ON EARTHLY TRIALS.

I SUPPOSE, with regard to the love of rural scenery, it is much the same with my neighbours as with myself; for among the endless variety, the countless grades and shades of disposition among mankind, every one breathes the fresh air of heaven with pleasure; every one gazes on the beauties of creation with some degree of delight.

The spring and summer breezes always set my heart beating. They make me long to be wandering on the furze-clad common, to linger on the skirt of the coppice, and to gather primroses in the secluded dell. The spirit of the country seems to beckon me abroad, and I cannot help revelling in my fancy among knolly green fields and retired lanes, woods, and waterfalls.

When Old Humphrey is once surrounded by elms, gnarled oaks, hedges, and rural scenes, rich with vegetation, furze, broom, and blackberry brier, chickweed, hayriff, thistle, nettletop, and dandelion; when the mossy green grass is cool under his feet, and the sunlit clouds are bright

above his head, his heart dances for joy. All things around him are then felt, indeed, to be the gifts of God, and he pants, as the hart after the water brooks, to show forth his thankfulness,

No wonder, when spring and summer bring out the verdure and beauty of shrubs and flowers; when they wake the insect tribes to animated life, and call forth the song of joy from the warbling birds, that the heart of man should join the jubilee of creation. Again I say, when the breezes of spring and summer blow, the spirit of the country beckons me abroad.

It was at an early hour the other day that I wandered forth, enjoying the wondrous beauty of the earth and skies. I turned along a retired path, a sort of bridle-way, but little used, except by the owners of the adjoining fields, and by a band of bird-catchers, who have been long accustomed to lime their twigs, to place their cages, and to spread their nets there. Now and then, a solitary rambler, like myself, may be seen with a book in his hand, seeking the privacy that the place affords; but with these exceptions, the spot is little frequented; no wonder that the green grass flourishes there in abundance.

In this secluded place, an ass and a horse were grazing. The ass, poor thing, was blind, and the horse seemed to be as heavily afflicted as his

lowly companion. No doubt he was the wreck of what he had once been; he had neighed and snorted, and arched his proud neck, in his time, and rattled over the ground at a rapid rate. He had, doubtless, been petted and patted, and currycombed, and corned, as horses are when they possess beauty, when their necks are clothed with thunder, and their hoofs are shod with speed; but these things were all over with him. The summer of his life was gone, and his high hips, broken knees, rueful coat, and ribs that might be counted, told a sorrowful tale.

I stood for some time looking at him, as he eagerly tore away the fresh grass from the green turf; but it was neither his high hips, his broken knees, his bare ribs, nor his rueful coat that made me gaze on him with interest. One of his hind legs was sorely diseased. Whether occasioned by ill-usage, hard work, or accident, I cannot say; but he could not set his foot to the ground. Even while he was grazing, he kept raising his diseased limb to an unusual height, evidently in a state of suffering; hardly could he limp forward when he had closely cropped the herbage within his reach; and when he did so, he laid back his ears, showed the white of his eyes, and exposed his fore teeth, in a way that spoke eloquently of pain. Poor wretch!

thought I; but his days are numbered, his trials are almost over. It is but for a time. It will not be so always.

The poor animal, it is true, had only bodily pain to endure he had no wants to provide for, no yearnings after life, at least I suppose not, and no fearful forebodings of death; and therefore he was mercifully dealt with in the midst of his misery; but the only solid satisfaction that I could fall back upon was what I have already expressed the reflection, It will not be so always.

This little incident set me thinking on the sorrows of the animal creation, and then on the afflictions of mankind. It was not in a merely sentimental mood that I mused on human trials. No! a strong spirit of affection for my species, of tender compassion for all that mourn, came over me, and my heart yearned to pour oil and balm into the wounds of the stricken, and to bind up all that were bruised and broken.

Why there should be so much sin and suffering in the world has been a puzzling question to many a wiser head than mine. This is a shadowy page in God's providence, that I have pondered with pain. I have mused and mourned over it, and blurred and blotted it with my tears. There are gracious passages in the word of God, however, that throw some light on this dark subject, though

it is sometimes awfully mysterious; and there is much consolation afforded to my mind by the conviction, It will not be so always.

Always! no! Time is but a span, a speck; and the gloom of the Christian will give way to glory. Shadows shall be exchanged for sunshine, pain for pleasure, and temporary grief for eternal joy. If we only believed in the realities of eternity with the same undoubting confidence that we feel as we gaze on the things of sense, then might we smile at calamity, and rejoice in tribulation.

But there is such a thing (I speak feelingly) as being weak in faith. It is well, therefore, to have a few strong points in creation and revelation to fall back upon in seasons of infirmity. When we doubt the power of God, we should gaze on the sun and the moon suspended in the air, and ask if aught but almighty power could hang and uphold them there. And when we doubt the mercy and grace of the Redeemer, we should read over again and again these heart-sustaining texts: "This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners," 1 Tim. i. 15; "He is able also to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by him," Heb. vii. 25.

Far be it from me to draw away the heart of any Christian mourner from the blessed promises