complain of me for chopping wood on the Lord's day." And he was as good as his word.

The old man has long since gone to his reward, but this incident lives after him to enforce the Divine direction, "Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good."-American Messenger.

HOME TRAINING.

WESLEY'S home education under the tutelage of his parents themselves was peculiar, and well calculated to initiate him early in habits of order and perseverance in accomplishing any object he might undertake. 66 Why, my dear," said his father to his mother, or she to him (I forget which), while patiently teaching one of their children a simple lesson, which it was slow to learn, "why my dear, do you tell that dull boy the same thing twenty times over? "Because," replied the other, "nineteen times won't do. If I tell him but nineteen times, all my labour is lost, but the twentieth secures the object!" All classical antiquity has not bequeathed us a maxim of more practical wisdom. In such a school Wesley's mind was prepared to achieve the greatest things by being taught the smallest, "line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little," till whatever it learned at all, it learned well.

Fragments.

IF ever Christianity appears in its power, it is when it erects its trophies upon the tomb-when it takes up its votaries where the world leaves them, and fills the breast with immortal hope in dying moments.-Robert Hall.

pain, for strength or weakness. Let him choose and OFFER yourself to God for life or death, for ease or sent and eternal portion.—Fletcher. refuse for you; only do you choose him for your pre

To have necessities but no supply, is the case of them in hell. To have necessity supplied by means of the creatures, is the case of us on earth. To have necessities supplied immediately from God, is the case of the saints in heaven. To have no necessity at all, is the prerogative of God himself.—Baxter. Nor that which is much is well, but which is well is much.

A FATHER'S frowns are 66 but the graver countenance of love."-Cowper.

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THE loving-kindness of God-what a beautiful expression! How rich and consoling the thought contained in it! It is not mere goodwill not mere complacent friendship-not the mere neighbourly kindness of human beings, although these are of high and precious account: it is the good-will, the friendship, the kindness of love-of the love of God, who is love itself. We know something of the lovingkindness of father and mother. We have been gently tended and nursed by this kindness; or, parents ourselves, we know full well the throbbing of parental affection. Deep, earnest, selfsacrificing is human love in many tender relations. We trust in it fervently, and without fear. Oh! if there were no human love in which we could trust, what a desolate place would this earth be! But the loving-kindness of God-of that great and incomprehensible Being who fills the universe with his presence, and before whose majesty the pillars of heaven tremble-what a loving kindness that must be ! -the kindness of infinite love wedded to infinite power! There is nothing that love can conceive of, or wish to do for its object, but is contained here, and rendered not only possible, but absolutely certain.

The universe is filled with the manifestations of this loving-kindness. There is the wise and beneficent design which pervades creation. It is a creation meant, not for suffering, but for enjoyment. There are the myriads of creatures, from the most insignificant to the mightiest, all provided for, and receiving their meat in due season from his open hand. There are his heavens above, with sun, moon, and stars, dispensing light and genial influences. There is the bountiful earth, on whose bosom we sub. sist, producing her fruits in their season. There is the succession of night and day, and the changing seasons. There is our own wonderful constitution, by which we think, comprehend, feel, act, and enjoy. There is the gracious Providence which has ordained our lot. We were born into a world, and amid relations, opportunities, and auspicious circumstances, all arranged for us. We have been nurtured, protected, led on in the course of life, and blessed from day to day by the unseen gracious hand, even while we have been forgetful of it. We

have, indeed, exerted our own wisdom, strength, and skill; but he endowed us with these gifts. Besides, how much more he hath done without our instrumentality! Our most common mercies are our greatest and most indispensable. The light by which we see, the air we breathe, the water we drink, the rains which fall from heaven, the productive powers of nature, the life which animates our own frame, the circulation of the blood through every part, the process of digestion, the mysterious connection of our limbs with the voluntary power, the adaptation of our senses to their proper objects, the emotions of pleasure which spontaneously spring up in our sensitive nature, the ceaseless activity of thought-these we have contributed nothing on our part to produce or maintain— these are purely God's doing around us, and within us and these are the greatest of our blessings, without which we could do nothing to help ourselves, and to which all our own wisdom, strength, and skill, are every moment only subsidiary. And all that we have named, God has done for the evil as well as for the good, for the unjust as well as for the just.

When we add to this the wonderful provisions of God's grace to relieve the world of those evils which the folly, sinfulness, and rampant crimes of men have brought into it, and to redeem human souls, and to bring them to life eternal, his loving-kindness does indeed appear overwhelming! Here, as in the former case, although we are called upon to exert our. selves, and that, too, under the most weighty responsibilities, what God hath done in his preparations, infinitely outweighs what we are required to do in our personal fulfilment of the Divine design. While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us; while no movement had been made on our part to return to obedience, and to seek to regain the Divine favour, God sent his own Son to be the Saviour of the world. The giving of the law at Sinai; the calling of the Jews as the conservators of the Divine oracles; the mission of the prophets; the advent of the Messiah, his life, preaching, death, and resurrection; the dispensation of the Hcly Spirit; the commission of the apostles; and subsequent to this, the preservation of the Church and the sacred books, amid all the con

hesitating what to do, an angel hovered above them, saying, "Fear not, for behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people: for unto you is born this day in the city of David, a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord." Suddenly crowds on crowds of radiant beings swept round them, singing," Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good-will to men." O how that glorious anthem arose and fell along the Judean mountains, "Glory to God in the highest!" from voices tuned in heaven for ages to melody, and sent up in one exultant shout from that excited host, burst again and again on the ear. The heavens trembled with the song, and far away, beyond the reach of watching shepherds, or listening men, were louder shouts, and more entrancing melody.

With that shout and that song on their lips, the host of glad angels hasted away to heaven, and all was still again. But still that star kept shining on, and lo! the shepherds from the hill-tops, and wise men from afar, guided by its finger of light, came to where its beam fell on the infant in the manger, and worshipped him there. Strange occupants were in that stable. The wise and proud were there kneeling. Angels had been there adoring. The Son of God was there sleeping in a human mother's arms. That stable was greater than the palace of a king, for its manger cradled the "KING of kings," "Emmanuel, The Wonderful, Counsellor, Prince of Peace, Redeemer," Saviour of men, were all embraced in that helpless infant. The feeble arm could scarcely lift itself to its mother's neck, yet on it the universe stood balanced. A few hours measured its existence, and yet lived before the stars of God. Born to die, and yet the conqueror of death. No wonder that star beamed on its face, for it did more than declare its heavenly birth, or direct the wise men to where it was cradled. It was pointing to the great solution of the problem of life, and of the profoundest mystery of heaven. For four thousand years the world had summoned its thought and energies, and exhausted its wisdom on the single question, "How shall man be just with God?" The smoke of the first altar fire kindled on the yet unpeopled earth, as it curled slowly heavenward, was burdened with this question. From the borders of deserted Eden-from the top of Mount Ararat-from the Bethel of Abraham, and from the tents of Jacob, had the sacrificial flame burned skyward in vain. The priests of Aaron had stood before the altar, and struggled for ages with the mighty problem, and, lo! the "Star of Bethlehem " pointed to that babe as its solution. The long wanderings of the Hebrews -the miracles that preserved them-the imposing ceremonies of their religion-the "ark of God," the "mercy seat," the pomp of temple worship, what did they all mean? That silent star pointed to the reply. Altars and sacrifices, prayers and prophecies, all were to end here. For four thousand years the earth had been rolling on its axis to bring about one event, and, lo! it was accomplished. To the thousand inquiries of the human heart-to its painful questionings-to all its hopes and fears for so long a period, this was the answer and the end. Like a

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shadow for ever fleeing had the mystery of justification baffled the mind of man, and been dark even to the inspired. The pagan with his heathen rites and his gods, the philosopher with his reason and his conscience, and the poet with his imagination, had pondered for ages over it. Watchings and fastings, self-humiliation, long pilgrimages, self-immolation, and death, had been cheerfully, nay, joyfully endured, to solve it. Too deep for the sage, too high to be fully grasped even by the prophet of God, it still remained to sadden and excite the heart of man, till the "Star of Bethlehem" arose on the plains of Judea. Then the problem was solved, and the mystery explained, but by One greater than all.

The long line of David, unbroken through so many centuries, was maintained solely to secure the birth of that child. Wrapt in holy enthusiasm, Isaiah and Jeremiah, and all the prophets of God, had spoken of a King of Israel yet to come, whose throne should excel all the thrones of earth, and in the sublimest strains of eloquence spoken of the glory of his kingdom and the splendour of his reign. Through ages of oppression-through long years of captivity-from the depths of suffering, had prophets and people looked forward to the coming of the "Redeemer of Israel," and now, as if to mock their hopes, that silent star pointed to the babe of a carpenter's wife as the fulfilment of all.

O what a bitter disappointment to be told that the King of Glory-the Prince of Peace-the Redeeemer of Israel-the hope of the human heart, were in that infant humbly clad and laid in a manger!

It

Yet that star said more than all this: to the longings after immortality-to the dim hopes-the painful bitter cry of the human soul after a life to come, it still cast its dazzling rays on that rude manger. The sad soul may question on and struggle on; but the sleeper there alone can satisfy its desires. may range the fields of thought-exhaust all learning and all philosophy-dive into its own unfathomed depths: yet there is unfolded the mystery. "Life and immortality" are in that manger-so speaks the ever-beaming star. Kneel there with thy soul, which has fallen back exhausted from the fearful heights it has endeavoured to climb unaided; fling thy philosophy, thy pride, as well as thy fears away, and let the light of thy wondrous star fall on thy countenance, and its ray subdue and gladden thy spirit. Painful doubts and appalling fears lest the sinful heart could never be either justified or made pure-unsatisfied longings and shadowy visions of a life to come, are all over. O with what thrilling eloquence that silent star spoke to the bewildered, melancholy race of men!

Not only did it point to the only way of justification, and reveal the life of the soul, when its earthly clog is cast away, but it shed light on the grave of the body-cast the first ray that ever fell within its dark and voiceless chambers. It said as it shone"Behold the resurrection and the life:" "There is the first-fruits of them that sleep." Wondrous beam, penetrating to the caverned dead, casting unearthly splendour on the charnel-house, and flooding with