you between the swelling sails, or now in the deep shadow that the sails throw over you. Hear the majestic thing that bears you, breasting and breaking through the waves that oppose themselves to her march! She is moving on alone, on the top of the world, and through the dread solitude of the sea. Nothing is heard, save perhaps, the falling back of a wave, that has been showing its white crest to the moon, or, as your ship is ploughing her way, the rushing of the water along her sides. Yet she seems to care for all that she contains, and to watch, while they sleep as sweetly in her bosom as in their own beds at home; and though she sees no convoy to guard her, and no torch-bearer to guide her, she seems as conscious that she is safe, as she is confident that she is going right. Is not all this a wonder? It is not indeed, immediately, one of "the works of the Lord," nor do we see anything in all creation that is. All the wonderful works that we behold in the sea, or on the shore, are created and made through such instrumentalities and agencies, as to Creative wisdom seem wise and good, and the coral reef, the beaver's dam, the Grecian temple, and the ship-of-war, are as strictly parts of creation, and in their respective places are as truly works of God, as is the cloud, or the volcano, or the globe. In this view, all works of art are works of nature; for the artist has produced each of them by following the impulses of that nature, which has been assigned to him by his Creator; and it is by such considerations as these, that, whether we are contemplating things produced by the medium of lower instrumentalities, or those which have been effected by that of higher agencies, we are led to exclaim with the apostle, "All things are of God!" This ship, then, which travels through the solitary deserts of the sea, is a part of God's great creation, and may be fairly named among the works of the Lord, and enumerated as one of "his wonders of the deep."

But there is at hand another wonder yet, the mysterious but faithful index that points the seaman's way through the

great waters. The magnetic needle, what a wonder, what a miracle is that! By night as truly as by day, in storm as fearlessly as in calm, in winter and in summer alike, this incorruptible and faithful friend may be consulted with more confidence than any human counsellor, than any pagan oracle, by him who is doubtful of his course; and, under its guidance, the wayfarer of the deeps, "though a fool, need not err therein."

What does the civilized world not owe to this single wonder! We may now truly say, in the words of the Wisdom of Solomon, it is, that "thy providence, O Father, hath made a way in the sea, and a safe path through the waves, showing that thou canst save from all danger, yea, though a man went to sea without art. Nevertheless, thou wouldst not that the works of thy wisdom should be idle, and therefore do men commit their lives to a small piece of wood, and passing the rough sea in a weak vessel, are saved."* It is this little piece of iron, imbued with this mysterious power, that binds together the nations of the earth more firmly than they could be bound by "bars of brass and ribs of steel;" for it shows them their common dependence, and it unites them by the ties of mutual benefits. It is this that, under the fostering care of commerce, has borne the Gospel to the distant isles of the sea, and caused the day-star of an immortal hope to rise upon the hearts of millions, who had before been sitting in darkness, as deep and more dreadful than the shadow of death. It is under the guidance of this little wonder that the messengers of God's truth and grace and righteousness have gone forth, till almost all "the habitable parts of the earth” have been visited and blessed by them; so that now the inhabitant of those shores, on which, without its faithful indications, the light of truth, the light of science and hope, might never have shone, when he hails the bark, that bears towards him the

*Wis. of Sol. xiv: 3-5.

Christian teacher, with the treasures of knowledge, - the knowledge of God, and of his mercy, - may exclaim, with a hoiy Jew of old, "Blessed is the wood whereby righteousness cometh ? "*

LESSON XCI.

Blessings of Christianity. -- EPHRAIM PEABODY.

Go abroad in some great city, in the night. Behold, before you, brightly shine the lights in that stately mansion, where Pleasure has collected her votaries. The dance, the song are there, and gay voices, and exultant hearts, and fair features, that fairer in the excitement; and all goes merry as the marriage bell. And most natural and fitting is it that the hearts of the young should glow with vivid pleasure in the whirling and dazzling scenes.

grow

But here is but a part of the scene. At this very moment, within sight of the brilliant windows, within the sound of the rejoicing music, sits, in her dreary room, a widowed mother; and to her frame consumption has brought its feebleness, and to her cheek its flush, and to her eye its unnatural light. Her children sleep around her; and one that ever stirs with the low moanings of disease, slumbers fitfully in the cradle at her foot. Her debilitated frame craves rest; yet, by the light of a solitary lamp, she still plies her needle, that her children may have bread on the morrow. And while her heart swells with anguish, the sound of rejoicing comes on the wind to her silent chamber. Not one of all that gay circle, whose eyes will not close before hers this night. One by one, the wheels that bear them to their homes depart; the sound of mirth and pleasure grows silent in the midnight hours; the lights of the brilliant mansion are extinguished; but still,

Wis. of Sol. xiv: 7.

from her chamber, shines the solitary lamp. The dying mother must toil and watch!

All this, in substance, might have been seen, before Christianity, in Athens or in Rome. But there is something more, which may be seen every day in a Christian city. And it shows how Christianity has modified all social relationssoftening the pride of the high-making those tempted to daily self-indulgence, self-forgetful- and giving hopes, high as heaven, to those that sit in the darkest places of earth.

With the morning, and brighter than its footsteps upon the mountains, behold, one of that gay throng, in the bloom of youth, and fitted to be the idol and envy of gilded drawingrooms, has left her home: she has entered the narrow lane, and opened the door of that obscure chamber. She has gone to sit with this poor widow, to carry her needed aid, to watch for her over her fretful child, and to whisper to her the sweet words of human sympathy. Blessed is she who can thus forget herself, and find her happiness in carrying happiness to those who sit unfriended and alone. And the heart of the lonely mother is warmed by her coming; for, blessed to the desolate is the fresh sympathy of the young and happy! She is no longer alone. They have a common hope. They can bend together before the same Father; they read the same Gospel; they visit the cross together; and together watch at the tomb on the morning of the resurrection.

And when she is again left in her lonely chamber, she is not alone. As her visitor retires, grateful thoughts of human sympathies linger behind, like sunset in the air. The sense of God's kind providence rests on her soul. To her faith the distant are brought near, and the dead live, and await her coming to a better land. Her mind goes forward to the future. She rises above the clouds. Serenely shines the sun. Gently falls the love of God on her heart. Sitting amid trials and darkness, the ruin of earthly prospects, with calm spirit "she builds her hope in heaven"

The prosperity- the adverse fortunes-the joy-the grief- – all this might be seen in every age. It is Christianity that has brought sympathy to the suffering, hope to the bereaved, and resignation to the afflicted; which has brought light to dark hours, and faith in heaven to those that dwell amid the sorrows of earth. It is Christianity that has softened and melted the ice of prosperity — which has smitten that rock, and made it a fountain of living waters to those that dwell in the valleys below.

LESSON XCII.

Heroic Self-denial. -LITERARY GAZETTE.

DARK burned the candle on the table at which the student of divinity was reading in a large book: "It all avails nothing, and nothing will ever come of it," said he fretfully to himself, and closed the volume, "I shall never become a preacher, I may study and tire myself as much as I will! The first sermon, in which I shall certainly hesitate, will without doubt render all this trouble vain; for do not I myself know the timidity and the peculiar misfortune which accompany me in every undertaking?"

He now took from his dusty shelves a MS. and set himself down to read it was an account of Rome, and particularly of St. Peter's Church, which was described with all the enthusiasm of an artist. He suddenly rose, and clapping his hands together, said with transport, "O Heaven, I must certainly see all this myself!"

But how? one does not get to Rome for nothing; the finan'ces of the good student were in a very bad condition, and however carefully he examined and fumbled through all his pockets, he collected only a few pence, which certainly were not sufficient to pay his expenses to Rome. He went to bed quite restless, and even forgot to put out his candle, which