and as soon as the topsails were rehoisted, and the ship hove-to, this was done. The whole of that and the next day were spent in getting her into any thing like a condition to proceed; and still, much remained to be done. Nevertheless, the rest of the convoy were not to be neglected. I, therefore, was left in charge, with orders to make the best of my way after; and the commodore proceeded under easy sail to look for the remainder.

The next day the weather was thick and squally; and a similar night closed in without any thing being in sight. Daylight, however, discovered to us a vessel on the weather-beam, which, it was reasonably hoped, might be one of our companions; but a glance through the telescope undeceived us, as the stranger was a schooner; and although her hull was not yet visible, the cut and size of her sails indicated that she was no patient plodder of the sea, but one that could make fleet work of it when her occasions called. I confess that, upon a careful survey of her with the glass, there was an anxious and uneasy kind of qualm passed through my mind; in short, I had serious misgivings relative to her real character.

The captain of the vessel of which I was thus left in charge was a shrewd, sensible, and resolute seaman : he had several times looked at her, as had two gentlemen, passengers, whom, with a lady and her servant, the news of the stranger had gathered together on the quarter-deck.

"She is a slaver," said the captain. "No; she is a man-of-war!" said one of the gentle

For some time we kept our wind, in the hope of falling-in with some of the convoy, if not the commodore. This, however, proving vain, and the schooner nearing us very fast, I ordered the colours to be hoisted to see what she professed to be. A large Spanish ensign soon streamed from her peak, and a pendant from her mast-head; and still she kept edging down upon us. She might be, I thought, a Spanish cruiser; but if so, what can she want with an English merchantman? "Haul down the ensign, and let him see we wish to part company." "He's not for parting company before we're better acquainted, and have smelt his powder," said old Owen Williams, a quarter-master, and one of the seven men left with me to refit the vessel, who had stood for some time eyeing her with indignant suspicion. A column of smoke, and the report of a gun from the schooner, proved the truth of his words; at the same time, the colours she had shewn were hauled down, and my worst fears were confirmed.

We were now by our reckoning about eighty or ninety miles from the coast of South America, with a strong casterly wind. Immediately under our lee a dangerous reef of rocks stretched itself seaward from the coast; but to keep by the wind would be to throw ourselves into the jaws of fellows who act upon the principle, that "dead men tell no tales."

Brief was the council held upon this trying occasion, and desperate the resolution that was taken. Even

the females, appalling as the prospect was, declared for the risk of shipwreck rather than fall into the hands of these sea-monsters. Our crew, including my men and the passengers, numbered eighteen : one twelve-pound cannonade was the only gun we could muster; but there were several muskets, pistols, and cutlasses. With this slender force, as compared with that of the schooner, fighting was out of the question, except as a last resource.

The best point of sailing with our bluff-built vessel was right before the wind. Accordingly, it was determined to take this advantage, and endeavour to lengthen the chase, so that it might be dark before the schooner came up with us; or if that could not be accomplished, to run the ship ashore, and make the best escape we could. In a very few minutes the old ship was before the wind, staggering along under every stitch of canvass that could stand.

No sooner was this movement noticed by the stranger, than he gave us a significant token of his disapproval of it, by yawing and firing another gun, the report of which came groaning along the breeze, which had now considerably freshened; and the fastrising clouds to windward still portended an increase. The shot dropped harmless under the counter, which told how rapidly the pirate had gained on us. Our only gun was by this time got aft, in the hope that a lucky shot might disable his spars or sails, and thus give us a little more time; for night was fast approaching. Never shall I forget the countenance of old Owen, as, with the cool and steady precision which marks a well-trained seaman, he squinted along the gun to take aim. He waited long and patiently; for the motion was great, and the object small. At length, just as the schooner rose to the sea, he applied the match

"Rung the report-the iron flew,

And prov'd the tar a marksman true;"

for her main-boom was wounded, rendering the mainsail useless; the squaresail came down by the run, the haulyards being shot away; and as she steered more wildly after, we believed the wheel must have been injured. However, our end was answered; and a hearty "Bravo, old boy," was echoed by many voices. Again and again she fired; but, although within half gun-shot, did not strike us; and whilst, from her superior sailing she still gained upon us a little, the hope was encouraged that we might yet escape.

Night was just succeeding the short tropic twilight, and we were congratulating ourselves upon losing sight of our greedy pursuer, when the appalling cry of "Breakers ahead!" rang with death-like peal through the ship. All eyes were instantly fixed in that direction, and too truly convinced of the dreadful fact. With the desperate energy of men fully alive to the danger which threatened them, all hands worked speedily but coolly to shorten sail, and haul the ship to the wind. This done, brought the headmost breakers on the lee-beam, and with that circumstance, the only hope left, that of weathering them. The breeze was strong, and the sea rather heavy, yet still the good old ship made considerable headway, and our hopes brightened.

So signal an interposition of Providence could not but force itself upon every one; and many a rugged

heart, bursting with gratitude, ran over at the eye, confessing that we owed our present preservation only to Him, "who rides upon the whirlwind and directs the storm." Had we discovered the breakers sooner, our lynx-eyed enemy would have seen us alter our course, and soon been alongside of us. Had it been one quarter of an hour later, we could not have hauled up in time to weather the shoals, and must, humanly speaking, have gone ashore and been dashed to pieces.

Years have passed since then; but that schooner and those breakers are as palpable to my mind's eye as ever, and will, I trust, continue so, to quicken my sluggish heart in the remembrance, that God's people are his peculiar care; that their extremity is his opportunity; and that the arm of a gracious and almighty Saviour will be surely put forth to help his sinking disciples, when no other arm has power to reach or

save.

us.

We stretched on until midnight, when the wind slackening, we tacked to increase our offing, anxiously looking out, lest the schooner should again intercept The long-looked-for day at length dawned, and keenly was the horizon swept in search of her; she was nowhere visible to seaward: but among the breakers, on the middle of the reef to leeward, we discovered our late dreaded enemy, a miserable wreck; a small part only of the hull was above water, but the long tapering masts were still standing, as if to enable us to recognise her.

As the weather was now more moderate, we ran down towards the reef, hove to, and sent a boat as near as the heavy breakers would permit, to see if haply any of those who so lately peopled the ill-fated vessel might yet be struggling for existence; but, alas! there was not one. The crashing of the waves, impatient of the obstructing rocks, and the noise of the rending planks, and the wild screeching of the seabirds, were the only sounds that met the ear: we looked and listened in vain for a signal or cry of distress; the only things we got near were, three sinall empty spirit-casks, which had most likely been thrown overboard before, or just as she had struck. There was no mark on either from which to learn the name of the vessel. Whilst we stopped, the masts were carried away, and she bilged and went down in deep

water.

also besought them to remember, though their poor bodies were now covered with the hissing surf, that when the archangel's trumpet should rouse them from their watery bed-if they were found unwashed in the Redeemer's precious blood, uncovered with his robe of righteousness,-they would be consigned, by the unerring Judge of quick and dead, to the place of wretchedness and woe, where the undying flame of God's wrath will hiss around and scorch their souls throughout eternity. I have good cause to hope that God blessed the circumstances and the words to some of those who saw and heard them. Reader, may the recounting of them be blessed to you; and to God shall be the praise and the glory. W. S.

The breeze began now to freshen, which warned us to hoist up the boat, and make all sail off. When this was done, the people appeared deeply affected by what we had lately witnessed; and I felt that it would be unpardonable to neglect such an opportunity of pointing out to them the evil nature of sin, the steps by which men are led on from one wickedness to another, so that murder and rapine are hardly considered crimes;-that in all probability there were many of those unhappy creatures so suddenly summoned to their account, who would, in early life, have shuddered at the thought of any flagrant sin; but Satan led them on so imperceptibly to themselves, after first tempting to some (so-called) trifling offence, until at length they became exposed to the dreadful penalty of outraged laws both human and divine. I bid them see in this circumstance an illustration of the truth of God, that "evil shall slay the wicked;" and that "the wicked is snared in the works of his own hands;" and

THE GIFTS OF GOD IN NATURE AND

GRACE.

BY MISS M. A. S. BARBER.

No. V. The Spirit of Adoption.

"COME, eat of my bread," saith Wisdom; " for by me thy days shall be multiplied, and the years of thy life shall be increased." "Happy is the man that findeth wisdom, and the man that getteth understanding.... length of days is in her right hand, and in her left hand riches and honour." "For thou, O God, hast heard my vows," saith the Psalmist; "thou wilt prolong the king's life, and his years as many generations." "To die," says the Christian apostle," is gain;"" to depart, and be with Christ, is far better." "We are confident, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord." Whence comes it that death hath laid aside those terrors, from which of old even wise and holy men drew back with dread? Witness also the prayer of David; "He weakened my strength in the way; he shortened my days: I said, O my God, take me not away in the midst of my days; thy years are throughout all generations." And the lamentation of Hezekiah," Mine age is departed and removed from me, as a shepherd's tent... he will cut me off with pining sickness.... I did mourn as a dove-mine eyes fail with looking upward." Whence is it? because the covering which was cast over all people, and the veil that was spread over all nations, has been removed, according to the promise of God; and a more perfect revelation having been made of the mercy and love of God towards man, and of the means whereby the purposes of that love are accomplished, the believer in Christ is restored to the place which was lost by the fall, and made by grace what Adam was by nature-the son of God. "Men fear death," says Lord Bacon, "as children fear going into the dark :" in both, the fear arises from an unknown and uncomprehended danger; but when he who thus shrinks from death becomes convinced, that immediately it takes place, an immortality of happiness is begun, and that the soul will not only be instantly sensible of the presence of his almighty Creator, but find in him a Friend,-surely he will then cease to fear it, as the child would cease to tremble in the dark, if it held fast by the hand of its father. It is not asserted that this is the experience of every Christian, as it is impossible to say how far, either in life or death, nature may prevail over grace; but it is, without doubt, the spirit of Christianity. Is not death constantly described in the Christian covenant as a desirable exchange-a passing into rest-a happy entering into a Father's house? Has not the Gospel a triumphant song, "O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?"

But this peace and triumph arise from the new relationship into which it has pleased God to admit man-a relationship explained to our mortal under

standings by that of father and child. The depth and intensity of the affections vary in different individuals, as much, perhaps, as the intellectual capacity; but every one is more or less sensible of their influence. An immense distance, which our thoughts cannot traverse, separates us from God; when we meditate upon him only as the Almighty, one only faculty is called into action-awe. Such was the extreme reach of pagan understanding, which inscribed upon the temple of Isis the words, "I am all that is, and that shall be; and no man hath ever lifted my veil." The height of their wisdom consisted in the confession, that there was indeed an unknown God: nor has the modern philosopher drawn nearer in spiritual knowledge and communion with his Creator, whilst he only acknowledges him as the great First Cause. "The Lord, the Lord God, merciful and gracious," revealed his name of old to his chosen people; and the revelation was perfected when Christ put into the mouth of his disciples the name of Father. Beautifully adapted, in every respect, to supply the wants and meet the understanding of man, the Gospel thus immediately enlightens the heart, into which its testimony is sincerely received, as to the nature of the feelings to be exercised towards its Creator.

It is only through faith in Christ that we are capable of entering into this new state of being, which will be seen in considering the nature and evidences of the spirit of adoption.

In the first place, it implies a sense of the love of God towards us. To say that a child never doubts the love of its parent, would be to impute a perfection to human affections which they do not possess; but still there exists a strong instinctive reliance in the heart of a child upon the love of its parent. Is this said to arise from habit or experience? No; if the child had been separated from its parent from its earliest years -if lands, and seas, and oceans intervened,-would not its heart, especially when dejected or forlorn, traverse them all, to rest in thought upon the human being who it would think, if near, would certainly befriend it ? If no counteracting influence had been at work, surely we may safely conclude such would be the path of the natural affections. And such is the turning of the trusting heart towards God-it implies a conviction of his love. There are some sweet little verses written for young children, entitled, "Who loves you best?" in which there is an endeavour to impress upon the infant disciple, that better than by father or mother, sister or brother, he is beloved by his God. But how hard it is for the human mind, whether in childhood or maturity, fully to embrace and rely upon this conviction! The difliculty is sin (Col. i. 21) we are alienated, and made enemies in our mind by wicked works-by the sense both of present and past sin, which withdraws our hearts from God, and teaches us to look upon him rather as an offended judge, than as a tender father. That we may have access to him as such, it is necessary that we should have a sense of pardon, of justification in his sight; which can only be ours through faith in the atonement of Christ. The clearer conviction we have of pardon, and consequently of the love of God towards us, the stronger will be our love towards him. "We love him," as it is written, "because he first loved us."

In the second place, the spirit of adoption implies submission to the will of God-a duty which calls daily upon faith for its fulfilment. We must have strong faith, both in the wisdom of God and in his love towards us, to be able to submit to him patiently in the painful and often mysterious course of this world's events. Submission is a prominent trait in the character of true filial love; what wise and judicious parent does not expect it from a child? There are so many ways in which a child cannot judge for itself; so many ways in which the years of childhood must be employed; so many restraints to which it must be subjected;

which the child, at the time, is totally unable to comprehend,-that submission to wiser guidance becomes absolutely needful for its future welfare: many years must elapse before it can be aware either of the necessity of the means which were used, or even of the purpose which was to be gained. It is the same with every person in this world: there are many circumstances, many dispensations, many chains of events, for which we cannot see the use or object, and which we are therefore tempted to think would be much better altered. Never was, perhaps, missionary zeal more untiringly displayed than by the Danish ministers, who endeavoured to found a Christian colony on the frozen and desolate shores of Greenland, and win the barbarous and miserable inhabitants to partake of the blessings of Christianity, and consequent civilisation. For a long series of years every attempt proved abortive; and amongst other sources of vexation was the impracticability even of instructing the children. After the missionary had succeeded in getting a few youths together, and had begun the attempt of instructing them, things went on very well while they continued to receive a fish-hook, or some other present, for every letter; but as soon as these rewards were stopped, they grew tired, and plainly informed the missionary that they really saw no use in sitting all day long locking at a piece of paper, and crying a! b!c! In vain he reasoned with them, in vain he endeavoured to convince them of the benefits of knowledge, especially religious knowledge: no, it was of no present use to them, and they neither understood nor believed the future benefit. So it is with us in this world: trials, vexations, disappointments, seem often to us like a b!c! to the Greenlanders,-no present use, and only a great deal of unnecessary trouble. We know that knowledge is necessary to the savage, both as a means of communicating to him the doctrines of salvation, and also of advancing him to the blessings of civilisation in this world,-advantages which his mind, in its natural state, is totally inadequate to form any idea of: in a far greater degree is this the case with us; our life here is fitting us for a state of existence which we can yet form no idea of: let us, then, be contented to learn the a, b, c.

Conformity to the image of God is also an evidence of the spirit of adoption. "Be ye perfect, as your Father which is in heaven is perfect;" "be ye followers of God as dear children." There is no argument, perhaps, more frequently addressed by parents to their children than this-" If you love me, you will endeavour to please me." Obedience is urged upon the child as a proof of love-the only real proof which the parent is willing to accept. The same is required of the children of God. "If ye love me, keep my commandments," stands almost first among the parting precepts of our Saviour. "If I be a father," says Jehovah, in reproving the disobedient Israelites, "where is my honour?" Our Lord has censured the pretended obedience of words without deeds, in the parable of the two sons (Matt. xxi.). We should not rest the proof of our love to God only upon the emotions of our own hearts. It is true he seeth into the heart: the sincere Christian may therefore say, "Lord, thou knowest all things; thou knowest that I love thee;" and we are told, "the Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit that we are the children of God" (Rom. viii. 16): but those who claim adoption into the household of God, must yet be renewed in his image; "he that saith, I know him, and keepeth not his commandments, is a liar, and the truth is not in him. But whoso keepeth his word, in him verily is the love of God perfected: hereby know we that we are in him. He that saith he abideth in him, ought himself also so to walk even as he walked" (1 John, ii.). They must give proof of that renewal by the course of their life: the "light," which should glorify their Father which is in heaven, must shine in "good works."

As imperfection cannot express perfection, the love of God far exceeds any idea that we can form of it from the love of a parent; yet there are many other points in which it may be yet further brought within our comprehension, by the analogy of parental affection; and in which the duties required from us may be yet further illustrated by the comparison of filial love.

In the first place, a parent's love is unpurchased by any merit in the object of it: parents love their children independently of their gifts, their graces, or even their merits; it therefore calls for the strongest gratitude. "But God commendeth his love towards us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us" (Rom. v. 8).

Secondly, It commences before the child is conscious of it, much less able to return it. "We love Him, because he first loved us" (1 John, iv. 19).

Thirdly,―It is a pardoning love. How much perverseness and disobedience has not a parent's love to contend with, through infancy, childhood, and youth! yet it is ever ready to forget all, and to drop the veil of

forgiveness over every failing: "And I," saith the

Lord, "will spare them, as a man spareth his own son that serveth him" (Mal. iii. 17).

Fourthly, It is a protecting love. Such a strong confidence in this exists in the heart of the child, that it will rest contented and quiet in the midst of the greatest danger, if it is with its parent. It is written, "The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear him, and delivereth them" (Ps. xxxiv. 7).

Fifthly,It has for its object the welfare of the child; and God hath ordered all things in the course of providence, so that they shall be productive of good to his children. "We know that all things work together for good to them that love God" (Rom. viii. 28).

If such is the love of God towards us, surely the knowledge of it should call forth the implicit trust, willing obedience, unbounded gratitude, and fervent love, which marks the strength and ardour of filial affection, and call them forth in a far greater degree than they can be felt for earthly parents.

Poets and philosophers, all classes of writers, have lavished their praises upon the golden age of life; but the greater degree which we possess of the spirit of adoption, the nearer shall we be in the years of maturity to the enjoyment of that freedom from carefulness and anxiety which made the happiness of childhood.

death, bring this nearer every hour to its bright, glorious, and everlasting perfection.

The human mind in its strongest form needs something to lean upon- -some support upon which to rest the weight of daily cares; and happy is he who finds it, where power to relieve is united with sympathy to pity. "A father of the fatherless is God in his holy habitation." More forlorn, perhaps, than even the usual lot of humanity, is that of the orphan; and therefore probably it is, that to those who share it there are such a number of promises addressed: but every human being is, in a certain sense, "fatherless," while without a feeling of dependence upon God; for, like a destitute child, he is ignorant, with none to instruct; helpless, with none to protect; sorrowful, with none to comfort him;-for even if he is

blest with the best of earthly friends, there is much

which distinguishes the lot of mortality, where their instruction, help, and sympathy, can avail nothing.

To crown the blessedness of the spirit of adoption, it is unchangeable and eternal. Whilst earthly affections are changing every hour, dropping into the grave in the lengthened series of advancing years, as flower after flower disappears from the gardenground at the approach of winter,-this continues the same; and he who is a partaker of it has not only, amidst the changes of this world, one sure and unalterable blessing, but the very years which often bring darkness upon the domestic hearth, putting out one by one the lights of earthly love in the silence of

"Go to my brethren," saith the Lord, "and say unto them, I ascend unto my Father and your Father, and to my God and your God." Happy is he who thus has fellowship with Christ; and who, calling upon the Lord in the days of life and in the hour of death, can exclaim, " My Father and my God!"

ON THE REDEMPTION OF TIME:

X

A Sermon,*

BY THE REV. THOMAS HARTWELL HORNE, B.D. Rector of the United Parishes of St. Edmund the King and Martyr, and St. Nicholas Acons, Lombard Street. ЕPH. v. 15, 16.

"See that ye walk circumspectly, not as fools, but as wise, redeeming the time."

BRETHREN, if those tombs which lie beneath our feet were at this moment to open, and disclose to view the numerous dead of former ages, as well as those of later times, whose remains they now contain; nay, if those only who have been cut down by the unerring hand of death during the year which has just closed upon us; if these, our fellow-citizens and neighbours, or relatives, whose loss we deplore;-if these, bursting the barriers which death has interposed between them and ourselves, were now to present themselves before us, and for a single moment were permitted once more to accost us in the language of affection and of friendship,-what, think you, would be the exhortation they would address to us the anxious wish to which they would give utterance-the urgent entreaty to which they would implore us to listen? Unquestionably it would be that which St. Paul addressed to the Christian Church at Ephesus, and which in effect he this day addresses to each of us, as the highest proof of wisdom: "See that ye walk circumspectly, not as fools, but as wise, redeeming the time." This advice of the apostle is, indeed, peculiarly appropriate to us, who have been spared to

worship and bow down before the Lord our Maker," on this the first Sunday in the new year; for the continual revolutions of seasons and of years, and the constant changes which time is producing within us and around us, all naturally admonish us, that if time is passing away, we also are passing away with it; and consequently that we ought, without further delay, to appropriate it to those purposes for which it is entrusted to us; and, with the utmost care, to economise every one of those precious moments, which will shortly be no longer at our disposal.

Let us, then, on this day of grace and mercy, consider, first, the import of the apostle's

66

• This discourse was delivered on the first Sunday in the year 1839 but as the text forms part of the epistle for the twentieth Sunday after Trinity, Mr. Horne has contributed it for the present number of our Journal.