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self may be terrific-agonizing-but persevere in the inquiry. The more fearful, the more necessary. Go on till you see the cross shining through the darkness; till you catch a glimpse of the throne of grace. Behold Jesus dying, and Jesus glorified; Jesus in the garden, and Jesus in heaven; Jesus under the burden of man's guilt, and Jesus wearing the crown of universal empire; Jesus ever nigh the retiring sinner, ever present with the believing soul. Through faith in him you will find peace and rest. Not in mere abstract propositions, but in a personal, ever living, and unchangeable Redeemer and Lord are you to trust and hope. Let communion with your own heart at once lead you to communion with Christ, and then at last you shall see him as he is, and so shall you be for ever with the Lord.

J. F. SHAW, BOOKSELLER, SOUTHAMPTON ROW, AND

PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON:

AND W. INNES, BOOKSELLER, SOUTH HANOVER STREET, EDINBURGH.

London: J. & W. RIDER, Printers, 14, Bartholomew Close.

THE following narrative is an illustration of the wonderful power of even one sentence of the word of God :

There resided some years since in a northern county, in Ireland, a Roman Catholic family, named de Lacy. Colonel de Lacy had married, rather late in life, a lady of his own country and persuasion; both were zealous Romanists, and their circle of society was composed almost entirely of those who adhered to the same religion. A splendid mansion, large estates, and all the entourage of a princely fortune were theirs, and of their name and wealth their only child Marion was sole heiress.

In her the affections of her parents were centred from her earliest childhood, and as her character unfolded Marion repaid them by the warmest and most devoted love. For her father especially, her attachment was unbounded. She lived for him, valued all her childish possessions only because they were his gifts, and took delight in every accomplishment she acquired, less from pleasure in the acts themselves, than because it was her father's wish that she should excel. Devotion was the main spring of Marion's character, and its strength was her safeguard against the many dangerous influences which surround an only and an idolized child. The many gifts and graces which nature and fortune had lavished on her, and which to a less generous nature would have served but to deify self, were to Marion but the flowers with which she delighted to strew the path of those she loved. Though she was but an idolater of the creature, still her heart was worldly, and home was her shrine.

Very different was the character of the parents' attachment to their child. They loved her to idolatry, but pride was their ruling passion, and they were ready to sacrifice even their affections to its demands. At the age of thirteen Marion was a very lovely as well as accomplished child, for her home had afforded facilities for acquiring every graceful art; but her parents' ambition for her was not to be thus satisfied. She was naturally clever, and they were resolved that no pains should be spared to enable her to take her place in society as a woman of finished education and brilliant attainments. effect this, they made arrangements to place her for the next few years in a convent, celebrated as a good finishing school, where she would have the advantage of studying under the first professors. Marion's grief at parting from her parents

To

and her home is not to be described. Hers was a mind constituted to feel with great intensity, and the shock of a first separation from those so dear to her was a very severe one. Time, however, and the close application she was obliged to give to her studies, at length removed the first feelings of home sickness, but there was still an aching blank, which time alone could never fill. To her tender and affectionate nature the change from home, with its thousand endearing associations, where the sunshine of love was ever around her, and her life passed like a bright dream,—the change from this to the cold gloom of a convent, was one which, as the months passed on, she felt to be only increasingly painful. The corpse-like figures of the nuns, as their long dark robes swept along the cold and silent cloisters, struck with an icy chill to Marion's heart, and seemed to her well to picture forth the living death of convent life. To those for ever immured within the walls, it was indeed the grave of the heart's best affections, and Marion's only pleasure was to look forward with hope to the time that should restore her to her parents and her home. She studied assiduously, and bade fair to realize all her father's wishes; and in this she found the only consolation which the convent could offer her for their long separation. So passed on the first few years of school life.

The

stilling influences around her had had their effect,—Marion had grown calm, quiet, and reserved. But was her heart less warm, her feelings less fond and devoted? No; they were but repressed, not extinguished; and she was conscious of a deep longing after happiness, a yearning for affection, which became but the more intense from her life of solitude. Situated as she was, it would have been strange if the subject of religion had not engaged much of her attention. The thought of devoting her life to God occurred to her at times, with an unutterable charm; but how to do so? that was the question. Hers was a mind that dared to think for itself; and although she could not venture to give expression to her musings, she yet felt an inward loathing of convent life, and found it hard to believe, that to sacrifice life's best blessings could be pleasing to a benevolent Creator. She sought to conform in all things to the directions given her;-her prayers became more frequent, her self-denial more austere; but still the heart was unsatisfied, and confession and penance failed to bring her any relief.

Her mind had been for some time in this state, when an incident occurred which was destined to influence her whole after life.

Walking one day in the garden, at the usual hour of recrea

tion, and wandering a little way from her companions, as was her frequent habit, her eye was caught by a white paper which the wind was fluttering in her path. Taking it up, she found it to be the leaf of a book, and, glancing over it, her attention was arrested by these words: "Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled." Again and again she repeated the words; they came home to her heart, for what could more forcibly describe its cravings? "These words are for me," she said to herself,-and with an instinctive feeling that her treasure must be hid if she would preserve it, she hastily concealed it in the bosom of her dress. She now watched every opportunity to be alone, that she might read more of those wonderful words, which had fastened with such power upon her soul. It was the fifth and part of the sixth chapter of Matthew, that had fallen into her hands,—a stray leaf of a Testament, either carried by the wind over the wall of the convent garden, or thrown there by some hand zealous to sow the good seed. It had fallen upon prepared ground. Hungry and thirsty indeed was the soul which now so eagerly drank in those precious words. Marion was

astonished at the power of the feelings awakened within her. Every word the leaf contained was soon imprinted on her memory, but those which had first caught her attention were still those which most deeply interested her mind. The promise that those who hungered and thirsted should be "filled" with righteousness-should indeed be satisfied with a purity and holiness which their fainting spirits had craved, seemed to Marion the promise of happiness unutterable. But how was it to be obtained, how granted? Marion read on, and the spirituality of the law began to reveal itself to her mind. No outward service, then, however rigorous, could satisfy the requirements of Him to whom the heart was an open book. This caused her many a sad and despairing thought, for the Spirit had begun his work, and was showing her something of the desperate wickedness of her fallen nature. She sought relief in prayer,—but here the system in which she had been brought up was like a false guide, turning her from the right path. Unmeaning forms, repeated without cessation, afforded her no comfort. She had never learned to pray in simplicity, as a "little child," and thus her ignorance shut her out from that unspeakable privilege. "Vain repetitions' were all that she had learnt, and in such was no solace.

Fearing to ask counsel of any around her, the oppression on her heart daily increased, her mind preyed upon itself, until at length she became alarmingly ill. Her parents were sent

for, she was carried home, and watched over with anxious
solicitude. The first medical advice was sought, and happily
the best physician within reach was one who lived in the light
of scripture truth, and who knew, through his own experience,
of the one only remedy for sin-sick souls.
A very
few visits
were sufficient to show Dr. Mansfield that it was the mind of
his patient, not the body that was affected. He expressed this
opinion to her family, but found it impossible to convince them
that any secret sorrow could weigh on the spirits of their
cherished and happy Marion! He then sought a private in-
terview with his patient, in whom he felt great interest, and
after reminding her that the various remedies he had tried
had produced no favourable change in her health, he said, with
great kindness, "Dear Miss de Lacy, you cannot conceal
from me that there is some trouble of mind which is depress-
ing you, and undermining your health. Allow me to speak to
you as a friend and advise you to let
your mother have your
full confidence."

Marion's agitation, as he spoke, showed that he had now touched the right spring. She was silent for a few minutes, and then answered, in a low and trembling voice

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"My mother could do nothing for me, sir."

"Your father, then. Will you not confide in him?" "My father could not help me, sir."

Dr. Mansfield was silent for a few moments; he then said— My dear Miss de Lacy, I almost fear to say more—but I feel that your health, nay, your life, depends upon your unburdening your mind of whatever it may be that is thus oppressing you. You shrink from speaking openly to those nearest to you. Will you look on me as an old friend, and tell me if I can do anything for you. Confide in me, my dear child, and, believe me, none can take a deeper interest in your welfare."

Marion was much agitated. She knew not whether others had ever felt as she did, and for some minutes she pondered in silence on the impossibility of conveying to another mind any idea of the deep anxieties which filled her own. At length, turning away her face, she said, hastily, "Did you ever read these words' Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled'?"

Surprised and much affected, Dr. Mansfield answered her by continuing the passage-" Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God. Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."

THE ENGLISH MONTHLY TRACT SOCIETY, 27, RED LION SQUARE LONDON

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