either declared or implied in the text of Scripture quoted above, we present our readers with the following sad but true story.

It was one of those delightful evenings in spring so well known in the south-west of England, and on which the exile's memory still loves to dwell. The setting sun was yet lingering in the western horizon, shedding his mild rays of glory o'er the lovely landscape, and imparting a mellow lustre to the face of nature. The celestial canopy overhead was of the deepest azure, whilst here and there a light fleecy cloud, tinged with golden hues, added a still greater charm to the vault of heaven. The verdant meadows were dotted over with a gay variety of flowers newly blown. The young corn looked fresh and beautiful in the fields. The green foliage of the forest, glittering in the sunshine like wavy trellises inwrought with emeralds, had just burst forth into new life and verdure. From each sylvan bower the feathered songsters poured forth their sweetest melodies, and on every gentle zephyr were borne the choicest perfumes. It was moreover Sabbath evening, and all around was hushed into that calm and silent repose so favourable to devotional feeling. Everything which met the eye, saluted the ear, or regaled the senses, seemed to say, This is the day of rest. Enjoy, O man, communion with thy God!" From a gently rising eminence might have been seen a small but neat chapel, to which, with feelings of unalloyed pleasure and devout gratitude, not a few persons could point and say, "There we were taught the way to heaven!" On several roads leading from this retired house of prayer might also have been seen the little band of humble worshippers, now scattered, and quietly wending their way towards their respective homes. A party of these were engaged in "talking by the way" respecting the gospel truths on which their souls had been feasting. The Minister was not what most people would call a learned man, but he had learnt "the wisdom which cometh from above," and his labours were eminently successful in bringing souls to Christ. On the evening in question he had preached a solemn, impressive, and heart-searching sermon, which God had owned and blessed. It was doubtless a fair specimen of his usual mode of sermonizing. There were no highsounding phrases, far-fetched expressions, studied ornament, or rhetorical display of parts and learning. Nor was there in his discourse that strict attention to order and method, which not unfrequently "eats out" the life of a sermon. Still there were not wanting deep thought, originality of conception, or correctness of expression. He preached the truth of God in all its native

simplicity and majesty. And this was delivered with that earnestness, pathos, and perspicuity, in which lies the secret of true eloquencewhilst a Divine unction imparted efficacy to the truths delivered. Near to this party, and listening to their conversation, might have been seen a young man who from childhood had been a regular attendant at the means of grace, and who in early life had also been a member of the village sabbath school. Though not indulging in a vicious or profane course of living, and outwardly moral, he had never experienced a change of heart. Often had he felt and admitted the necessity of seeking an interest in Christ, and of consecrating himself to the service of God; but as often did he drown the voice of conscience, and grieve the Holy Spirit who strove with him. On the evening referred to, whilst listening to the earnest appeals addressed to him by Christ's ambassador, be was deeply convinced of his sinful condition, and now with tears of penitence he openly lamented his folly, and expressed his determination by God's help to seek the salvation of his soul, and unite himself to the people of God. It was evident that the Divine Spirit had wrought powerfully on his mind. For awhile he continued to evince deep interest in the things which constitute man's present and eternal happiness, and great hopes were entertained that he would become a sincere follower of the Saviour. But alas! for human hopes; by degrees he sunk into carelessness and indif. ference. All his anxious and serious impressions passed away like the early cloud." His good resolutions were broken, and he not only relapsed into his former ungodly state, but became an open notorious sinner.

The joyous season of Spring had passed away. Summer with its sultry days had been succeeded by the milder skies of Autumn. The gardens and orchards glowed with a rich profusion of delicious fruits, and the fields were crowned with waving crops of golden grain. It was the season for bustle and activity both at home and abroad. These were, however, for awhile suspended, for it was the Sabbath, and both man and beast seemed to enjoy that respite from labour so wisely allotted them by their benevolent Creator. The worshippers of God were again assembled in the house of prayer. The minister spake with no ordinary amount of pathos and fervour, whilst an unusual degree of solemnity pervaded the whole assembly. In one of the pews might have been seen a family clad in deep mourning, and proceeding from thence sobs, as of those stricken with overwhelming grief, were distinctly audible. The text selected for the occasion was Eccles. xii. 1. "Remember

now thy Creator in the days of thy youth." After a brief discussion, the minister recounted several instances of happy attention to this divine precept; contrasting these with others where a neglect of so doing had been followed by disastrous consequences. In applying the whole, he took occasion to advert to a melancholy incident with which they were all familiar,-that of a young man who only a few days previous had been somewhat suddenly removed by death from amongst them, without leaving his christian friends any ground for hoping that he had ever obeyed this divine injunction. It was the young man referred to above, with whom the Spirit of God had so graciously striven. Whilst pursuing his course of sinful rebellion against God, and contempt of his longsuffering mercy, he was suddenly prostrated by an attack of typhus fever. He seemed from the first to be impressed with a presentiment that the disease would prove fatal, and his anguish of mind, in view of the approach of death and an awful eternity beyond, was more than he could express. As the fever gained strength, he lost the power of reason; but there were intervals of returning consciousness, particularly a short time before his death, which told too plainly the agony of despair that raged within his breast. Still there were no marks of true penitence, nor any signs of a disposition to seek for the converting grace of God. After lingering only a few days, and suffering most acutely both in mind and body, he closed his eyes in death. The body was consigned to the tomb, and the soul ushered into the presence of God, to answer for a life spent in sin, and in neglect of Christ's salvation.

Reader, are you like this young man sinning against God, and despising or slighting his proffered mercy? O beware! lest like him you be cut off without hope. Remember God has said, “My Spirit shall not always strive with man." You may be summoned away before the morrow's dawn, and if you are found in an unconverted state, language cannot express, nor imagination conceive, the awful amount of misery which awaits you. Seek then without delay the converting, pardoning, and sanctifying grace of God. Go with humble penitence to the Lord Jesus Christ, confessing your sins and imploring forgiveness through the merits of his blood and righteousness. Persevere in earnest prayer until God's Spirit witnesses with your's that you have become his adopted child. So shall you be delivered from the guilt and power of sin, be made happy in the enjoyment of a Saviour's love, be enabled to meet death with composure, and celebrate for ever in heaven the praises of HIM who snatched you as a brand from the burning!

WATTS AND WHITEFIELD.

GEORGE WHITEFIELD was an eloquent revival preacher. You know the name of DR. WATTS, for you are singing his delightful hymns every sabbath.

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Little more than half an hour before Dr. Watts expired, he was visited by his dear friend, Mr. Whitefield. The latter asking him, 'How he found himself?' the dying doctor answered, Here I am, one of Christ's waiting servants.' Soon after, a medicine was brought in; and Mr. Whitefield assisted in raising him up in the bed, that he might with more convenience take the draught. On the doctor's apologizing for the trouble he gave Mr. Whitefield, the latter replied, with his usual amiable politeness, Surely, my dear brother, I am not too good to wait on a waiting servant of Christ!' Soon after, Mr. Whitefield took his leave; and often regretted after that he had not prolonged his visit, which he would certainly have done, could he have foreseen that his friend was but within half an hour's distance from the kingdom of glory. Dr. Jennings has preserved a few of Dr. Watts's dying sayings, as the following: 'I bless God,' said the ripening saint, 'I can lie down with comfort at night, unsolicitous whether I wake in this world or another!' His faith in the promises was lively and unshaken: 'I believe them enough to venture an ETERNITY on them!' Once to a religious friend he expressed himself thus: 'I remember, an aged minister used to say, that the most learned and knowing christians, when they come to die, have only the same plain promises for their support as the common and unlearned. And so,' continued the doctor, I find it. "Tis the PLAIN PROMISES of the gospel that are my support; and, I bless God, they ARE plain promises, which do not require much labour and pains to understand them: for I can do nothing now, but look into my Bible for some promise to support me, and live upon that.' On feeling any temptations to complain, he would remark, The business of a christian is to BEAR the will of God, as well as to Do it. If I were in health, I could only be doing that: and that I may do now. The best thing in obedience is a regard to the will of God: and the way to that, is to get our inclinations and aversions as much mortified as we can.”

And thus peacefully and hopefully this eminent servant of Christ departed, realizing one of his own many beautiful verses

"Thus while I feel my heart-strings break,

How sweet my minutes roll;

A mortal paleness on my cheek,

But glory in my soul!"

COWPER'S DREAM OF MILTON.

COWPER, the poet, writing to his poetic friend, HAYLEY, related this singular dream :

"What would you give to have such a dream about Milton as I had about a week since? I dreamed that being in a house in the city, and with much company, looking towards the lower end of the room from the upper end of it, I descried a figure, which I immediately knew to be Milton's. He was very gravely but very neatly attired in the fashion of his day, and had a countenance which filled me with those feelings that an affectionate child has for a beloved father; such, for instance, as Tom has for you. My first thought was wonder where he could have been concealed so many years; my second, a transport of joy to find him still alive; my third, another transport to find myself in his company; and my fourth, a resolution to accost him. I did so, and he received me with a complacence in which I saw equal sweetness and dignity. I spoke of his 'Paradise Lost' as every man must who is worthy to speak of it at all, and told him a long story of the manner in which it affected me when I first discovered it, being at that time a school-boy. He answered me by a smile and a gentle inclination of his head. He then grasped my hand affectionately, and, with a smile that charmed me, said, 'Well, you for your part will do well also.' At last recollecting his great age (for I understood him to be two hundred years old), I feared that I might fatigue him by too much talking, I took my leave, and he took his, with an air of the most perfect good-breeding. His person, his features, his manner, were all so perfectly characteristic, that I am persuaded an apparition of him could not represent him more completely."

DREAMING OF HEAVEN.

OH! come and refresh me, sweet sleep,
On my eyelids thy dewy balm pour;

Come lay me in slumber, soft, soothing, and deep,
As oft thou hast soothed me before.

Then waft me to yonder fair land,

The abode of the holy and true;

In dreams let me gaze on its glorified band,
And their white robes and waving palms view.

Oh yes! I would view the blest scene,
Though only in vision 'twere shown:

Come bear me away, then, ye hovering dreams,
And give me to know the unknown.