In striking contrast is the death of Christian men.

JOHN ELIOT, the missionary to the Indians, dying in his eighty-sixth year, exclaimed, "Welcome-joy !"

DAVID BRAINERD said: 66 My work is done. Oh, to be in heaven, to praise and glorify God with his holy angels!" AUGUSTUS TOPLADY said: “Oh, my dear sir, I cannot tell the comforts I feel in my soul; they are past expression. The consolations of God are so abundant that he leaves me nothing to pray for. My prayers are all converted into praise. I enjoy a heaven already in my soul. No mortal can live after the glories which God has manifested to me."

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DR. PAYSON said: "The celestial city is full in my view. Its glories beam upon me; its sounds strike upon my ear." JOHN WESLEY said: Eighty-seven years have I sojourned on this earth, endeavouring to do good. I am a wonder to myself. Is anything too hard for God? However, blessed be God, I do not slack my labours ;" and thus he continued to live, and labour, and rejoice, until

"The weary springs of life stood still."

ARCHIBALD ALEXANDER said: "The Lord has very graciously and tenderly led me all the days of my life, and he is with me still. In him I enjoy perfect peace." MARTIN LUTHER said upon his dying bed: "O my heavenly Father, eternal and merciful God, thou hast revealed to me thy Son, our Lord Jesus Christ; I have preached him; I have confessed him; I love him; and I worship him as my dearest Saviour and Redeemer. Into thy hands I commit my spirit; God of truth, God of truth, thou hast redeemed me."

PHILIP DODDRIDGE, among the last evidences he gave of his love to the Christian religion, said: "I have no hope in what I have been or done. Yet I am full of confidence; and this is my confidence: there is a hope set before me; I have fled, I still fly, for refuge to that hope. In him I trust; in him I have strong consolation, and shall assuredly be accepted in this Beloved of my soul. The spirit of

adoption is given me, enabling me to cry, Abba, Father. I have not a doubt of my being a child of God; and that life and death, and all my present exercises, are directed in mercy by my adored heavenly Father."

ST. PAUL says: "I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith; henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at that day; and not to me only, but unto all them also that love his appearing." And this is the exulting song penned by him for every believer :—“When this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Thus has it been with thousands who have given evidence of the sufficiency and sustaining power of the Christian religion in the trying hour of death. Thus has it been with our fathers and mothers and friends. A song of joy has been sung by them, when their pilgrimage was through persecution and privations, and pains and anguish, and storms of deepest sorrow. When overhanging clouds prevailed, when sorrow stung the heart, when all was dark and cheerless, and the Sun of righteousness appeared to hide his face, the wounded soul of the Christian looked up through tears, and cried, "My Father and my God." In the vale of death, the child of God has been enabled to rejoice in the prospect of a glorious immortality; light has beamed upon him, and an indescribable glory has surrounded him. Faith has triumphed over fear and doubt, until the soul has overflowed with inexpressible delight, and the death-scene has been, to the child of grace, one of ineffable delight.

THE believer is entitled to more than he knows, and more than he has courage to claim,

Do cares flow in from every quarter? Your God bids you cast them all upon him; and says, Why are ye distrustful? Be not anxiously careful.

Always act as if you believed God was present, and that you must give an account to him.

If your circumstances are bad, consider how much worse they would be if they were as bad as you deserve.

What wonderful condescension! God beseeches me to be reconciled to him!

What a mystery, that a worm of the earth should be one with incarnate Deity!

Christ is the great object of attraction to heaven and earth: the Father loves him; angels adore him; and saints place their confidence in him.

Never expect God's blessing but in the use of the means which he has appointed: he says, "I will be inquired of."

There is but one place of rest for the human mind, and that is on the Rock, Christ.

There is a fountain of blood to cleanse your souls, and a fountain of supply to fill your souls.

Heaven is your home, therefore often think about it: tribulation is your lot, therefore daily expect it.

Christ died to save you from the sword of justice, but not from the rod

of mercy.

Two Houses.

AN ALLEGORY.

TRANGE, I thought, passing strange! and the more I revolved the subject in my mind, the sadder and stranger did it appear. It was one of those startling incongruities which affect the mind with sadness.

-1. I had

It was my first walk through the village of Mgone but a little way when my attention was caught by the decorated exterior of a detached dwelling-house, built for, and inhabited by, a single occupant. There was everything in the building itself to attract and please the eye-a graceful symmetry of proportion, and a harmony of colouring,—and care had evidently been bestowed to have all the accessories in perfect taste. The roof of shining golden brown thatch was tastefully confined with bands of ornamental plaiting; the long fringed blinds which shaded the windows rose and fell with noiseless precision, while the principal door, more often than not half open, showed an entrance hall garnished with crimson and ivory. The walls, which were of white and pink alabaster and of marvellous construction, were greatly concealed by festoons of variegated creepers which hung with studied negligence and trailed gracefully on the ground.

So beautiful a dwelling awoke in me a half envious thought. How happy I could be in such a home! in comparison with which my own was rough and unattractive. How blest its occupant must be! and, doubtless, how refined and lovely! I passed and repassed many times, hoping to gain an interview. It was long before I did; and then how great was the disappointment when, through the windows, I caught a passing glimpse of a restless, unhappy being.

So neglected did the poor creature appear, so strangely in contrast with the exterior I had been admiring, that I hardly credited my senses. But a nearer acquaintance only confirmed the sad impression.

At the open door we entered into conversation, and I dis

covered the poor being to be as ignorant as she was uncared for. Her clothing was ragged and soiled, but she seemed unconscious of its wretchedness; her language, partly childish, was at times profane; and a self-satisfied pride seemed to struggle with discontent and yearning.

It was a melancholy sight, and my heart felt heavy with regret.

I found, moreover, that the tenure of the house was most uncertain: the beautiful fabric had a natural tendency to decay, which no amount of care could arrest for more than a time; that a shock of earthquake or a severe storm of wind might level it in a moment, and then the poor inmate must go out, naked and friendless, to find another home she knew not where ! Yet this uncertainty seemed to cause her no anxiety !

Such apathy, such want of common forethought, would have roused me to anger but for the feeling of deep pity which possessed me. Here were time, taste, and energy expended on a dwelling which could, at best, house its possessor but a short, uncertain time; while the poor inmate herself, rational and immortal, was content to grovel in ignorance and delusion. I ventured to put some of these reflections into words, but they made no impression; or if any, I judged by the lowering blinds and closing door, that the subject was a distasteful one.

I was fain to turn away, grieved and sad at heart; too sad to pursue my researches any further, and filled with grave and puzzling reflections.

In the next day's walk I became aware that I was surrounded with detached dwellings of a similar kind, though varying greatly in appearance. Few were so attractive as the one which first caught my eye; many were unornamental; some uninviting. Very many bore traces of decay, which much pains had been taken to conceal or to remedy. Each one seemed to be an object of solicitude to its occupant, and few betrayed actual neglect.

One dwarfed, unpicturesque building I should have passed