"It is not unnatural for you, Thomas, to have such thoughts and fears, and to a certain extent it is right. No doubt it is well that you should distrust yourself, but neither the consciousness of your present weakness, nor your fears as to the future, should rob you of that calm peace which flows from an entire trust in God. Try to think of Him more than you have ever yet done, and to realise Him to yourself, as your Father-your offended Father indeed, Whom you have displeased and disobeyed, but nevertheless your Father still,-confess to Him your past sins; confess to Him also your fears for the time to come; throw yourself entirely on His love and mercy; and be sure that He loves and cares for you-that He looks graciously upon you and pities your weakness, and will strengthen you in all your trials. If He gives you grace to surrender yourself entirely to Him, it is your duty to trust in His mercy, and to put down all anxious forebodings about the future. At the same time I wish to say, that I think it very likely, Thomas, that you would find it a great relief and help if you were to unburden yourself a little more freely to me. You know that when persons are sick, be their complaint ever so distressing, they do not mind describing it, as correctly as they can, to their doctor: they feel that they must tell him all, in order that he be able to prescribe for them. Now very much in the same way it is often a very useful, and, in some cases, even a necessary thing, that, when men's souls are sick and diseased, they should mention their sins particularly to their spiritual physicians, the ministers whom Christ has appointed to be His representatives on earth. It must, indeed, always be a very trying thing to ministers to receive such disclosures; they cannot help feel

may

ing the great and awful responsibility which attaches to them, when they thus stand in God's place, and have the secret sins of their fellowmen laid open before them. But it is a part of their high and holy office, and they cannot shrink from it; and in some cases it is their duty even to recommend it, as you may see from that part of the notice of Holy Communion, in which the Church says, 'And because it is necessary that no man should come to the Holy Communion, but with a full trust in God's mercy, and with a quiet conscience; therefore, if there be any of you, who by this means cannot quiet his own conscience herein, but requireth further comfort or counsel, let him come to me, or to some other discreet or learned minister of God's word, and open his grief; that by the ministry of God's Holy Word he may receive the benefit of absolution, together with ghostly counsel and advice, to the quieting of his conscience, and avoiding of all scruple and doubtfulness.' I have

not referred to this before, because it is better that a man should come to feel, from his own experience, the benefit of this provision of the Church for the binding up of the broken-hearted. The meaning of this exhortation is plain, that when persons have fallen into any grievous sin, and are in care or distress about themselves, they should be encouraged, if they wish it, to apply to their own or some other minister, to whom they may open their griefs, and from whom they may receive special absolution and such spiritual advice as their case seems to require."

:

"I quite understand it," answered Thomas, "and I have often looked at that notice lately but it makes me tremble to think of telling any one the particulars of my sad and shameful life. I feel as if I could

never make up my mind to it." "Nevertheless, Thomas, I am inclined to believe that it would be very useful for you. You seem to be still in so great fear and anxiety, that you need all the help and comfort that I can give. And it appears to me, that the special private absolution which the Church prescribes in such cases, and which brings God's general promises of pardon and acceptance home to the heart and conscience of the particular penitent, is just what you need to assure and cheer you and you can yourself understand how much better able I shall be to advise and help you as to the future, if I know the particulars of your danger. But you must not think of me personally. The great thing for you to remember is, that I am Christ's minister, sent to you in His Name. It is to Him you make known your sorrows; and He has said, 'Whoso cometh unto Me, I will in no wise cast out.' Be your burden ever so great, He will not reject you; but if you sincerely desire to be delivered from it, He will, by my ministry, speak peace to your soul. And I wish you particularly to take notice what a proof it is of God's love and compassion towards penitent sinners, that He should have appointed these ministers, ministers of reconciliation,' as they are called, to stand in His place here on earth, and forgive in His Name the sins of those who truly repent. And I can assure you that very many persons have found it a great help and benefit to disclose their wounds to their spiritual Physician, and have them bound up by him in Christ's name."

"I dare say that it is so," said Thomas; "I am sure that it would be a relief to me, if I had but faith and courage for it: and I sometimes think that it is a proof that I am not really sorry for my sins, because I am not willing to bear the shame of telling them to you."

"I have no doubt," said Mr. Pearson, "that such opening of the heart is a very wholesome and profitable discipline; and where a man is very much oppressed with the burden of his sins, I think, as I said before, that it will be a very great help and benefit to him. But I wish you, my dear Thomas, to do exactly what you think will be best for yourself. If, on further consideration, it seems to you advisable to make use of me in this great work, of course I will gladly give you what help I can. And I need not say that I shall hold entirely sacred whatever you may tell me about yourself. I could never speak of it to any one: I dare not do it, indeed I am under a solemn promise never to reveal what I am thus told, without the person's consent; so, Thomas, do not on that account be afraid to tell me all remember you must not, knowingly or wilfully, keep back any thing of consequence, if you do you will get no benefit from the Church's absolution, but will only be more miserable. Think the matter over; and, whatever your decision may be, I have no doubt that it will be for the best."

Mr. Pearson then took his leave: but it was not long before Thomas sought him again, having made up his mind to lay his whole case before him; and it was arranged that he should go down to the Vicarage the next Friday morning at 7 o'clock. The intervening days were anxious days to Thomas. The whole work of self-examination, which had occupied him so much of late, was new and strange to him, and it had at times almost overwhelmed him; but he was upheld by the thought, that he was putting himself, as far as he could, in the way of God's grace, and doing the thing which God would have him do, in order to forgiveness. He went over his questions again, in order that he might be able to give a true account

of himself: and his continual prayer was (in the words of the Ash-Wednesday Collect, which Mr. Pearson had especially recommended to him), that God would create in him a new and contrite heart, that, worthily lamenting his sins, and acknowledging his wretchedness, he might obtain of Him, the God of all mercy, perfect remission and forgiveness.

It was with a throbbing heart that Thomas left his home that Friday morning. His sense of shame seemed to increase as the time drew near, and he almost wondered at himself for being so determined to carry through his purpose; but One stronger than man was with him, and the thought of His pardon and blessing came in to cheer him in his distress. His whole thoughts were taken up with the matter in which he was engaged; so that he scarcely even noticed the few persons whom he passed on his way.

There was more than kindness in

Mr. Pearson's manner. He, too, seemed to feel the deep solemnity of the occasion, and his calmness soothed and comforted poor Thomas. After a few short prayers, he proceeded, by Mr. Pearson's desire, to read the paper which he had prepared. The words almost choaked him; but still he went on, laying open in simple, straight-forward language, as in the immediate presence of the heart-searching God, the sins of his past life. It was a great relief to him when he had finished; and when Mr. Pearson rose up, and laying his hand upon his head, pronounced the solemn words, 'By His authority committed unto me, I absolve thee from all thy sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost,' his whole heart thrilled with joy and thankfulness. He received them as Christ's Own sentence of pardon and acceptance. He could not but hope joyfully, though very

humbly, not only that angels were rejoicing over him, but that the Lord of angels, the Good Shepherd Himself, was carrying him on His shoulders, and entering with him into the Fold. And how earnestly did he pray that he might have grace to continue there, and that the remembrance of that solemn hour, sweet and fragrant as it was, might remain with him all his life.

AN EXPERIMENT.

"Let any one that hath a due sense of religion, and a real desire of happiness, let such a one make trial of our Church but for one year, let him constantly read the Scriptures in the method that she prescribes, let him constantly use the Common Prayer according to her directions, let him constantly observe all her fasts and holy-days, let him receive the Sacrament as often as she is ready to administer it, and perform whatsoever else she hath been pleased to command,-let any man, I say, do this, and then let him be against our Church if he can. I am confident he cannot. But our misery is, that none of those who are out of the Church, and but few of those who are in it, will make the experiment, and that is the reason that those are so violent against her, and these so indifferent to her."-Bp. Beveridge.

FAITH.

"The means by which we obtain salvation, is faith; which, as it showeth us both our disease and our physician, inclineth us to pray to the latter, for a cure of the former. Prayer is one gift of God, and every other gift is obtained by it."-Bishop Horne.

THE EMIGRANT.

In a far distant southern land
A stranger chanced to roam,
Who to its ocean-beaten strand

Some thousand leagues had come. Self-exiled from old England's shore, He crossed the boundless sea,

And ran the earth's circumference o'er
In search of liberty.

For e'en on Albion's favoured soil
Where freedom rears her throne,
Care-harrassed millions, slaves of toil,
In bitter bondage groan.
Soon in the ever-verdant* woods
With hopeful step he bounds,
And through the Austral solitudes
His ringing axe resounds.
Trembling beneath his sturdy blows
The quivering giants fall,
While to its rude completion grows
The log-hut's humble wall.

THE VINE.

A mantling vine, the hamlet's pride,
His ancient home o'ergrew,
And round the lowly cottage-side
Its tangled branches threw.

In sportive boyhood's hour of prime
He loved its pleasant shade,
Nor loved it less as sobering Time

Silvered his manly head.

And now therefrom a severed shoot,
Cherished like sacred spoil
From Holy Land, is taking root
In strange uncultured soil.

In the strange soil and clime, at first
The sap refus'd to flow,

But soon the swelling buds out-burst,

And vig'rous life foreshew.

Deep in the rich and virgin mould

The greedy fibres run, While broad, luxuriant leaves unfold Their verdure to the sun. In wild profusion o'er the wall

The straggling tendrils fling Their clasping spirals, wherewithal The brittle branchlets cling

Australian trees are evergr een

To every rough projecting knot,
And every gaping cleft,
Which on the face of that rude cot
Unskilful builders left.

On trellised porch her hands she laid
And to its lattice clung,
Whereon her dancing foliage played,
And luscious clusters hung.

She threw her fond, embracing arms
Roof, gable, wall, around,

And, bending low with countless charms Caressed the fertile ground.

But not for luscious fruit alone

Or barren loveliness,

Hath she around that cottage thrown
Her living emerald dress.

The blistering sun essayed to pierce
That leafy robe in vain,

And with vain pelting, idly fierce,

Rattled the monsoon's rain.

And when her summer-pride had flown Whither all fair things fly,

And leaves and fruit were dead and gone, As they will ever die;

Then, as beneath the wintry heaven

The eddying whirlwinds curled,
And to the storm-fiend's power was given
For sport, this crazy world;

When cracking forest-trees, up-torn,
Bestrewed the ravaged ground,

And splintered boughs,-like feathers borne

On high, at sea were found;
When panic-stricken nature lay

All paralyzed with fear,
As if at length her dying day,

Storm-heralded, drew near;
When mountain and unyielding rock
Beneath the tempest quailed,
That fragile hut survived the shock,
Nor in the trial failed!

And why? because its loving vine
Fast anchored in the ground
By hidden roots, did close entwine
And hold it safely bound!

APPLICATION.

And can the varied forms of life.
Supply a happier sign,
Of the true heart of faithful wife
Than this, my Fancy's viue?

Transplanted from its parent soil,

Its timid roots are found

To shrink, not seldom, and recoil
From strange unwonted ground.
And for a while refuse to shew

Symptom or sign of life,
Till in some joyful hour, we know

That love therein is rife !
Thenceforward, from its hidden store
The trusting heart o'erflows:

Love ventures out, and more and more
Its soothing influence throws
(Like that of vine-leaves' tremulous shade,
In summer's scorching noon,
Or, lucid clusters overhead,
Hanging in gay festoons.)

Around the rough and rugged soul;

An influence calm and pure, That can his wayward will control, And to all good allure.

The breath of a malicious world

That holy charm can foil;
And poisoned darts by envy hurled
Harmless therefrom recoil.

And when these accidents of bliss,

Ills of a summer hour,-
Give place to dire adversities,

Then, with a witching power,
In brighter, happier days unknown,
It so enwraps us round,

That when the howling storm is gone

We all unscathed are found!

How oft when man, the strong, the proud,
Falls crushed beneath the rod,
Weak woman hath but humbly bowed,
And owned a chastening God!
Raising her prostrate, helpless lord
From wallowing in the dust,

And teaching him, from God's own Word,
To hope, believe, and trust.

BY THE SEA-SIDE.

W. I. E.

A patient boat that rocks from morn till

eve

Like Hope upon the surges of Despair, Making no way, while the faint treacherous air

Sighs near it, and the helpless waters heave!

And round it, like a pageant drest in scorn,

The solemn changes of the sky expand; Pavements of glory spread by seraph

hand,

For bounding footsteps of Etherial Morn.

Or tapestries of dim transparent white Veiling the lucent long cloud avenues,Where the eye lingers through a thousand hues

Up to the purple shrines and deeps of light.

Or stormy bastions, from whose banners riven,

Glides the broad silver to the darkened

sea;

Or moonlight dropping like a melody In softest measures through the musing heaven;

These and a thousand more pass by-and yet

The fisher sees them not, or if he sees Folds but his weary arms upon his

knees,

And counts the hours till he may draw his net.

Yet through the soul-less toil a heart must beat,

For Love and Prayer keep watch for him on land,

And when the slow keel grinds along the sand,

What eyes shall sparkle, and what steps shall greet!

Ah, friends! if God assign a lonely lot,
If far-off blisses beckon us in vain,
And cares are on our spirit like a
chain,

Still let us do our work and murmur not,

Beset by these, and unconsoled by those; For through the dreary labour and the

strife,

We see afar the Love that watches life, The welcome and the rest that wait its close!