I.

REPENTANCE.

was

"And Peter went out, and wept bitterly."-St. Luke xxii. 62. ETER quickly fell; but he as quickly penitent. Scarcely had he arrived at the knowledge of his sin, when he was overcome with sorrow on account of it; he "went out."

What need had he any longer to remain in the place of danger he had so badly filled? The ground appeared to burn beneath his feet; he was compelled to go out. Which way he should bend his steps, his agonized mind had no time to ask. But he felt it was better to go out into the wide world than to remain in the palace of his offence, before the face of Jesus.

Tears

He "wept bitterly." His heart would have broken without such a relief. relieve sorrow, especially when shed for sin. Peter was lost in the consciousness of his great guilt; he had never before so deeply fallen, nor felt so miserable. When a sinner sheds such tears, it makes joy in heaven.

What awakened in Peter these tears of repentance ? The crowing of the cock, which brought the words of Jesus to his remembrance, "Before the cock crow, thou shalt deny Me thrice; "the look of his Master: "And the Lord turned, and looked upon Peter.".

Oh, what a compassionate High Priest! Ask thyself, my soul, what thou wouldst have said to Peter. You would have told him such faithlessness rendered him unworthy of your friendship. But Jesus looked on him again. The sinner now needs this gracious look, and Christ "will not quench the smoking flax, nor break

Through this look, Peter bethought himself; his spirit returned, and his heart was softened. Clouds arose in his eyes which broke forth in torrents of tears. Jesus spoke by a look, and Peter answered in tears.

I see Peter weep; how can I refrain? Peter was a sinner; so am I. Peter denied Jesus; so do I. Peter weeps; I weep with him. Oh, look on my tears, thou compassionate Saviour! Turn Thine eyes towards me, and look on me, as Thou didst look on Peter, and be merciful unto Oh, let me go out with him for ever from all the dwellings of sin. Fill my eyes with tears of repentance, for so often wounding Thee. Wipe them away, as Thou didst from the eyes of that brokenhearted disciple, and say to me, "Thy sins are forgiven thee."

me.

II.

GOOD FRIDAY.

"Because we thus judge, that if one died for all, then were all dead."--2 Cor. v. 14.

In Germany this day is called Quiet or Silent Friday; because all was hushed and quiet on this day, and we were set free. It is well named Free day, for it is the day of liberty, and consequently a day of highest joy; because on it we were redeemed and purchased from the dominion and power of our enemies, and made truly free. It is also a sorrowful day; for it is the one on which our Lord suffered and died; but it tells us that " we were not redeemed with corruptible things, as silver and gold, but with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without spot.' Where was sorrow like unto His sorrow? Only Divine nature could feel as He did. Where was a heart like unto His heart, that was touched with the feeling

and murmuring prayers for the safety of the hapless mariners; whilst her father hastens to their assistance; and her mother, gazing from the windows above, watches him, through her tears and the ever-blinding spray, go forth upon the merciful and perilous errand!

woman.

Later on. The child has grown into a Still goes the father on his work of mercy, to succour the shipwrecked sailor, and rescue the half-drowned passenger from the hungry waves that threaten every moment to engulf himself; but a female form gazes with straining eyes upon those frightful billows, watching the rowers as with marvellous dexterity they surmount each wave, cheering onward with earnest hopeful voice, when strength and courage flag. Whenever danger threatens, whenever others shrink aside -in the tempest, and lighted by the thunderflash, wave the tresses of the ocean-nurtured maiden, damp with the salt foam.

Those who have visited the coast of Northumberland will remember the group of islands called the Farne or Fern, upon one of which the lighthouse, called the Longstone, is situated. Nothing more desolate can well be imagined. Like the Eddystone, it is so placed that weeks will sometimes elapse without an opportunity of reaching it from the shore, whilst even those accustomed to the jarring warfare of the elements around the lone and unprotected spot, tremble, despite all their courage, to realize its perilous position.

What an abode for the early years of a child, and that child a girl! Yet here the infancy, nay, the greater part of Grace's short life, was passed. Her books were the shifting clouds and the capricious billows; her pleasures the search for strange ocean-shells and many-tinted seaweeds; her companions, the screaming sea-fowl and the melancholy curlew. Around the fire at night, while the waves sounded a rough lullaby, the father would relate stories of tempests which had driven many a gallant vessel against the treacherous rocks. Grace would listen with wild beating heart, or retire to weep in silent corners over the fate of gallant crews, battling for life more madly at every struggle, until, one by one, they sank to rise no more.

It was the fall of the year 1838. September had arrived, and the evenings were growing dark and chilly, when the Forfarshire, a steam vessel of small size, but containing a considerable cargo, with passengers and crew to the number of between sixty and seventy persons, set sail for Dundee from the port of Hull.

For a short distance all went well, but it afterwards became apparent to the passengers that something was wrong, as the vessel neared Flamborough Head. The crew moved uneasily about, the captain's countenance wore a decided shade of anxiety, and those of the travellers soon reflected it in greater or less degree when it became whispered that a leakage had been discovered in one of the boilers, and the constant use of the pumps was necessary to prevent the deck from be. coming inundated with water.

So considerably was the progress of the vessel hindered, that it was the evening of the following day before she entered the narrow channel between the shore and the Farne Islands, and passed into the bay of Berwick. It was eight o'clock, the wind threatened a tempest, and the waves already tossed the hapless bark upon their snowy crests.

From this period up to ten o'clock, the scene upon the deck of the Forfarshire can hardly be described. Friend gazed upon friend with pale and quivering features; halfformed words escaped, as if from the ebbing bosom of hope; hand sought hand for support, and even rough sailors lifted glances of silent inquiry to each other's faces, as the fog gradually surrounded them, and shut out all but the melancholy scene on board. The leak had now completely set at defiance the power of the pumps, the engines were useless, and, in a fearfully short period, it became evident that all control over the vessel was gone.

All the time the rain beat upon the unhappy beings who crowded the deck, and strained their anxious eyes to discover some object in the dense mist which enveloped them. Too soon it came. A wild cry burst from a dozen whitened lips, as suddenly the lights of the Farne Islands became visible,

lives, to avoid the breakers, by running the vessel into the channel between the rocks and the mainland. The sea, however, had the mastery; wildly its billows surged up the sides of the frail timbers; and at length looming horribly above the bows, there appeared a massive rock descending at least a hundred fathoms deep, so frightfully rugged, that those who knew the spot closed their eyes with a sinking feeling of despair.

There was a moment's pause, a dead silence !-the next the vessel struck heavily, and the shock brought upon deck those who had hitherto remained unconscious of their danger, and who now rushed frantically here and there-some bent on finding a friend or relative, as if to lose in companionship some of the horrors of the moment; some in search of means of escape; all scarcely hoping, but yet anxious, to take advantage of any mode of preservation.

While the captain, whose wife clung wildly to him, imploring him not to forsake her, gave hurried orders no one cared to obey, the sailors lowered one of the boats, and scarcely had it touched the water, than it was occupied to overflowing. The boiling surges now swept over the decks, and a mighty wave with fearful violence completely lifted the vessel, which fell again with a crashing noise upon the sharp edge, parting the next instant exactly in the midst. One portion, containing the cabin, with its occupants, those on deck, the captain and his wife, with some of the crew, was carried past by the force of the current, while the forepart still remained crushed upon the rocks,—a sad trophy of the wreck.

It was at this awful moment that a few of the passengers crowded around the windlass, and were joined by the remainder of the crew. There were only eight on deck, of all those who had quitted Hull the previous eveningfive sailors and three others; but from the cabin below, through which the waves held on a broken course, there came the heartrending wail of childhood, still adding to the horrors of those who heard, powerless to save. A poor woman, folding two infants to her bosom, lay there. Darkness came down, and night closed in heavily.

mistily over the lighthouse of the Longstone. Grace, who had passed a night of no ordinary inquietude, rose early, and with her eyes to the glass, sought anxiously to discover some tokens of the disaster her heart had predicted during the silent hours. She uttered a cry of horror, which was echoed by her parents, as the remains of the shattered vessel met her sight, lying about a mile off; while plainly distinguishable between the rapidly-flowing surges, might be observed human forms clinging to the broken timbers, which seemed as if each succeeding wave must sweep them away for ever!

Grace, her father, and mother, were the only persons at present in the lighthouse. The hearts of all sank. What could they do alone, those three, while the waves were running mountains? Even could they reach the wreck, how return without further assistance, which would be necessary on account of the state of the tide? The poor girl turned for comfort to her father's countenance. He shook his head sadly, but made no reply.

Up to this time, Grace had never accompanied her father upon any of his humane enterprises. Others had always been at hand, nor had further duty devolved upon her, than that of warning them when danger or distress were at hand, and receiving the sufferers who from time to time arrived to claim the Longstone's friendly shelter. She knew how to handle an oar, and that was all. A more dangerous mission was now before her; and eloquently she urged her request, for it seemed to her as if the lives of those shipwrecked ones were in her hand.

The success of Grace's solicitation, so wildly, so desperately urged, was not long doubtful. The father yielded to entreaties which his own heart seconded; and by means of Mrs. Darling's aid, the boat was launched. What must have been her emotion as she beheld her husband and the child so precious to them both embark upon that raging surf; when she saw Grace exerting every nerve in her haste to assist the practised hand of her father!

By means of unrelaxing toil, and blessed by the assistance of the All-Merciful One, the father and daughter reached the rock, and