ton, however, took the same train; and while thus hastening home, indulged himself in kneeling down and repeating on his passenger-ticket the Lord's Prayer, mingling oaths and curses, sometimes rising and exclaiming, "We shall never get to hell to-night." The train stopped; he saw Sims, challenged him again, and used so much abuse that Sims consented to fight. Two rounds were fought; Walton was struck over the jugular vein, and within one quarter of an hour from the stoppage of the train he was a corpse. And thus the swearer's prayer was heard and answered!--Fides.

THE CUP OF COLD WATER.

A

A YOUNG Englishwoman was sent to France to be educated in a Huguenot school in Paris. few evenings before the fatal massacre of St. Bartholomew's-day, she and some of her young companions were taking a walk in some part of the town where there were sentinels placed, perhaps on the walls; and you know that when a soldier is on guard he must not leave his post until he is relieved, that is, till another soldier comes to take his place. One of the soldiers, as the young ladies passed him, besought them to have the charity to bring him a little water, adding that he was very ill, and that it would te as much as his life was worth to go and fetch it himself. The ladies walked on, much offended at the man for presuming to speak to them; all but the young Englishwoman, whose compassion was moved, and who, leaving her party, procured some water, and brought it to the soldier. He begged her to tell him her name and place of abode; and this she did. When she rejoined her companions, some blamed and others ridiculed her attention to a common soldier; but they soon had reason to lament that they had not been equally compassionate, for the grateful soldier contrived on the night of the massacre to save this young English woman, while all the other inhabitants of the house she dwelt in were killed!

THE SUFFERINGS OF ANIMALS.

THE beasts of the field are not so many automata without sensation; and just so constructed as to give forth all the natural signs and expressions of it. Nature hath not practised this universal deception upon our species. These poor animals just look, and tremble, and give forth the very indications of suffering that we do.

Theirs is the distinct cry of pain. Theirs is the unequivocal physiognomy of pain. They put on the same aspect of terror on the demonstrations of a menaced blow. They exhibit the same distortions of agony after the infliction of it. The bruise, or the burn, or the fracture, or the deep incision, or the fierce encounter with one of equal or superior strength, just affects them similarly to ourselves. Their blood circulates as ours. They have pulsations in various parts of the body like ours. They sicken, and they grow feeble with age; and, finally, they die just as we do. They possess the same feelings; and, what exposes them to like suffering from another quarter, they possess the same instincts with our own species. The lioness robbed of her whelps causes the wilderness to ring aloud with the proclamation of her wrongs; or the bird, whose little household has been stolen, fills and saddens all the grove with melodies of

deepest pathos. Theirs is unmixed and unmitigated pain-the agonies of martyrdom without the alleviation of the hopes and the sentiments whereof they are incapable. When they lay them down to die, their only fellowship is with suffering; for in the prison-house of their beset and bounded faculties, there can no relief be afforded by communion with other interests or other things. The attention does not lighten their distress, as it does that of man, by carrying off his spirit from that existing pungency and pressure which might else be overwhelming. There is but room in their mysterious economy for one inmate, and that is the absorbing sense of their own single and concentrated anguish. And so in that bed of torment whereon the wounded animal lingers and expires, there is an unexplored depth and intensity of suffering which the poor dumb animal itself cannot tell, and against which it can offer no remonstrance -an untold and unknown amount of wretchedness of which no articulate voice gives utterance. But there is an eloquence in its silence; and the very shroud which disguises it only serves to aggravate its horrors.-Dr. Chalmers. LEPROSY.

THE awful disease of leprosy still exists in Africa. Whether it be the same leprosy as that mentioned in the Bible, I do not know; but it is regarded as perfectly incurable, and so infectious that no one dares to come near the leper. In the South of Africa there is a large lazarhouse for lepers. It is an immense space, enclosed by a very high wall, and containing fields which the lepers cultivate. There is only one entrance, which is strictly guarded. Whenever any one is found with the marks of leprosy upon him, he is brought to this gate and obliged to enter in, never to return. No one who enters in by that awful gate is ever allowed to come out again. Within this abode of misery there are multitudes of lepers in all stages of the disease. (Dr. Halbeck, a missionary of the Church of England, from the top of a neighbouring hill saw them at work. He noticed two particularly, sowing peas in the field. The one had no hands, the other had no feet; these members being wasted away by the disease. The one who wanted the hands was carrying the other who wanted the feet upon his back, and he, again, carried in his hands the bag of seed, and dropped a pea every now and then, which the other pressed into the ground with his foot, and so they managed the work of one man between the two. Ah! how little we know of the misery that is in the world. Such is this prison-house of disease!) But you will ask, who cares for the souls of the hapless inmates? who will venture to enter in at this dreadful gate, never to return again? who will forsake father and mother, houses and land, to carry the message of a Saviour to these poor lepers? Two Moravian Missionaries, impelled by a Divine love for souls, have chosen this lazar-house as their field of labour. They entered it never to come out again. And I am told, that, as soon as they die, other Moravians are quite ready to fill their place. Ah! my dear friends, may we not blush and be ashamed before God, that we, redeemed with the same blood, and taught by the same Spirit, should yet be so unlike these men in vehement, heart-consuming love to Jesus and the souls of men.—M'Cheyne.

THE ARK OF GOD.

THE ark of God was never taken till it was surrounded by the arms of its earthly defenders. In captivity its sanctity was sufficient to vindicate it from insult, and to lay the hostile fiend prostrate on the threshold of his own temple.

The real security of Christianity is to be found in its benevolent morality, in its exquisite adaptation to the human heart, in the facility with which its scheme accommodates itself to the capacity of every human intellect, in the consolation which it bears to the house of mourning, in the light with which it brightens the great mystery of the grave. To such a system it can bring no addition of dignity or of strength, that it is part and parcel of the common law.

It is not now, for the first time, left to rely on the force of its own evidences, and the attractions of its own beauty. Its sublime theology confounded the Grecian schools in the fair conflict of reason with reason. The bravest and wisest of the Cæsars found their arms and their policy unavailing, when opposed to the weapons that were not carnal, and the kingdom that was not of this world. The victory which Porphyry and Diocletian failed to gain is not, to all appearance, reserved for any of those who have in this age directed their attacks against the last restraint of the powerful, and the last hope of the wretched. The whole history of Christianity shows, that she is in far greater danger of being corrupted by the alliance of power than of being crushed by its opposition. Those who thrust temporal sovereignty upon her treat her as their prototypes treated her Author. They bow the knee, and spit upon her; they cry "Hail!" and smite her on the cheek; they put a sceptre in her hand, but it is a fragile reed; they crown her, but it is with thorns; they cover with purple the wounds which their own hands have inflicted on her, and inscribe magnificent titles over the cross on which they have fixed her, to perish in ignominy and pain.-Thomas Babington Macaulay.

DIVINE TRUTH.

How excellent! how invaluable! It is more precious than rubies, and all things good and fair are not to be compared with it. It is the light of our eye, the joy of our heart; the map of our pilgrimage, the charter of our inheritance. It reveals to us our danger while yet it may be shunned; and provides for us a refuge from the storms of life and the abiding wrath of God. It has the promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to come." It discovers to us an immense eternity; it pours before us the riches of both worlds; yea, it conducts us to the knowledge and enjoyment of that God and Saviour, to whom the riches of the universe are as a wasted and a worthless portion !-Dr. Reed.

A ROYAL STUDENT.

FEW men were more diligent students of the sacred Volume than his Royal Highness the Duke of Sussex, a considerable portion of every day being set apart for its perusal. His attainments in biblical criticism were very considerable. The Rev. Dr. Raffles, at the opening of the new Independent College at Withington, near Manchester, stated that, thirty years ago, he waited upon his Royal Highness at Kensington Palace. "Did you ever meet with 'Bishop

Clayton on the Hebrew Text,' Mr. Raffles ?" asked his Royal Highness. "I am acquainted with Bishop Clayton on Hebrew Chronology," said the Doctor. 66 Ay, ay," rejoined the Duke; "but that is not what I mean. The book I mention is a thin quarto, so rare that I borrowed it of a friend, and so valuable that I copied it with my own hand."

KINDNESS.

This will always do good. It makes others happy; and that is doing good. It prompts us to seek to benefit others; and that is doing good. It makes others gentle and benignant; and that is doing good.

Let it be remembered, also, that it is by the temper, and by the spirit that we manifest, that the world forms its opinions of the nature of religion. It is not by great deeds in trying circumstances that men will judge of the nature of the gospel. The world at large cares little how Ignatius and Polycarp felt, or how they died. Perhaps the mass around you never heard their names. They are little impressed by the virtues which Latimer, and Ridley, and Cranmer evinced at the stake. But that unbelieving husband cares much for the gentle and kind spirit of the wife, for all his happiness depends on it; that brother is interested much in the conversation and the spirit of his sister, for he daily observes her temper, and is forming his views of religion from what he sees in her; that child is constantly marking the temper of the father and the mother, and is forming his views of religion, not so much from what he hears in the pulpit or in the sabbath-school, as from the temper which you evince from one day to another. In these fields-humble though they may seem, and little as they appear to furnish a theatre for the display of eminent virtues-your usefulness lies. There, with the "gentleness" that was in Christ, you cannot but be useful; and, exhibiting such a spirit, you will not live in vain.-Barnes.

INFLUENCE OF THE MINISTRY.

AT the last day, what a throng of witnesses will there be to the effect of John Newton's ministrations! We are now feeling this effect in the hymns of Cowper, in the writings of Buchanan, who owed his religious character to the instrumentality of Newton-writings which are said to have first awakened the missionary spirit of our own Judson; in the works of Dr. Scott, another monument of Newton's fidelity, and a spiritual guide to hundreds of preachers and thousands of laymen; in the words and deeds of Wilberforce, who ascribed a large share of his own usefulness to the example and counsels of the same father. Edmund Burke on his death-bed sent an expression of his thanks to Mr. Wilberforce for writing the "Practical Christianity;" a treatise which Burke spent the last two days of his life in perusing, and from which he confessed himself to have derived much profit; a treatise which has reclaimed hundreds of educated men from irreligion, but which would, probably, never have been what it now is had not its author been favoured with Newton's advice and sympathy. What shall we predict as the ultimate result of Whitefield's more than eighteen thousand addresses from the pulpit, and of the impulse which he gave to the ac

who embraced the last of these delusions was the illustrious Dr. Samuel Johnson, than whom few individuals have attained a higher eminence, or have been on many accounts more justly entitled to it; but who, through a long life, was led to rest upon his moral conduct, and what is termed a well-spent life, as the ground of his salvation; till it pleased God, by his awakening grace, to convince him of the fallacy of such a dependence, and to influence him to look for salvation to the only sure refuge-the blood and righteousness of a crucified Saviour!

Of the general character of this wellknown individual it is not necessary to say much. To a mind of the most vigorous and powerful character he added a matured judgment, and habits of deep and sound reflection-untiring in his researches after truth, and bold and fearless in the acknowledgment of it. This latter feature of his mind was especially manifested in its bearing on the great subject of what he deemed to be religion. The well-attested fact of his standing for an hour bareheaded in the market-place of a town in his native county, in the midst of a heavy shower of rain, to make expiation, as he termed it, for an act of filial disobedience committed many years before, though strangely evincing the obscurity of his religious views, yet fully proves that in the performance of what he considered a religious act, no fear of man, nor regard to consequences, could influence his mind.

But there are other aspects in which it is important to look at the character of this distinguished individual. The general deportment of his life, and the weight of his personal example, were on the side of religion and morals. It is recorded of him, when that distinguished foreigner, the Abbé Raynal, was first introduced to him, and offered him his hand, he drew back, and afterwards replied to the remonstrance of a friend, "Sir, I will not shake hands with an infidel." His attendance on the public services of religion on the Lord's day-his private and personal acts of devotion, combined with his recorded sentiments of a devotional character-all evince his regard for the subject; while all his writings connected with it, in a greater or less degree, manifest his desire of promoting morality, and advancing what he supposed to be the interests of religion.

Through the rich mercy of God, however, the period arrived in which it was made clear to his mind, not only that the

foundation on which he had long been resting was an insufficient one, but also that a "better hope" is provided, by which God can "be just, and at the same time the justifier of every one that believeth in Jesus," and the gospel become "the power of God unto the soul's salvation."

The symptoms which gave the first indication that his life, which had reached an advanced period, was drawing to a close, appeared not very long before his decease. Johnson anticipated the approaching crisis, and, with a mind still unclouded and vigorous, anxiously reviewing the past, and anticipating the future, was filled with apprehension and alarm. The prospect of death, now felt to be at no great distance, was terrible, and he could not think of it but with great pain and trouble of mind. He was reminded by those around him of his past moral conduct, of the uniform course of virtue which he had pursued, and of the services rendered by his example and writings to the cause of religion and morality. But what was the reply of Johnson to all this?" Every man knows his own sins, and what grace he has resisted; but to those of others, and the circumstances under which they were committed, he is a stranger. He is, therefore, to look on himself as the greatest sinner he knows of;" adding, with much earnestness, "Shall I, who have been a teacher of others, be myself a castaway?"

The mind of the sufferer, as his symptoms of danger increased, became more alarmed and agitated. Under these circumstances he expressed a desire to see a clergyman. It happened that the one selected by him was unable, from indisposition, to attend. He therefore committed to writing what, from his knowledge of the circumstances, he considered it proper he should say to Johnson; and, in so doing, after reviewing what he supposed to be the workings of his mind, he added: "I say to you in the language of the Baptist, Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sins of the orld!'" When Sir John Hawkins read this part of the letter, Johnson interrupted him, anxiously asking, "Does he say so? Read it again." On his complying, Johnson said, "I must see that man; write to him again." A second letter, for the reason already mentioned, was not more successful; in consequence of which, another individual, whose views on the great doctrines of Christianity were similar, was sent for,

through whose instrumentality it pleased God to carry on the work already begun in his soul. Convictions of sin were followed by no less powerful and abiding convictions of the power and willingness of Christ to save him from it. The deep views thus afforded him of his utterly lost and hopeless condition prepared his mind for that right understanding of the gospel, under which, there is reason to believe, he found Christ crucified to be the "end of the law for righteousness to every one that believeth;" "Christ the wisdom of God and the power of God;" and, having been led to cry, "What must I do to be saved!" he discovered the only true and scriptural answer: "Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved." However little those around him could appreciate the nature of so great a change, or understand its cause, they fully testify the fact of its occurrence. "For some time before his death," says Sir John Hawkins, (speaking on the testimony of the attending physician,)" all his fears were calmed and absorbed by the prevalence of his faith, and his trust in the merits and propitiation of Jesus Christ. He talked to me often about the necessity of faith in the sacrifice of Jesus, as necessary beyond all good works whatever, for the salvation of mankind." The result of this spiritual change in the mind of Johnson was such as might reasonably be expected, producing in him feelings of deep humiliation before God, and an anxious concern for the salvation of others, and presenting everything connected with his soul's interests in a new light. For the physician who most kindly and watchfully attended him to the last, but respecting whose religious opinions (now that his own mind had become enlightened,) he had painful apprehensions: 66 Doctor," ," he said, "you are a worthy man and my friend, but I am afraid you are not a Christian! What can I do better for you than offer up, in your presence, a prayer to the great God that you may become a Christian in my sense of the word?"

He afterwards said: "My dear doctor, believe a dying man, there is no salvation but in the sacrifice of the Lamb of God. Go home, write down my prayer, and bring it to me to-morrow.' "" He talked

of his death and funeral at times with great composure, and prayed that God would pardon his long indifference; and, almost with his expiring breath, recorded this as his dying testimony: "I offer up

my soul to the great and merciful God; I offer it full of pollution, but in full assurance that it will be cleansed in the blood of my Redeemer;" and, as it has been well remarked of him by one who for many years enjoyed his confidence, and who was no incompetent judge of such a case, "no action of his life became him like his leaving it."

Such were the last moments of Dr. Johnson; and such the workings of his mind in the prospect of that solemn and important change which he is stated to have so feelingly alluded to not long before it occurred, in the very expressive words, "I am now about to die." It was evident that a most decided change in his spiritual hopes and prospects did occur; that the ground of confidence on which he had long rested-his outward morality and ceremonial regard for religion-altogether failed him; and that he was brought to experience, that nothing short of a personal interest in the Great Sacrifice offered up for the sins of the world, was sufficient to support him in the conflict with the king of terrors, and to give him that hope which his agitated mind required. In whatever light the circumstances be viewed, they must conduct the candid reader to this conclusion, and by consequence to another not less obvious, viz. that the same change which occurred in Dr. Johnson, and the same grace which was sought by him, are equally needed by others. It is not vigour of understanding, extent of reading, even on theological subjects, correctness of moral deportment, strict adherence to forms and modes of worship, or even the zealous defence of them in conversation or from the press, that can bring peace at the last. Multitudes, in different ages and in various ways, have made the trial of these, and have detected their fallacy. The Word of God throughout declares, that "there is no other name under heaven given among men whereby we can be saved," than the name of the Lord Jesus; and that, being justified by faith, we have peace through him.

In the 11th Article of the Church of England it is well observed: "Wherefore, that we are justified by faith only, is a rost wholesome doctrine, and very full or comfort.' Johnson was very conscientiously attached to that church in which he had been educated and had spent his life. He was constant in his attendance on its services, and regularly at the Lord's table there; but yet, when