pain, full of health and activity, clothed with beauty and righteousness, exactly like the glorified body of my Redeemer. For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality." O Lord, Thou art my God, my times are in Thy hand; make Thy face to shine on Thy servant. Save me, for Thy mercy's sake. Be pleased to increase my faith, enlarge my hopes, pardon all my sins, and cleanse me from all unrighteousness. Perfect my repentance, that I may be delivered from the fear of death. Say unto my soul, I am thy salvation. O blessed Lord, for the time that Thou seest proper to continue this sore trial, O gracious Father, according to Thy rich mercy, be pleased to support and comfort me in my affliction. Make me obedient to Thy holy will, with holiness, gratitude, hope and peace, that I may glorify Thee on earth, and finish the work Thou hast given me to do, and at length exclaim, as my blessed Saviour did on the cross, It is finished.' Grant this, O Lord, for Thy mercy's sake, and through the merits of Jesus Christ, my Redeemer. Amen.

"March 23rd, 1850."

"E. M."

138

CHAP. VIII.

"First seek thy Saviour out and dwell
Beneath the shadow of His roof,
Till thou hast scanned His features well,
And know Him for the Christ by proof.

"Then potent with the spell of Heaven,
Go, and thy erring brother gain;
Entice him home to be forgiven,

Till he, too, see his Saviour plain."

CHRISTIAN Year.

IT was the boast of the Roman lyrist that he had raised to his own fame a monument more enduring than brass, more lofty than Egypt's pyramids, superior alike to the rage of storms and the wear of time. He claimed for his songs the homage of ages, and the generations of men have justified his boast. The laurels of Horace are still green. But with all this the foundations of his monument are unsound, and his leafy crown will not survive the test of that fire which

is to try the work of every man.

The songs of

his lyre will not blend with the harmonies of heaven. Alas! the graceful but heathen bard knew not that true honour which cometh from God only. He wrote for man, and he wrought for man's applause, and his works betray their object and their motive. But there is an honour which cometh from God. Its subject is the soul that turns others to righteousness. Its nature is the approbation of Him, who sits upon the throne of His glory. Its form is "well done, good and faithful servant." This is true honour. This will last, because the work which achieved it can never perish. When His awful lips, therefore, shall utter that meed of praise, it will endure for ever; for while heaven and earth shall pass away, His words shall not pass away. Would the

reader not live in vain? Let him write his name on the heart of some sinner whom he "has converted from the error of his ways," that when that restored one shall be set up as a pillar in the house of his God, his work may be had in everlasting remembrance. This is glory. Ah, how vain is all beside! Could the earth itself be our monument, it could not perpetuate our fame. Something more is wanting, and that is the living

witness. It is not marble then, nor brass, nor human memories, that can preserve the record of our life. God's word is glory, and there is none besides.

"As He pronounces lastly on each deed,

Of so much fame in Heaven expect thy meed."

Here, then, is a field of honour open to us all. Into these lists all may enter. It is the contest of good and the struggle of usefulness, holiness contending with sin, and mercy with sorrow. But we must enter fully armed, and duly exercised in the use of our weapons. Ere we can undertake this combat we must assay our armour. In other words, we must understand by experience in ourselves the work which we would promote in others.

The name of E. M. is inscribed upon one heart at least, and that, Her Father's. He stands for ever, the monument of her filial piety, and of her patience of faith. To these virtues in his child, by the grace of God, Isaac M. owed his conver

sion.

The state of her father was at all times a subject of the deepest interest to Emma, and thus, when asked on one occasion, at what time she began to feel anxious about his spiritual welfare, she replied, "I prayed for father from the time that I found peace for myself," adding, thoughtfully and

slowly, "I found father clinging to one sinthis is why I prayed;" and very touching is the earnestness with which she pursued her task of love. For two whole years, at every hour of consciousness, and at every time when the overtasked body, weary of its own struggles, was quiet, she entreated God to have compassion on her father. True to the instincts of her new nature, and "potent with the spell of Heaven," she importuned again and again till her request was granted. It was in the year 1846 that God awakened her soul to a sense of its own necessities. In 1847, He gave the peace for which she was pining, and in that same year, and as if in remembrance of the lesson of Andrew and Philip, she began to pray for the conversion of her father. It was a sorrowful watch, that season of consciousness. She sat at the door of Hope and often thought that she heard the footfall of Him that was to open it, but she was as often disappointed. Her father's sin was a strong one, and not easily overcome. Emma, though a girl of quiet, gentle and sedate mind, was yet a person of considerable firmness and even of ardour, when her sympathies and affections were strongly enlisted. Many of her letters demonstrate this.