myself, what is always one of my most valued grati fications, that of paying my humble and most affec tionate respects this day, and must rest satisfied with renewing in my retirement those earnest supplications for your Majesty's health and happiness, which are equally dictated by regard for the public welfare, and by a thankfully cherished remembrance of much distinguished and unmerited kindness.—I have the honour," &c.

The sequel was no less worthy of the King. Next morning, whilst they were seated round the breakfast table, a royal messenger arrived charged with an invitation to the Pavilion that evening. His Majesty made no allusion to the letter; but to show how perfectly he appreciated the motives of his guest, he went beyond even his usual urbanity and kindness; and to the close of his reign no interruption occurred in a friendship equally honourable to the accomplished commoner and to the frank and warm-hearted monarch. To every pious subject it must also be a source of lively satisfaction to know, that in the Pavilion itself originated measures which have materially tended to promote the better observance of the Sabbath in Brighton. It is said that there were certain arrangements in the royal household which undesignedly entailed a large amount of Sunday labour; but when the facts were represented to Queen Adelaide, she immediately commanded that the orders in question should be given on Monday instead of Saturday as heretofore; and this act of Christian consideration has been extensively copied, to the great relief of many a laundress who formerly could not "remember the Sabbath-day to keep it holy."

THE FEEDING OF THE FIVE THOUSAND. BY J. T. HEADLEY.

WE are told that once, wearied with the press of the crowd, the Saviour took his disciples into a ship, and sought a lonely and desert place, where he might rest and commune with himself and them. But the multitude was not so easily shaken off-the hungry soul was but half satisfied, and hundreds of lame and sick were yet to be healed.

Behold that solitary bark is on the placid deep, bearing onward the weary Son of God. The waves are scarcely stirred by the summer wind, the sunlight glitters on the sparkling waters; and save the dip of the oar, the leap of a playful fish, or the scream of the wild-bird after its prey, not a sound breaks the solitude of the scene. But as Jesus casts his eye over the broad bosom of the sea, he perceives at a glance that no seclusion or rest awaits him; for the distant beach is crowded with men and women watching the progress of that frail bark, as though it carried their destiny. Litters on which the sick are stretched, cripples struggling along, blind men groping their toilsome way by the sound of rushing footsteps, the wretched of every description, help to swell the throng that lines the sea-shore, and endeavour to keep pace with the vessel that wafts Jesus of Nazareth on.

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pressed the crowd to people it with life, and make it echo with their solicitations and prayers. Of the words that were there spoken, and the truths which held that crowd of more than five thousand in such

long and breathless attention, nothing has come down to us, but that he healed their sick, restored their lame, and melted and consoled the hearts of all. Hour after hour they stood with upturned faces, and drank in the messages of love and kindness, heedless alike of the declining day, and the long journey back to their homes. What a picturesque scene they presented there on the sloping shore! Above them leaned the Saviour-behind them heaved the sea-far away rose barren mountains, and all around them was dreary and wild. Not a house, not a cultivated spot in view-that single bark moored to the shore-the dark throng encircling the Son of God-these were the only objects betokening life amid the universal desolation. And now over all, the setting sunbeams are streaming, flooding with light the form of Christ-giving a deeper colour to the sea, and throwing in stronger contrast the dark group on the shore. On the stillness of that evening no sound breaks but the voice of the Saviour. Did he point to that wild scene as he once did to the lilies of the valley to enforce his words? Did the encompassing heavens seem to bend nearer as his eye pierced their depths? Did the setting sun blaze | up with greater brilliancy before he left the presence of his God?

As the disciples, filled with the same tender sympathy as their Master, watched the multitude, and thought how long and weary was the journey to their homes, they besought him to send them away before dark, that they might get food to appease their hunger. From the city, the hamlet, the farm-house, the shop, and the hovel, they had come, bringing no supplies with them; and when the excitement which then upheld them should subside, faintness and weariness would make them sink by the way. Jesus knew this as well as they, and bade his astonished disciples feed them before they left. Having nothing themselves, they inquired for bread amid the multitude, but sought in vain. Not one out of the five thousand had food, save a poor lad on whom were found "five barley loaves and two small fishes." Whence came this lad, and how happened he there with his basket of bread and two little fishes? Perchance he was sitting on the shore fishing, to provide food for a lone mother, when the crowd came rushing past him with their eyes bent on the slowly moving vessel in the distance; and, snatching up his basket, followed after to see what it all meant. He was doubtless led by curiosity alone, and deemed himself unnoticed in the throng. But his basket was taken from him, and he led trembling into the presence of the Saviour, who made the mass separate itself into groups and companies, and sit down on the grass. He then took the five barley loaves, and after giving thanks, broke them before the people. Each of the five thousand received what he wished, and yet the loaves did not waste, nor the fish diminish. At first it seemed a farce to distribute that immense throng into bands of fifty, and in their presence commence

dividing the mere pittance; but wonder and awe soon usurped every other feeling. The lad saw his barley loaves and fish feed more than five thousand, and yet twelve baskets of fragments remain.

As night began to come down on the sea, Christ dismissed the multitude to their homes. Following him from afar, bound as by a spell in his presence, they involuntarily obeyed his bidding, conscious only of being under the influence of a superior power.

The scene is now changed. The multitude is merely a black speck on the far-winding shore. The hum of their subdued voices as they talk of what they have heard and witnessed, and the sound of their footsteps, have long since died away. Even that solitary vessel is gone, and is rising and falling on the steady swell far out upon the water. The disciples are on deck, watching with straining eyes the fast-fading form of their Master on shore. He is once more alone with the night. O who can tell the emotions that then stole over his human soul! The far parting multitude, the distant tossing vessel, were forgotten in the mightier, more fearful events before him. The thickening shadows of night were not darker than the forebodings that gathered around his spirit. The moan of the deep, and the solitude of the desert scene, were in harmony with the feelings that oppressed him, and he turned his footsteps towards a lonely mountain to pray. Kneeling under the open sky, he unburdened his heart to his Father in heaven. What words of anguish and sadness startled the night air, what sweet submission and tender sympathy succeeded both, we shall never in this world know. It was a secret and hallowed interview; but while it continued, a far different scene was passing on the sea below him. Dark thunder clouds were hovering over its bosom, the wind swept by in angry gusts, lashing it into fury, and amid the boiling waters that frail bark was struggling desperately for life. By the flashes that ever and anon rent the gloom, its plunging form was seen dividing the waves, as the wild wind and wilder sea hurled it along the distracted waters. Jesus, who had arisen from prayer, and slowly retraced his steps to the shore, now stood and looked on the turbulent scene, and his heart was moved for his terror-stricken followers, whom he knew to be in despair on deck. Calmly, serenely stepping on the crest of the billows, as they rolled and crumbled at his feet, he moved out upon the watery waste. Around him the leaping billows crouched like fawning lions-the lightning slipt harmlessly along his forehead, and the thunder stopped "mid volley as he passed. Though foam and cloud and tempest were spread around "thy form, thou Son of God,"

"And the heavy night hung dark,

Yet like a spirit in thy gliding tread, Thou, as o'er glass, didst walk that stormy sea, Through rushing winds, which left a silent path for thee. "So still thy white robes fell-no breath of air Within their long and slumb'rous folds had sway, So still the waves of parted shadowy hair From thy clear brow flow'd droopingly away! Dark were the heavens above thee, Saviour!-dark The gulfs, Deliverer! round the straining bark! But thou!-o'er all thine aspect and array Was poured one stream of pale, broad, silvery light: Thou wert the single star of that all-shrouding night."

O what a spectacle that self-illuminated and gliding form must have presented to the alarmed disciples on deck! No wonder they cried out, "It is a spirit!" and turned from the messenger of doom to the wrathful deep around them. But when that calm and gentle voice, heard in its lowest accents above the loud sea, "It is I, be not afraid," fell on their ears, despair and horror gave way to the wildest joy, and Peter leapt into the surge to meet his Lord.

EXCELLENCY OF CHRIST.

HE is a path, if any be misled;
He is a robe, if any naked be;
If any chance to hunger, he is bread;
If any be a bondman, he is free;

If any be but weak, how strong is he!

To dead men, life he is; to sick men, health;
To blind men, sight; and to the needy, wealth;
A pleasure without loss; a treasure without stealth.
Giles Fletcher,

SLEEPING IN CHURCH.

BY THE REV. DR HUMPHREY.

Tuis is the season of the year when hard-working people are peculiarly liable to be overcome by drowsiness in the house of God. Of these, there are two classes. One class of sleepers in church, would gladly keep awake if they could. They take a great deal of pains for it during the public exercises. When their eyes grow heavy, they resort to various expedients to shake off the sleepiness which is stealing upon them. They say, and we have no reason to doubt it, that they would give any thing if they could overcome the infirmity, but they struggle in vain. Ere they are aware of it, the voice of the preacher dies away upon their ears, and they fall asleep.

The other class of church-going sleepers give themselves very little trouble about it. They are willing enough to keep awake perhaps, and for appearance sake, if nothing else, would rather choose to, but they generally doze and nod more or less, or, what is more common with many, lay their heads quietly down in some snug corner of their pews, till the amen or the last singing notifies them that the exercises are drawing to a close. Under some of the most solemn and faithful gospel sermons they had rather sleep than not, though they cannot always succeed when they have chosen the most convenient attitudes. To this class of church-sleepers we have not much to say, because we have but little hope that they would hear and heed us. We could remind them, that the time is coming when they must all keep wide awake, whether they will or not. It may not be till after they have done attending public worship-it may not be till they wake up and find themselves in a miserable eternity; but the time will come, and then, O how will they wish they had given the most wakeful attention to the messenger of salvation, under which they now so stupidly slumber!

To the other class of church-sleepers, who would fain shake of their drowsiness, we have a few things to say. It does not follow, because they really wish to keep awake during all the public exercises, that they are not to blame for losing themselves and losing the sermon. Do they use all the appropriate means to that end? It is not enough to pinch, or prick themselves, or freely to use the smelling-bottle. Some preventions are to be tried before they go to church. If they would meditate and pray more in their closets, and thus get their hearts more deeply interested in the subject of religion, as a personal concern of infinite moment, they would be less likely to be overcome by drowsiness under the droppings of the sanctuary. If they would reflect, when they enter the courts of the Lord, "Perhaps this may be the last time; perhaps this may be the last sermon that I shall ever hear," would they be likely to fall asleep?"What, would they not watch one hour?" If they would remember, when the preacher rises in the pulpit, "There stands the legateof the skies," that it is Christ, speaking through the lips of his ambassador, would they be so indifferent to the message as to fall asleep in the midst of his discourse?

And are there not predisposing physical causes to sleepiness in church, which might and ought to be avoided? Are not labouring men, in haying and harvest time, apt to work harder and to work later on Saturday than any other day in the week, in anticipation of the rest of the Sabbath; and is not this one great reason why they are so "dull of hearing? They get so worn down, so exhausted by the end of the week, that they are unfitted for all religious services on God's holy day. They drop to sleep as soon almost as they get seated in their pews, and their excuse is, that they are obliged to work so hard during the week that they can't help it. But how far will this plea ayail in the court of conscience, or before that high tribunal to which we are all hastening? Ought not labourers and other men of business, to remember, as the week wears away, that the Sabbath is "drawing on," and instead of laying out more work than common on Saturdays, so to order their affairs as to close up at an early hour? Our Puritan fathers used to do it. They left their fields on Saturday, in time to have all their chores done up before sundown, and why may not their descendants do the same? We do not believe they do more work in a week, by driving all day and late into Saturday evening, than they might accomplish, by a little forethought and extra effort, earlier in the week. If hard labourers would favour themselves somewhat on Saturday, and retire at an early hour, they would rest well, and find themselves refreshed on Sabbath morning, to their great comfort and wakefulness, when they go to the house of God, and indeed in all the religious duties of the day. Who is so poor, and absolutely obliged to work so hard, that he cannot keep awake for an hour, or an hour and a half, forenoon and afternoon, in the church? We know by some experience, how difficult it is for men who labour in the field all the week to resist drowsiness when they come to sit still; but just so much of it as comes from the cause above mentioned, will, we verily believe,

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prove at the last day to have been inexcusable. God does not require men to work so hard, at any season of the year, that they cannot enjoy the worship of his own appointment on the Sabbath.

Another way to avoid sleeping in church is, to refresh one's self for a few moments before going, or between the services. We are no apologists for dreamy slothfulness at home on the Lord's day; but surely, where "the flesh is weak," it is better to take half an hour's repose at home, than in the house of God.

One thought more. A light and spare diet on the Sabbath, is an excellent antidote to sleepiness in the church. No wonder if those who indulge themselves with full and luxurious dinners cannot keep awake. It would be strange if they could. And to do them justice (if that be not a misnomer), they generally stay at home to sleep in the afternoon, about which we may have something to say at another time.

THE PESTILENCE.

"GOD's hand is in this pestilence." He governs this world. He directs every event-controls every occurrence. If there be evil, that is, distress, calamity, in any place, the Lord sends it. It comes from his hand-from the wise counsel of his will. Whatever instrumentality he may employ, whatever may be the aspect of the evil, and however it may stand related to second causes; still, his agency is concerned in it. He brings it about. There is a mode of reasoning on this subject which, we are sorry to see, is becoming quite common, and which virtually cuts this world loose from the control of God's providence. Every thing is referred to the action of second causes. The mind goes back to these, and there it stops. Hence affliction comes forth of the dust-tribulation springs out of the ground-the pestilence comes upon us from some disturbance in the atmosphere. Much effort has been put forth to ascertain the causes of disease, and especially of those forms of it which, from time to time, sweep over the earth, and lay man in the dust. Theories have been started, and results arrived at, which in no one particular recognise the hand of God in these matters. While we heartily approve of this search for the proximate or immediate cause of any calamity, and of all proper efforts to remove it, yet we would have men see the finger of God in what befalls them-we would have them trace it back in the line of accusation until it reaches the counsel of his will.

nature, without looking up to nature's God. It minIt is a poor, blind philosophy that looks through isters no comfort to the human spirit to find the cause of its sorrows in the operations of nature, and 80 fixed and unalterable as to silence the voice of prayer, and to make the arm of God even impotent to save. We have no sympathy with such teaching. It is not found in the Bible. In the lessons of that

book, we are taught that disease has its existence in the appointment of God. However, therefore, it may prevail, or be aggravated through the action of causes which we may and ought to remove, still it Men tell us that the exists aside from these causes. pestilence that is now upon us is owing to some disturbance of the atmosphere-to the absence of some element essential to the health of man-and it may be all true; but what, we ask, created that disturbance? Whose hand has withdrawn that element essential to We connect the existence of its healthy condition?

As long as Israel was a willing and obedient people they were safe-were prosperous and happy. But when they forgot God, and departed from him, evil came upon them-famine spread over the land-pestilence invaded their habitations. God laid his hand upon them-punished them for their transgressions, and thus brought them to see and to forsake their sins, and to come back into the light of his favour. Here, then, is the great principle of his providence. If we walk contrary to him, he will walk contrary to us. If we depart from him, he will punish us, and make the pestilence cleave unto us. The Bible declares this fact. The history of every individual, and of every community, shows us that a departure from God has its consequence in the chastisement from his hand. Let this event, then, be connected directly with the hand of God-let us regard it as sent for wise ends, and look upon these ends as corrective. If we take this view of this aspect of God's providence, it will lead us down into the valley of repentance-of humility before God, and thus to a life of new obedience.

THE SAILOR BOY AND HIS BIBLE. AT a village in Warwickshire, England, a few pious people were in the habit of meeting at an early hour on the Sabbath-day for prayer and praise. Returning from one of these meetings, a Christian female >bserved a poor sailor sitting by the wayside, with his Bible and his hymn-book in his hand, as if waiting for the time of divine worship. She invited him to her house, when he gave the following account of himself and his Bible :

He was born in America; at twelve years of age e left home. A father's and a mother's tears were inheeded. He embarked on the wide ocean, and soon met with many dangers from tempests, and attles with the enemy. One night a dreadful storm rose, and the ship became unmanageable, and in the norning an awful scene presented itself-every person on board had been swept away by the waves ›reaking over the ship, and he found himself the only iving person upon a vessel going to pieces!

The poor boy, finding that he must leave the sinking vessel, put as much money in the pocket of his jacket as he could. He had likewise a treasure, which, though he was ignorant of its real worth, yet he prized as having belonged to his mother-it was a Bible. When he left home at twelve years of age, he determined to take something that should put him in mind of her. He had, as he said, no love for the book, and but little knowledge of it; but it was his mother's.

Our sailor in all his wanderings had preserved his Bible, this blessed volume; it was a small one, and he easily kept it within the bosom of his jacket. Having made this preparation, and judging that the wreck could be no longer a place of safety, he com

"Yes," said he, when mentioning the circumstance, "yes, I threw from me the Bible; I cast it

into the waters, being sorry only because it had belonged to my mother; I knew it not as containing the pearl of great price. But though I had thus far lightened myself, the money still weighed rather heavily; yet, being unwilling to part with it, I tried all my strength, and continued swimming. After

some time, and when I must have made considerable way, I turned to see whether my Bible was in sight, though I could not suppose it possible, even from the distance, and thought, indeed, that it had sunk into the waters; but, to my great surprise, I found it borne up by a wave, and now close to my shoulder! My heart thrilled with joy; I seized my precious book, and could not help crying out, O my Bible! so you would not leave me, though I cast you away! Well, then, come what will, you and I will never part.' Gladly did I put it into my jacket, and then emptied my pockets of my money, which, being the greater part of it silver, was bulky as well as heavy."

At length he reached a rock, which raised its head just above the water; upon this he scrambled, thankful to rest his weary limbs upon it. A few crumbs of biscuit, which he had in his pocket, though soaked, afforded him a scanty, but welcome refreshment. His Bible, so wonderfully preserved, became, in such circumstances, still dearer to him; he carefully pressed out the water, and opening it, these words met his eye, and fixed his attention: "Kiss the Son, lest he be angry, and ye perish from the way, when his wrath is kindled but a little. Blessed are all they that put their trust in him."

He stretched himself upon his rocky bed; sleep weighed down his eyelids, and tired nature sunk to rest; but the words still seemed sounding in his ears. He was afraid the merciful Saviour would, in his case, cease to be merciful.

His situation was dangerous in the extreme; but the Lord heard his cry, and sent him help. A ship hove in sight, bound on her homeward voyage to Liverpool. What now was his joy! with what anxiety did he strain his eyes to watch the coming vessel! and with what dread did he think of being passed unseen! A fresh breeze had sprung up, and the vessel was going very fast through the water. He had passed two long days here, and was suffering from raging thirst. He had scarce strength enough to wave his handkerchief. Happily, it was perceived. A boat was sent off, and he taken on board the vessel.

Now, rested and refreshed, he soon regained his strength; and with a grateful heart poured forth his thanksgivings to God, and renewed vows ever to be the Lord's. At length he was landed safe in Liverpool, and was now pursuing his way to London.Teacher's Offering.