the waters, and he that hath no money, come buy wine and milk, without money and without price.""

These passages were quoted by her with such emphasis, and her whole manner and expression so struck her mother, that, for the first time, an idea took possession of her mind that probably the Lord was preparing her for an early removal from the world, and that in her youth she might be called away. This solemn reflection produced a pause in the conversation. After a little, her mother said to her, with caution, that she might not be startled, "Matilda, do you think yourself dying?

"No," was the reply; and, with a somewhat alarmed look, she asked, "Do you think me dying, mamma?" She immediately continued, without waiting for the answer," but nobody can say how any sickness may end."

One of the symptoms of her complaint was extreme deafness, which proved a distressing hindrance to free conversation. It often, however, afforded opportunities of discovering her secret experience; for, during the night especially, and at other times also, when, from this cause, unconscious of the presence of any human witness, her prayers were uttered aloud, and expressed the most humble dependence on sovereign mercy, with earnest longings for the graces of the Spirit, and meetness for heaven. The correctness of expression, as well as depth of feeling, struck every one, as indicating an understanding wonderfully matured, through grace, as well as a heart savingly changed. Supplications, uttered in terms like the following, were often listened to by those who watched by her :

"O Lord, I am unworthy, but I believe that for the sake of Christ thou wilt hear and answer me. O wash me in the fountain of his blood. Give me a new heart to love and serve thee. I would give myself up to thee, spirit, soul, and body; and I beseech thee, O Lord, to let me rest satisfied with nothing short of thyself. Sanctify unto me this sickness, and give me patience to bear it. Bless my parents, my brothers and sisters, with all that are dear to me in the whole world. O give me thy blessing, and accept me, for Jesus' sake. Amen."

On the occasion of the conversation related above, she complained of her deafness; and stated her distress, that she could not hear distinctly what was spoken to her. Her mother reminded her that God could make up for that disadvantage a hundred-fold; and that the teaching of his Spirit was infinitely better than that of all men. She seemed quite comforted, and said, "I will pray, then, to be kept from impatience under my trial."

On the Sabbath, when her mother came to read to her, and had finished the usual exercise from the Scriptures, she asked whether she should then go on to read some of the small books which they were so fond of hearing. Her answer was, "O no; those books are very good, but the Bible is the only book for me now." On being asked what part of the Scriptures she preferred, the answer was, "What I may understand."

The eleventh chapter of the Gospel by John was selected; and she listened with close attention and deep interest. When her mother came to the words, "He that believeth in me, though he were dead yet shall he live," Stop," she cried, "there is the truth, he that believeth, though he were dead yet shall he live;' uttering the words "believeth," and "dead," with all the emphasis she could employ.

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Her mother called her attention to Martha's blessed state, when Jesus asked her if she believed this, and she was able to reply, "Yea, Lord, I believe that thou art the Christ." "O yes," she answered; and seemed lost for a little in deep thought, responding to her mother's observation, "No one could say that unless taught of God."

She then spoke of the Psalms, and remarked, that they were her favourite portion of the Scriptures; as in reading them she always felt, that, whatever her circumstances, there she found something to suit her. After some observations of this kind, she requested the ciii., the li., the lxxxiv., and the lxii., to be read to her. On this day her mother first became alarmed, and thought her in danger. The medical attendant was still of his original opinion, and expected that she was now at the crisis of what did not at any time appear a formidable relapse of fever from cold. He had on this morning administered some strong medicines; and as the exertion of hearing, when she was addressed, exhausted her much, it was necessary to leave her undisturbed as much as possible.

On Monday, she spoke often of the vanity of the world, and seemed deeply impressed with the folly of seeking or expecting any thing satisfactory in it. The Lord was loosening all her affections for things seen and temporal, and preparing her to leave them without a sigh. He was teaching her to judge them by the rule of those who, in every age, have confessed, because they were made to feel, themselves pilgrims and strangers; and who, crucified to the world, have desired “a better country, that is an heavenly."

She spoke much also, on this day, of her own sinfulness, and of the mercy of God in Christ. After enlarging for some time on this topic, she exclaimed, "Well might David say, Thou, O Lord, art a God full of compassion, and gracious; long-suffering, and plenteous in mercy and truth.' Psalm. lxxxvi."

From the commencement of hooping-cough, there had been, in Matilda's case, the peculiarity of great difficulty in recovering breath after the fit. As the cough became milder in its character, and when it began to disappear, she was occasionally much distressed with what we took to be asthmatic spasms. Previous to the relapse, they had, in a measure, ceased; but in the beginning of this week they returned again, and became more frequent, as well as more painful.

On Tuesday, she expressed a desire to be removed from the bed on which she was lying, to a small couch, which could be moved at pleasure, and from which she could look out upon the fields, where the operations of spring were going busily forward. While there, she seemed full of gratitude for her comforts and mercies, and spoke much and often of the love of God in bestowing them so abundantly on her, "such a sinner, and so unworthy." On one of these occasions, she cried, "Is it not dreadful, mamma, that I have lived in this world for twelve years in sin?-but I hope the Lord will enable me, if I am spared, and when I get better, to live differently in time to come."

She then asked her mother's pocket Bible, as her own was that used in the school-room and too large to put under her pillow, that she might be perusing it when her strength permitted, and when no one was at band to read to her. She took it, accordingly, and placed it under her pillow with much apparent satisfac

tion.

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Mamma," she asked, "what would a new pocket Bible cost? "About five or six shillings," she was told. Then, I have a little money now, and I shall keep all I get till I make up the price." She was reminded that she already had a nice pocket Testament, given her lately by a kind uncle; to which she replied, "O yes, but there are so many things in the Old Testament, too, which I like to be reading, that I am anxious for the other."

In course of this day she was left alone in the room for a little with the other children. She called them about her, when, taking up some small delicacies which had been provided for herself, and were lying near her, she shared them, saying "take these among you-I have not much to give away; but I can speak

to you of God." She then addressed them seriously on spiritual things, until interrupted by some one entering the apartment. How little did she or they think that, ere another sun should sink below the distant mountain which bounded their prospect from the place where they were thus engaged, the tongue which addressed them should be silent in death, and the spirit whose longings it expressed, be returned to the bosom of its Father! Next day was Wednesday, the 11th April. Her mother rose early, about six o'clock, to relieve the servant, who had watched during the night. When she entered the sick-room, Matilda turned towards her with great animation, and the happiest expression of counte

nance.

"Come away, my dear mamma," she exclaimed, "I have slept well, and feel quite refreshed--I am a great deal better. We shall have such a happy day--my hearing is greatly improved, and we shall be all the morning alone. I have just been giving myself up, spirit, soul, and body, to Jesus, and I have been repeating my Psalms and chapters; but I am so glad to see you that you may speak to me, and that I may ask what I want to know."

Her mother's heart rejoiced; for, from her appearance, she then, and both she and the doctor, for a great part of the day, were encouraged in the opinion that the crisis was past, and that her recovery, though it should be tedious, might now, under Providence, be hopefully looked for.

When they were set down together, the conversation turned on the union of Christ with his people--its indissoluble nature under all circumstances. Her soul seemed to repose on the doctrine with a peace not to be understood but by those who experience it. The following passage, from the eighth chapter of the Epistle to the Romans, as bearing on the subject, was then read: "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us. For I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." The precious truth seemed as " hidden manna" to her, and she expressed herself comforted and refreshed. How nourishing to the hungry soul is God's Word, when he has opened the heart to receive it in faith; the soul that is in Christ, "sealed with that Holy Spirit of promise which is the earnest of its inheritance!"

A pause took place in the conversation; and, after a little, she appeared dull and cast down. When her mother inquired the reason, she said, "I find all my desires to be conformed to the will of God in vain; I cannot do or be what I wish, or keep from doing what I hate."

She was still within the reach of "sin's suggestions, and Satan's temptations." Her spirit, which aimed at perfect holiness, and desired to soar above the polluted atmosphere of a world lying in the wicked one, felt and mourned the load which seemed to render its every effort fruitless. Where, in such circumstances, could it look for direction, but to that "light shining in a dark place," which reveals the experience of all who are taught of God, and tells of such trials in their case, even in the near approach to heaven? Her mother read to her from the close of the 7th chapter of the Romans: "For I know that in me (that is, in my flesh) dwelleth no good thing: for to will is present with me; but how to perform that which is good I find not. For the good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not that I do. Now if I do that I would not, it is no more I that do it, but sin that dwelleth in me. I find then a law, that when I would do good, evil is present with

me.

For I delight in the law of God after the inward man. But I see another law in my members warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin which is in my members. wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from the body of this death? I thank God, through Jesus Christ our Lord. So then with the mind I myself serve the law of God; but with the flesh the law of sin."

"That," she cried, "is exactly as I feel, mamma; repeating, once and again, with evident comfort, the apostle's declaration, "I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord."

She was now required to lie still for a time, as some medicine had been administered. When the conversation was resumed, it turned on the temptations to which we are exposed from Satan, and our own evil hearts.

On this she remarked, "Well, mamma, to tell you the truth, Satan tried me very sorely one day of late." Her mother immediately asked in what she had been tempted by him.

He tried to make me think that it is too soon for me to give myself up to Christ,-that I am too young, -that there is plenty of time for that hereafter; and he succeeded, for one day, to keep me from prayer; but he has not come near me since."

The doctor had enjoined quiet and silence; her mother reminded her of this. O, very well, mamma, she said; "but if you knew the good it does to both my body and soul, when we get talking alone on these subjects!" Her favourite Psalms were read to her; and she lay in silence for about two hours.

When breakfast was sent up, on being raised in the bed that she might take it, a sudden spasm almost deprived her of breath. It produced a startling scream; but she instantly recovered, expressing a hope that her mother was not alarmed, adding, that she had herself been afraid for a moment, but now felt quite well again. After a little, she expressed a desire to be removed to the couch on which she had lain the preceding day; and when she had partaken of something to strengthen her for the exertion, her request was complied with.

When placed comfortably, as she had wished, she exclaimed, "O what mercies are granted such an unworthy creature as I am, were there nothing more than the kind parents God has bestowed on me!" Thus she lay for considerably above an hour, until her mother, conceiving that she would be more at ease in the bed, proposed replacing her there. She immediately assented, saying, I prefer this; but if you wish me to remove, I am quite willing." She was accordingly placed in bed.

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No sooner was this accomplished, than the spasms and breathlessness recurred to a degree much greater than they had previously been experienced. The alarm for her state, which had subsided in her mother's mind, was, on witnessing this, painfully renewed. The medical attendant, too, who had resolved on leaving her in course of the forenoon, thought it advisable to alter this resolution. The state of the weather, in the early part of the day, had prevented his departure; and thus was he, in Providence, detained for the occasion when his kind services were most required.

About two o'clock, she, for the first time, suddenly complained of pain in the heart,-various means to remove which were employed in vain. A slight alleviation of the suffering was effected, but nothing more; and thus matters continued for some time.

Her mother now looked for her death, although she did not yet think it near. A day or two before, she feared that the complaint would fall upon the lungs, and that the dear sufferer, after a lingering illness, would become a victim of consumption. She now trembled that her frame might sink more speedily before the power of the exhausting ailment under which she

laboured. It was evident that she herself had, as yet, no apprehension that her life was in danger."

The dear child had, in course of the forenoon, been counting the days until my return. "One-twothree-till Saturday," she said; "and then papa-my dear papa, who used to feed me-will be come! O how happy I shall be!" But it was not the will of our heavenly Father that we should ever meet again in this world; and, Ohow little had this entered into our calculations when we parted, so short a time before!

Under impressions of the change which now appeared in Matilda's condition, her mother was seized with great anxiety. She conceived it to be her duty to warn her of her true circumstances, but from this the medical attendant strongly dissuaded her in the meantime. She inquired earnestly whether he thought she could survive my return; but it was impossible to give any decided opinion. How trying that hour of agony, no language can describe!

The tender patient's suffering, in the meantime, became very great; the sight of which so distressed her mother, that, to conceal her emotion, she was compelled to quit the room. Matilda, on observing this, sent the doctor to inquire for her; expressing her fear that, in her delicate state, she should do herself injury hy giving way to sorrow. It so evidently increased the dear child's suffering, to witness her mother's distress, that, by strong effort, she suppressed the outward appearance of it, and returned to the room. When she came in, Matilda's face was turned away from the front of the bed, so that, ere she perceived her, she had come up close to where she lay, and said that she had now come back.

“() mamma, I am so glad of that," was the reply. "I am surprised to see you so much distressed-if it were grandmamma; but I am now much better, although I have still a little of this breathlessness; but," she added, don't you be anxious, sit where you are, for I like to feel your very body touching me."

"O my darling Matilda, give yourself up to Christ." "Yes," she said, "my dear mamma. I am so oppressed just now-but when I get relief."

In a little she became easier. A few drops of laudanum were administered; but it had scarcely any effect in alleviating the acute pain with which she was hopelessly struggling.

All now retired to take dinner, excepting her mother, who was left alone with her. She requested to be turned with her face to the front of the bed. To aid in effecting this, her mother directed her to put her arms around her neck, by which means she might raise herself easily; but this she declined, as causing unnecessary trouble, and said that she could turn without any help; which she accordingly did.

So soon as a view of her face was obtained, her mother saw that death was very near; the melancholy fact was too truly inscribed on every feature. Just as the doctor, who had been immediately recalled, entered the room, she was seized with a dreadful spasm, accompanied with most acute pain at heart. With an imploring look she asked for something to relieve her, and offered to take any medicine, however bitter. The only reply was the melancholy communication, made with tears, that nothing could relieve her.

Her mother then declared, aside, to the medical attendant, that she could no longer defer telling her child that her dissolution was near. He had formerly dissuaded from this course, with the humane intention of sparing his patient's feelings; but the time now was evidently short, and he gave his ready assent.

"My darling Matilda," her mother then said aloud to her," Jesus is coming to take you to himself-the hand of death is on you!'

For a moment she seemed startled and alarmed, but speedily recovered her composure.

"Does the doctor think me dying?" she asked. "Yes, he does," was the heart-rending reply. "How long do you think, doctor, I can live ?" "I cannot say how long, my dear,-the God who gave you life alone knows."

On this she turned to her mother, and with a look of earnestness and solemnity, the most striking, which awed, and went to the hearts of all present, she said,"Mamma, I have concealed nothing from you-you know the whole state of my mind and all about medo you think that I am resting on Christ?"

Yes, my dear," was the answer, "I do believe that you are. You know that you have often told me that you felt and were assured there is no other salvation but to be washed in His blood."

"O yes, I have," she said, and, lifting up her hands with great solemnity, added, "well, then, I am not afraid to die; I love Jesus, and I know that he loves me!"

Another spasm ensued, and she was in great anguish. The other children had been introduced at her request, that she might see them, but they were withdrawn, as the room became overheated. Her mother's grief, which she laboured to conceal, compelled her to retire for a few minutes. When she again appeared, the sweet child said, "Come near me, my dear mamma, till I tell you how much I love Jesus. Yes," she said in an under tone, when her mother sat down beside her, "yes, I love him!"

When she had recovered breath partially, she said, "I should like to see the rest; perhaps I could say something to them."

The children were accordingly brought in. When they were all arranged near her, she said to them, with a tone and manner full of affection and pathos, "Children, I am going to die, and I am not afraid to die ; for I know that Jesus loves me, and I love him. 0, see that you be good children, and love him too."

The terrors of death had often been the subject of conversation with them, in days of health, when he was contemplated at a great distance, and the power of Christ to take away his sting, so that believers should be kept in safety in the last struggle, they had also often heard of; and in the testimony which she now bore to the faithfulness of the Saviour, and her freedom from fear through his grace, she had reference to all that they had once heard upon the subject, and thus she desired to "set to her seal that God is true."

The doctor after this expressed a desire that the children should be removed. As they were retiring from the room, she called back the youngest of her sisters, who had been present, and, as if she feared her first address had not been comprehended, she repeated it, saying,

Maggy, I am going to die, and they will put me in a big black hole, but I am not afraid, for I love Jesus, and see you that you will love him too. Remember your catechism." She had not yet learned to read the Scriptures.

She then said to them all, as they lingered about the door and wept, "Don't cry for me,-farewell."

The servants on this came into the room, when she addressed them much in the same strain, informing them that she was dying; that she had no fear; and that her confidence arose from depending upon Christ alone. One of them who, she knew, did not understand English, she addressed in Gaelic, solemnly warning and entreating her and all of them to go to Christ. When they had quitted the room, her mother asked, "What shall I say to your dear papa from you when he comes home?"

After a short pause, during which she was much affected, she replied with great tenderness of manner, "You will tell him that I think I am united to Christ; that I love Jesus, and know he loves me."

on

“Will I give him your love?" "O yes," was the reply. She then said, "Mamma, I am not sorry to leave the world, but I am sorry to leave you all; uttering which her heart seemed bursting. The last, the only tie which bound her to earth was in being broken. The enemy could not destroy her, but this one opportunity more was left to inflict a passing wound ere she entered into endless joy. The wound was given, but it was as quickly cured. Her "Friend" was at hand, and peace could not be distant.

"You remember, my dear," her mother said, "the chapter I read you lately, about Christ's second coming, and how we shall all meet then?"

She was instantly comforted, and her countenance brightened, "O yes," she answered, "we shall all meet again."

A dreadful spasm immediately ensued. "Oh!" she cried, after a short interval, "I am in great pain; how I desire that He would come and take me to himself!" After a few moments' silence, she made a sign with her finger, saying, "Doctor!" as if wishing to speak to him. On his approaching she could only add, "speech-less ;" and without a single throe breathed her last, her redeemed soul quitting its frail tabernacle, and entering into the joy of its Lord. Her mother laid her hand on her eyes, and they were closed on this world for ever!

JERUSALEM AND CALVARY.

BY THE REV. GEORGE GARIOCH,
Minister of Meldrum, Aberdeenshire.

[This extract is taken from a tastefully written poem, entitled, "Association; or the Progress of Feeling," which has just appeared, by our esteemed and respected correspondent.]

JERUSALEM! once queen of all the earth!
How are thy glories faded and decayed!
Thy temple,-vast and gorgeous monument
Of wealth, the emblem of magnificence,
Far more distinguish'd as the sacred place
Where Israel's God his majesty reveal'd,-
Is razed from its foundations, and the sure
And solemn words of holy Prophecy
Are now accomplish'd o'er its ruins. Time
Hath done his work unsparing; and thy old,
Far-famed memorials of renown exist
No longer; yet around thee, there is that
Which bids defiance to th' advance of Time,
Mocking his power! and which, amid the wrecks
Of human greatness, shall, while earth remains,
Excite our reverence, and love, and joy.
Zion! thy name was once conjoin'd with days
Of Israel's glory; sacred were thy courts
Unto Jehovah's praise; and still our views
Above the earth thou leadest to abodes
Of bliss, where saints for ever love their God.
Gethsemane! On thee, malignant powers
Of darkness join'd in fierce hostility
Against the Son of God; his agony
Thou didst behold, when unto death his soul
Was sorrowful! Then, didst thou hear his prayer
Of anguish to the Father! thou didst see
His bloody sweat! His sacred body press'd
Thee, fall'n and prostrate in devotion! Stain'd
By the apostate Judas was thy soil,
When, with his band of miscreants abhorr'd,
He came the Lord of Glory to betray!

But how shall I describe thee, CALVARY!
O sacred mount! where once His suffering soul
Immaculate, the Saviour yielded up
To God! The mind of all its impotence

ious; humbled at the cross of Christ,
all th' enraptur'd trains of thought
around that glorious mystery,

It seeks, with earnestness, to utter forth
Th' expression of its own unworthiness.
Thrice hallowed mountain! Above every place
On earth thou'rt honour'd far, which sinks, with thee
Contrasted, into littleness! On thee
Infinite mercy and eternal love

That work achiev'd, which glorious spirits, round
The throne of the Most High, triumphantly
Extol. On thee INCARNATE DEITY
That life surrender'd, of his own free will,
No power in earth or hell, without that will,
Could take away. On thee, the foes of God,
Spirits of darkness! upon God's own Son
Exhausted all their rage. Glad tidings came
From thee, of mercy to a sinful race;
Forgiveness to believing penitents,

In virtue of the precious blood that flowed
Upon thee, was proclaim'd; and when at length,
His pain and anguish at an end, the Son
Of God exclaim'd-'Tis finish'd! and gave up
The ghost, thy rocks were rent asunder! Then,
All nature seem'd convuls'd, and labouring as
With throes of dissolution! Then, the sun
Refused his light,-th' astonish'd earth did shake;
Creation, through its vast extent, beheld
Its Lord, and hail'd a present Deity!

THE PARABLE OF THE PHARISEE AND PUBLICAN
A DISCOURSE.

BY THE REV. JAMES BEGG, A.M.,

Minister of Liberton, Mid-Lothian.
(Continued from page 140.)

"And he spake this parable unto certain which trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and despised others: Two men went up into the temple to pray; the one a Pharisee, and the other a Publican," &c.-LUKE Xviii. 9--15.

Ir may at first sight appear strange, that the Pharisee should have built his hopes of acceptance with God upon a foundation so utterly insecure; but a little consideration will discover to us the reason of it. Besides the want which we formerly mentioned of any just sense of the spirituality of the law, he seems to have had no adequate perception of the right which God had to his services; and was altogether destitute of the divine principle of love which would have led him cheerfully to give them. He looked upon God, in short, as, in many respects, such an one as himself, and foolishly imagined that his services to him were not of debt, but of favour: and therefore he supposed, not only that by all he did he laid the Almighty under obligations to him; but that the more difficult and repugnant to his natural feelings any service was, it was the more acceptable in the sight of God.

But whatever may be its origin, any, even the most distant, idea in any created being, that by his services he has benefited his Creator, is an abomination in the sight of God. In any of our fallen race it must be peculiarly disgusting. In our best estate, we were altogether vanity in the sight of our Creator. He stood in no need of our services; and our warmest love and most strenuous obedience could add nothing to his inherent glory and happiness. So that, when we had called forth every affection, and strained every