the Psalmist speak of the whole creation as being sensible of God's mercies, and that even all the trees of the wood rejoice before the LORD; mountains and all hills, beasts and all cattle, worms and feathered fowl. Surely, then, the kings of the earth, and all people, should with united hearts be glad in the strength of their salvation. Thus we have birds and bells-a mingled melodyand "how wonderful it is that, though all the birds sing different notes at the same time, without arrangement or plan, yet no discord grates upon the ear-all is harmony! And why? Because the great Creator tuned each note, and arranged the orchestra with a skill that no human art can compass." And Sue loves this day, this Sunday, the brightest day of all the seven; and when those church bells, famed for the sweetness of their tone, are distinctly heard through their little dwelling, hastily she prepares herself for holy worship, "How many blessed groups this hour are bending Through England's primrose meadow-path their way, And soon is she to be seen with her dear Fred, sitting side by side, listening to the voice of their good Pastor as he points out to them the way of salvation. And what a peace it must seem to Fred, after toiling on the deep, perhaps, the night before, to find himself in such a sanctuary, safe from the threatening storms and tempests! And Sunday past, the night is spent, and man awakes again to begin a new week, and to go "forth to his work and to his labour until the evening." Fred is up betimes; and well may he be envied, enjoying the freshness of the early day on the still waters, feeling the warm sun as it whitens the sails of his little bark. The mast is up, a steady breeze, and Fred with a trustful heart goes on his way rejoicing. Surely this bright day will last, and Fred seems so to think; yet Barney is with him, but with little fear of his wanting assistance. But hardly had they lost sight of those objects on shore, which the distance made less and less perceptible, when the clouds, so lately streaked with a rosy light, begin to darken, and the wind to blow from the north-west; and soon the sails, which spangled under the rays of the sun, lost their pure brilliancy, and were ruthlessly beaten to and fro ere Fred could take them down; so sudden and unexpected was the change from calm to storm! And his helpmate, too, in time of need but little deserved the name-more deaf and dull than ever! How cross Fred seemed to look when he bade him take down the sails, and to "look alive!" for Barney had little life in him, sitting and gaping as though quite unconscious of the present danger. But Barney was struck with fear, and the brave-hearted Fred forgot at that moment that his own stout heart was gone. Never will he forget that moment of sudden danger; and his "flesh gets creaming," as he calls it, whenever his mind reverts to the awful scene. In the hurry and confusion he let his oar slip, and he could have cried with sudden sorrow when he found that it was gone. Barney remained at the helm weathering the storm; the sails no longer useful, and the solitary remaining oar of little avail. The steersman guided the gallant bark, and kept true to his watch. Dark and dreary must have been the hope of that little crew; and if poor Sue had only known the danger, how sad she would have been! But the fisherman's cot was sheltered from the wind. The old father from the shore saw the little vessel dip several times under water, and he almost feared she was gone; but the next moment there she was! now lost, now found. So hope yet supported him, for she always rose again. Yet the old man knew the danger, and that to come in was next to impossible; for the boat would have been "stoved," he said, had his son made for shore. So poor Fred was obliged to keep out at sea, and do the best he could; steering backwards and forwards, whilst his old father cried like a child to see the danger he was in. The weather-beaten sailor knew from experience the awfulness of the scene, for he had for many years battled with the waves, yet never had been out in a storm like this; and the old man's face looked sad, for certain he was that this gallant boy would be drowned-his beautiful, his brave!-and no hope for his rescue unless the wind would change. And the supply of food so small, how could it support them in this time of need? But in God's mercy the wind did change. Though thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; through the rivers, they shall not overflow." And so was the good Fred most providentially preserved in this trying hour. "Peace, be still!" must have resounded through those raging waves, for all hope was lost, and despair had nearly come; but "GOD's way was in the sea, and His paths in the great waters;" and the wind changed as suddenly as it had done before. For three hours they were toiling on the deep; "their souls melted for heaviness; reeling to and fro, staggering like a drunken man, they were at their wits' end; but they called upon the LORD in their trouble, and He delivered them out of their distress: then were they at peace, and were brought into the haven where they would be." So safe, so calm, so satisfied are the souls that trust in Him. "Fear not, for I am with thee; be not dismayed, for I am thy GOD. I will strengthen thee; yea I will help thee; yea I will uphold thee with the right hand of My righteousness." Little did Fred think when he read these comforting words to Sue in the quiet of his cottage that he would have experienced their very truth in an hour like this! "The seed must be sown, ere we can reap the harvest!" "Never let feeble woman mourn for her impotence so long as she can pray for those she loves! Who can tell how quickly and how effectually the ministering spirits carry upwards the fragrance of that prayer? Only let her keep her heart pure, and her life holy; for it is the prayer of the righteous which availeth, and she may believe that every permitted sin of her's may lose a blessing for the friend, in whose behalf it were joy to die." "Tarry thou the LORD's leisure," she would sometimes say to herself, and "though it tarry, I will wait for it, for it will surely come; it will not tarry." The holy mother of S. Augustin is known to have prayed fervently for many years for her son, before he voluntarily retired from the world. How the wife of Elkanah prayed that her child "might live before Gov;" and though Sue waited for God's own good time, yet unceasingly she desired that her dear Fred would some day understand the real value of the Scriptures. And this day was not far distant, when the full force of those gracious promises cheered him on those fearful waves. Fred fell on his knees when he touched the shore, really kneeling on the sand, to pour forth his thanks for dangers passed; and rarely does the proud and thankless heart of man publicly bend his knee in gratitude to the Giver of all good things. The heathen mariners are said to place their idols in the corner of their canoes, and to pray to their gods of wood and stone to guide them in safety through the sea. Christian mariners pray, we will hope, though they make no evidence of their prayers. OF THE FOUR LAST THINGS. A Hymn apparently of the fourteenth century. Hora novissima. TIME will be ending soon, Heav'n will be rending soon; fast we and pray we; Arm'd in His terrors here, soon must the Judge appear: watch we while may we! Coming to recompense, evil to banish hence, justice to favour, Right to remunerate, sorrow to liberate, ever and ever! Ill shall be cast away, trial have passed away, when He shall sentence, THE CHURCH, ITS UNITY, AND CONSTITUTION.-All the Churches of GOD are united into one by the unity of discipline and government, by virtue whereof the same CHRIST dwelleth in them all. For they have all the same pastoral guides appointed, authorized, sanctified, and set apart by the appointment of GOD; by the direction of the SPIRIT, to direct and lead the people of GOD in the same way of salvation; as, therefore, there is no Church where there is no order, no ministry; so, where the same order and ministry is, there is the same Church.-Bp. Pearson. MY AUNT NELLY'S PORTFOLIO. (Continued from Vol. VII., page 341.) "THE butterfly has been said to be an emblem of the soul." This thought involuntarily passed through my mind yesterday as I knelt at the altar in a village church, and perceived a butterfly struggling his way upwards by a series of broken feeble efforts, between flying and hopping, on the piece of slanting wall which intervenes between the communion table and the windows above. I did not, of course, follow up the parallel at that time, but afterwards thinking over the circumstance, it seemed to me so full of significant meaning that I longed for my namesake and fellow-contributor's skilful pen to bring it well out. It would make a capital pendant I thought for Mary's "Moth on the Cross," if she would but take it in hand. By what means the caterpillar had found its way into the holy temple, or from what corner, awakening from its mysterious trance, the creature had started into life and light, remains for conjecture; perhaps, who shall say, it took its first flight from the baptismal font. Be this as it may, the poor insect wore not the appearance bright, vigorous, unsullied, of one hatched amid primeval freshness and purity. There was somewhat of a marred and blighted look about its plumage, a crippled air in its movements, which, to express my meaning more familiarly, betrayed that he was not "quite at home." Incapable as he seemed of a sustained flight, there is no saying how the poor thing had made his way to the foot of the altar, and thence to his position on the wall where I first observed him; but what will not constancy of purpose effect? he had finally succeeded in establishing himself in a snug corner of the lower window-pane, where the rays of the sun, the author of his being and sole fount to him of light and happiness, could visit him. Those to whom it may have happened to witness the launch of a butterfly will remember the thrill of ecstasy which seemed to pervade its frame, till after basking a brief while in the beams of the sun to renovate its powers, he made a sudden rapturous spring into his congenial elements of air and light. So it would doubtless have fared with my poor captive but for the intercepting pane; once remove that brittle impediment, and see how he would wing away to regions of inexhaustible delights "To worlds where"-butterflies-" are blest," where he could meander at will among brakes of flowers which even now spread their silken bosoms, rich with draughts of nectar, to welcome him; where he might sip and soar the livelong day, join in mazy dance with fair bright loving creatures like himself; revelling the while in the rays of that bright luminary from whom all his felicity derives its being and support. But I may not pursue my allegory into "things too high for mortal" pen; remembering too, that my proper business is to set forth the thoughts of others. The subjoined little sketch seems to follow naturally on the "Porch Nest," and on that account I have selected it from the portfolio. THE TIN TАСК. I mentioned that we had occasion to repair our ancient wellworn vicarage. The lesson which my poor little Porch Wren supplied was not the only ray of moral light which beamed upon me through the chinks of those dear old walls. Nobody questions the danger of meddling with an "old house," it is so generally acknowledged as to have grown into a proverb, and there is truly a perilous sympathy in its several parts. One evening when the family party were assembled in my brother's study, now become our chief apartment since its neighbour was undergoing repair, it was found that the door refused to close. What should this mean but that the dining-room, in resentment at the liberties which were being taken with it, was bringing the roof down upon our heads. While we womankind stood trembling by eying the door frame, and contracting ourselves into the smallest possible compass, my dear brother called a council of war on the staircase, where he and the head mason conversed in a sort of conspirator tone which only served to increase our fears. All we could make out were snatches of sentences, "Not any great danger," "by to-morrow's light," " my life for yours," with such like arguments of consolation as however well intentioned are sure to produce the contrary effect. They dropped like sparks on the ready combustibles of our female imaginations. I can never forget my terror as I skulked through the portentous doorway to go to bed, nor the visions of ruin and concussion which pursued me there. And what terrified me more than all was my dear brother's tapping at my chamber door, on the way to his own, to bid me try and make myself easy for the night, for that the mischief would be inquired into early the next morning. He kept his word. There were he and the master workman by dawn of day, peering through every inch of the old walls; but, notwithstanding that no fresh crack could be detected, the cause of alarm remained; the bookroom door still refused (in Cornish phraseology)" to go home," proving, they said, "there must be a breach somewhere." The consultation awoke me from the first wink of sleep I was able to obtain, and attracted me to the door where, wrapped in my flannel dressing-gown, I listened with a throbbing heart to catch what I could of an incoherent dialogue as of two persons in anxi |