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Romish corruption as himself. But that friend advised him to abandon his design, and retire to his cell, and pray, Lord, have mercy upon us!" Had he done so he would have brought himself into a state of despair, unbelief, and inaction. But Luther more effectually prayed, "Lord, have mercy upon us," when, believing the promises of God, he put forth efforts corresponding with his prayers. The one prayed and did nothing, because he believed that God could or would do nothing. The other acted and prayed, and in faith took hold of God's strength, and the work was done. He put his shoulder to the mountain, yea, to the seven hills on which Antichrist had set his throne; and, weak as he was, yet in God's strength he made the mountains tremble, shook the foundations of the throne of the Beast, and gave him a deadly wound, from which he never has recovered, and never will. When we pray that prayer, "Lord, have mercy on us,' we profess to believe that, however desperate our case may be to human view, it is not beyond the power of God; and the prayer engages us to obedience to the commands of God, while we appeal to his power and grace.

Reader, may you ever live as you pray; for, "the sacrifice of the wicked is an abomination to the Lord, but the prayer of the upright is his delight," Prov. xv. 8.

SIN.

Look now at sin; pluck off that painted mask, and turn upon her face the lamp of the Bible. We start: it reveals a death's head. I stay not to quote texts descriptive of sin; it is a debt, a burden, a thief, a sickness, a leprosy, a plague, a poison, a serpent, a sting-everything that man hates it is; a load of evils beneath whose most crushing, intolerable "the whole creation groaneth." pressure Name me the evil that springs not from this root-the crime that lies not at this door. Who is the hoary sexton that digs man a grave? Who is the tempter that steals his virtue? Who is the murderess that destroys his life? Who is the sorceress that first deceives, and then damns his soul? Sin! Who, with icy breath, blights the sweet blossoms of youth? Who breaks the hearts of parents? Who brings gray hairs with sorrow to the grave? Who, by a more hideous metamorphosis than Ovid ever fancied, changes sweet children into vipers, tender mothers into

monsters, and their fathers into worse than Herods, the murderers of their own innocents? Sin! Who casts the apple of discord on home hearths? Who lights the torch of war, and carries it over happy lands? Who, by divisions in the church, rends Christ's seamless robe? Sin! Who is this Delilah that sings the Nazarite asleep, and delivers the strength of God into the hands of the uncircumcised? Who, with smiles on her face and honeyed flattery on her tongue, stands in the door to offer the sacred rites of hospitality, and when suspicion sleeps, pierces our temples with a nail? What siren is this, who, seated on a rock by the deadly pool, smiles to deceive, sings to lure, kisses to betray, and flings her arms around our neck, to leap with us into perdition? Sin! Who petrifies the soft and gentle heart, hurls reason from her throne, and impels sinners, mad as Gadarene swine, down the precipice into the lake of fire? Sin! Who, having brought the criminal to the gallows, persuades him to refuse a pardon, and with his own hand to bar the door against the messenger of mercy? What witch of hell is it that thus bewitches us? Sin! Who nailed the Son of God to that bloody tree? and who, as if it were not a dove descending with the olive, but a vulture swooping down to devour the dying, vexes, grieves, thwarts, repels, drives off the Spirit of God? Who is it that makes man in his heart and habits baser than a beast; and him, who was once but little lower than an angel, but little better than a devil? Sin! Thou art a hateful and horrible thing; that "abominable thing which God hates." And what wonder? Thou hast insulted his holy majesty; thou hast bereaved him of beloved children; thou hast crucified the Son of his infinite love; thou hast vexed his gracious Spirit; thou hast defied his power; thou hast despised his grace; and, in the body and blood of Jesus, as if that were a common thing, thou hast trodden under-foot his matchless mercy. Surely, brethren, the wonder of wonders is, that sin is not that abominable thing which we also hate.-Dr. Guthrie.

Ir was not often that John Barlow was seen about the house long after early breakfast time, for he was one of the most industrious men in the parish, and was usually off betimes to whatever work was in hand; but it did happen one summer's morning, and in haymaking time too, so it was the more remarkable. And a curious task it was that John seemed to have set for himself, just when the sunny sky, and the singing birds, and the new-mown grass were all bidding him off to "make hay while the sun shines."

The little old fashioned farm-house stood within the fold, amongst barns and outhouses, but all around it was clean

AUGUST, 1864.

I

and tidy, tubs, pails, and pans to match, and the garden sloped away beyond it, a pattern of order and fruitfulness. But there was a dirty corner, such as every body knows must belong to a farm, where a heap of dust and refuse must lie until the proper time comes for adding it to the manure, or carting it away.

In this uncomfortable accumulation of ashes, and sweepings, and old bones, and sundries, Mr. Barlow was groping and poking in the most earnest manner; so interested was he in his work that he failed to perceive the approach of a visitor, who, seeing John through the gate, had come into the yard to speak to him.

When John did perceive him, however, he did not seem particularly delighted; and his salutation lacked the hearty genial tone with which John usually greeted his friends.

"What the plague does he want here I'd like to know?” thought John Barlow." I wish he'd mind his own business, and leave me to mind mine."

The stranger had not long come into those parts, and folks did say that he had a dreadful habit of asking after people's souls-a proceeding which the majority highly resented, seeing that they preferred to live as if they hadn't

any.

It was even reported that he had the presumption to mention such a subject to the Squire himself; who, being a martyr to the gout, misunderstood the question, and hoped to hear of a remedy, but on being undeceived flew into a terrific rage.

John Barlow sympathized somewhat with the Squire, and was sadly afraid of being "caught," as he called it. But here was the gentleman, so there was no help but to be civil, at least until some allusion to his soul should insult him outrageously, and then!

"Good morning, Mr. Barlow; it is so unusual to see you here at this time, that I hope I may be excused for coming in to speak to you."

"Good day, sir," said John, still poking away at his heap; and then adding a little less gruffly, "Mayhap you wonder what I'm doing here; the truth is we've lost a bit of gold, and I thought I'd best look for it myself, because the lads might make more plague than profit out of a mess like this." You are quite right; there's nothing like doing a thing oneself to get it done to one's mind. I hope it is not a serious loss though, in case you don't find it after all."

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"Well," said John, lifting up his round red face, and leaning a moment on his spade. "I shouldn't think so very much about it perhaps myself, because I can get another; but it's my wife that's special particular about it, for you see it's her wedding ring. It hasn't fitted so well since she was ill, and she's dropped it off her finger somewhere, and she can't for her life think where. She's turning out all the milk bowls and kettles and pans in the house, and I came to look among the dust here, for she's a rare sweeper, and I thought it as likely to be here as anywhere else; leastways I'll be sure it isn't before I give it up."

And John set to work again with all his might; a little bit gratified withal that his good wife made so much of her loss, and insisted that no ring in all the world could be half so precious to her.

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They say two heads are better than one, so if my eyes can be of any help to you I shall be very glad," said the stranger, bending over the spot where John was gently drawing down the surface of the heap, and examining every suspicious looking atom.

"Nay, nay, sir, you'd best get out of the dust; you see I can't help stirring it up."

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Well, I'm rather used to that, and I don't mind it, if I can help to find a treasure out of it. See there! Stop, Mr. Barlow, just let us turn that spade-full over again. I thought I saw something glitter. Yes, I'm pretty sure of it; there it is again. Now what is it?"

John Barlow seized the little bit of black dirt, from which sparkled a piece of gold, and with a shout of delight disengaged the lost ring.

"Well now, I'm sure I am obliged to you for the use of your eyes," he exclaimed, hastening to the house.

"Wife, wife!" shouted he, "it's found, it's all right, here it is!" and out came the wife, with tears of pleasure in her eyes, and gave him a thankful kiss.

"Now you'll put it on again for me, John," said she; and John quite pleased and flattered, after rubbing and polishing it nicely, did as she bade him, and the happy little wife turned off to her household duties.

"But here, wife, it wasn't me who saw it first; this gentleman's eyes are the best of the two pairs, so you can thank him; and may be he'll step in, and taste our best homebrewed."