life, which, as I advanced in the saving knowledge of Divine things, proved as different from the life I had led for several years past as it is possible any two opposites can be. Old things were now done away, and all things became new."

Dreams are usually formed out of the last impressions made on the mind before retiring to rest. Especially is this the case if such impressions have been deep and solemn. But if in sleep they should be directed to an issue far beyond that which they had in the wakeful hours, who would exclude from them the presence of a Divine and gracious agency? In connection with this thought, the following incident occurs to my remembrance :—

Many years since, in the city of Bristol, on returning home from a Sabbath evening service, I overtook a young lady of whom I had some knowledge as a regular attendant on my ministry, along with a number of other young persons whom she had in charge, being engaged as an assistant in perfecting their education. On this occasion she was alone, the weather having prevented their accompanying her as usual, and as my way home was in the same direction as her own, I took the opportunity of joining her, and entered at once into conversation on the subject of the discourse she had been hearing-the "new birth." I requested her to ask herself seriously if she had had any experience of the nature I had been describing. She made me no reply. I knew that from her earliest years she had been trained to the services of the Established Church, but was unaccustomed to converse with ministers out of that communion. I could therefore account for the reserve and reluctance she manifested in return to my earnest appeal. Nevertheless, I expatiated on the absolute necessity of this change of heart, as a preparation for eternity, dwelling on the emphatic

declaration of the Saviour, “Except a man be born again, he cannot enter the kingdom of heaven." "And if not heaven," I said, "what then? There is but one other place that is hell." At the sound of this word, I felt that she shuddered, withdrew her arm from mine, and would listen to nothing further. It appeared that on reaching her abode she felt excessively annoyed at my having presumed to address her thus on religious matters, since she had been so strict in observing all the ordinances of her church, and so correct and blameless in her deportment in the world— which indeed was the truth, for she was one formed to win the love and admiration of others, and her natural gifts had received all the culture of a polite and finished education. She could not forgive me for my plainness, and retired to rest indignant at the thought of having been told that she might at last be found among the "lost." In the night she dreamt that she heard noises as of terrible thunder and dire commotion of the elements, and, in reply to her astounded exclamations, was apprised that it was the day of judgment. She saw the Judge seated on the clouds, and felt that she was being drawn irresistibly towards him. At that moment the words sounded in her ears, Unless born again, not heaven; and if not heaven, hell. The agitation of her spirit awoke her. She arose, partly dressed herself, and fell on her knees, praying to Christ that he would have mercy upon her, and give her to know what it was to be " born again."

From this time a change appeared in her whole deportment. At the expiration of some weeks, she came to my house and solicited an interview; I was surprised, but received her most cordially. She wished to speak with me in private, and I think I now see the old garden tree under which she paused, while looking at me steadfastly she said, in a voice trembling with emotion,-"Dear sir, I shall not

go to hell. Jesus has had mercy upon me and changed my heart. I shall go to be with him in heaven. Oh, how I hated you once! How I love you now for your faithful warning!" She then told me what I have just narrated. A few years afterwards, I was sent for to visit her in the neighbourhood of London, where I found her in the midst of her friends, very near her end. Lovely she looked in death; and, taking my hand, she said, "I wished you to see that the work was real.. I love you all-you, my precious mother-you, my dearest sister-you, my beloved pastor; but I can give you all up to go to Jesus." And so she died.

I had myself a singular dream during my residence at Kensington, which I noted down at the time, on account of its remarkable impression on my own mind and the instructive lesson it afforded. It related to an individual who had been brought up with me in my father's house in our boyhood, but whom I had not seen for years, and scarcely knew whether he was yet living, much less did I know where he was or what course he was pursuing. But one night, without any previous train of thought to that effect, I found myself, in a dream, walking with him in the darkness of the night, by the side of a hedge, which seemed to keep us in one direction. It appeared as if we had been conversing together about the times since we had known each other well and were often together. The particulars of the conversation escaped me, but the result of it made me very grave. On a sudden, a rumbling noise was heard as of a cavalcade approaching us from a distance, and the atmosphere became illumined with a profusion of sparkling lights. On looking up, the sky wore a lurid aspect, and the clouds seemed about to part in the midst, to be rolled up in heaps. Addressing my companion familiarly by his name, I said,

"It is the day of judgment; what will become of us?" And fully expecting to see the Judge appear, I framed an address in my own mind, in which I appealed to his knowledge of my sincerity in preaching his Gospel and endeavouring to make him known to men as the Saviour of sinners. I was conscious of numerous defects, but felt emboldened by my ability to make this appeal, and an assurance of the benignity and graciousness of him who was about to be my Judge. I now turned to my companion, whom, to my consternation, I saw lying on a bank beneath the hedge, pale and motionless, his tongue swollen and hanging out of his mouth, without the possibility of his drawing it in again; as if he had been attempting to kneel and pray, but in vain. While looking with fear and trembling, I heard a voice above me, saying in the most audible manner, "His character is adamant: he that is filthy, let him be filthy still; and he that is righteous, let him be righteous still." The apprehension of something alarming to follow so agitated me that I awoke, and, on recovering myself, I rose, and, by moonlight, wrote down in my pocketbook in pencil, where it still stands, the very circumstances and words that had passed before me in vision.

The impression it made upon me did not wear away as in ordinary dreams, and after a few days I made it my business to find out the individual, and to visit him at his own abode at some little distance from the metropolis. I learned that though he had formerly given indications of seriousness and religious feeling, his habits and companions were of an unfavourable cast. I took him aside, and narrated to him my dream, premising that I attached no superstitious importance to it, but that he would do well to let it lead him to reflection, and to regard it in the light of a warning. I left with him also a copy of the particulars of the dream

which I had written at the time of its occurrence. He listened to me with respect and deference; but I could see no signs of any deep emotion, or of alarm at the prospect of what might one day be his case. He died not many years afterwards, and then I heard that an outward reformamation had taken place after my visit. Although I saw him not at last, nor met with any one able to give me a true account of his views and feelings in the closing scene, I may rest in the hope that the thoughts raised up in me with reference to him, without any concurrence of my own, might be designed for his benefit, and that eternity may prove they were not in vain.

Divine Teaching.

"Behold, God exalteth by his power: who teacheth like him ?”

JOB XXXVI. 22.

WE have been sometimes both surprised and delighted with the clear and consistent views of Divine things entertained by some of the pious and unlearned poor. The light of the Gospel system, meeting in their minds with no opposing systems to obstruct its entrance and obscure its rays, shines into them with its own heavenly beams, and is reflected from them in all its native purity and energy. The truths of Revelation have a quickening influence upon their intellect, so that their very conversation becomes improved and ennobled by familiar acquaintance with them, as read from the Book or discoursed upon from the pulpit. Their unconverted friends and neighbours, though their equals in natural sagacity, are no match for them in conversing upon religious subjects, but are obliged either to confess themselves confuted, or to cover their ignorance and mortification by sneers and reproaches. Even professed divines have