that voice which stilled the stormy winds, and troubled waters of the sea of Galilee, will soon breathe over the agitated passions, the sweet, the sacred whisper of peace.

Obstacles and disappointments may thwart us at every step. Innumerable are the unkindnesses, crosses, and mortifications thrown in by our friends, acquaintance, and the world, to make up the sum of our sorrows; but if meekness, patience, and courage be increasing, all is well, all shall be well for ever.

Evenness of behaviour under all life's changing circumstances, and under all the heart's changing feelings, is a social duty. The averted countenance, and altered voice, may merely be tokens that a person is out of health, or out of humour; but how untold can friends discern the matter, and dismiss the doubt of their being intentional indications of personal offence? If we have felt that such nominal trifles can pain us, let us beware of thus wounding others.

Some persons receive as it were at second hand, a more vivid impression of grief even than others do, from personal suffering; and as a counterbalance to this painful privilege, to them, is generally given the sweet and precious one of comforting mourners. Such a Christian

possessing by nature a strong mind and great sensibility, and deriving from Divine grace knowledge and experience, can use all those valuable endow

ments with good effect in that blessed work. To his amiability the mourner confidently looks for tenderness, to his firmness for support, to his prudence for direction, and from his eloquent lips receives, as earth drinks in the showers of heaven, words of consolation and of hope. But when sorsow touches the spirit of him, who, is accustomed to sustain his own infirmity, and thus to assist in bearing the burden of others, he can find healing and help in God alone. His heart within him replies to the suggestions of friends, "Miserable comforters are ye all!" To show that they respect his grief is the only alleviation they can afford. But all are not thus constituted, and most of us receive even divine consolation through a human medium. May we never in the hand that brings, forget the God who sends it!

Some friends are like summer flowers, whose beauty and fragrance cannot bear the storm and frost of adversity.

Others are hardy evergreens, still kind, still dear to us; but while our hearts swell with thankfulness, they ache with anguish, and those dear ones cannot help us. We are, alike, by both instructed to say, "My soul, wait thou only upon God." Many of our troubles are increased, and many of them are occasioned by our over value for human opinion, our too great eagerness for human praise. Waiting until the last echo of the whirlwind of passion has subsided, and calmly taking

into consideration all the circumstances known to experience, and every contingency foreseen by prudence, a man exercises deliberate judgment upon all, and forms his plans of business with that union of daring and caution, best calculated to ensure success, and waits their issue with confidence.

But no skill can always be successful; and perhaps the total failure of his plans exposes him, not only to the pang of disappointment, but to the additional mortification of seeing them made the sneer of the malicious, and the ridicule of the stupid; and smarting at once under poverty and reproach, is tempted to be angry with God for rendering his servant despicable in the eyes of

men.

How will one anxious thought of eternity, put to flight a thousand worldly cares! One moment we stand trembling under impending calamity, the next we think, Ere it falls, I may be in heaven. I know not that I shall live an hour, why then, if prudence cannot avert, should anxiety anticipate the evil of to-morrow?

Who can number up the sources of human sorrow? And who can tell, save he whose heart has thrilled with its agony, the sting of unkindness from those we love, of ingratitude from those we have delighted to serve, or describe the tedious pains of absence, the disconsolate sinkings which attend the nightly watcher of the invalid; the desolate feelings of one who looks his last at the

dead? It is grievous to bear these things, but the rebukes of conscience are far more dreadful: they are like the arrows of Philoctetes, envenomed and rankling; and too frequently pride and despondency subject the Christian to their torment.

But the most intense and awful of mortal sorrows, is proved by an awakened and enlightened mind in its hours of unbelief and darkness, of spiritual desertion, and torment, and horror. Sin is its sting, and Satan its inciter. Yet many Christians who have endured the dreadful trial, confess it to have been sent and overruled in mercy, when rising from the depths of misery, they rejoice in clearer and brighter views than they ever gained before of God's unutterable love and goodness. Assuredly it is our own fault, if our bitterest griefs issue not in blessings.

But while he aims at living to God, although bowed down by private griefs, and encompassed by public calamities, mourning at once the sorrows known only to his own soul, the afflictions of his domestic and social circle, and "those which cause all the hearts of a mighty nation to shrink with fear, and partaking the afflictions of the militant church, the Christian may yet "rejoice in the Lord," and "joy in the God of his salvation." He will use the Psalmist's words in all the fulness of their meaning, "I know, O Lord, that thy judgments are right, and that thou in faithfulness hast afflicted me."

X.-ON PROSPERITY.

COMPARING the lot of one man with that of another, or the years of the same man's life with each other, very striking differences are discernible, some of which fall under the general description of prosperity, and others under that of adversity.

Wealth may afford the luxuries of a highly civilized country, health and buoyant spirits may give animation and zest to all, the tenderness of friends may cast around his lot the illusions, and almost the enjoyments of fairy land.

Entertained with a succession of fresh pleasures, knowing no want, and scarcely allowed by his cheerful companions a moment's cessation from one sort or other of amusement, a man feels sometimes like one who in a dream, has a recurring consciousness of the illusion, and whispers to himself, It is a dream: but yet dreams on, loving to be deceived.

Those who have undergone severe bodily pain, frequently find occasion to remark, how rapidly