the model of that beauty which is diffused throughout the whole. But he was to be "rejected of men," not so much of those who had no claim to distinction or influence, as of "the builders," those who stood pre-eminent among the avowed people of God, and whose very office required them to promote the purity and stability of his visible church, while it gave them peculiar advantages for knowing his truth, and understanding his revealed will. But the stone thus rejected by the builders, was to become "the head of the corner." The Messiah, after passing through his lowest humiliation, was to rise to universal rule, to be constituted especially the Head of his church, so that his pre-eminence should be acknowledged by every mind, and the highest dignity of his people should be, to be conformed to his image. And this result was to be brought about not by human agency, but by a special interposition of divine power, such an interposition as should call forth the astonishment of every thoughtful mind, and awaken the grateful joy of the humble and devout.

Such was the prediction which our Lord adduced, as about to be fulfilled in his own history. And it is instructive to mark, how the mind of the Saviour, when the multitudes had so recently followed him with the acclamation, "Hosanna to the Son of David," and when they seemed still to hang on his lips, was fixed on his own approaching death, as necessary to the accomplishment of the great work which he came to earth to effect, and thus as necessary to his mediatorial exaltation, and the triumphs and glory of his church. Nor should we fail to observe also, that even when the cross was almost in view, when he was within a few days of the lowest shame and ignominy, and when his pure and immaculate spirit was just about to drink that cup of anguish, which oppressed and almost exhausted his humanity, he adverted to the dignity of his person, as giving him peculiar and exclusive claims, and as rendering a persevering and final rejection of those claims an act of appalling guilt, and a source of overwhelming ruin.

This last sentiment was forcibly conveyed by our Lord's concluding remark, suggested by that prediction of the Psalmist, which he had quoted. "And whosoever shall fall on this stone, shall be broken; but on whomsoever it shall fall, it will grind him to powder." Here we are taught, that any collision with the Redeemer, any trifling with his claims, or rejection of his authority, or neglect of his mercy, must involve us in suffering and loss, though that suffering may, through repentance and faith, be removed, and we may be brought to a state of salvation and peace: but if our rejection of Him be persevering and final, if we continue to slight his government, and ungratefully to stand aloof from him, till the day of grace shall have passed away, and the period of solemn retribution have arrived, the terrible inflictions of his displeasure must involve us in hopeless ruin. “On whomsoever it shall fall, it will grind him to powder."

These sayings of the Redeemer should sink deep into our hearts. The circumstances under which they were delivered give to them an additional impressiveness; and, admonished by our Lord's own words, we should ask ourselves, as we follow him to the garden and the cross, whether we have believed in the Crucified, or whether we are still trifling with his grace, and are exposed in consequence to his righteous indignation. Ramsgate.

HENRY W. WILLIAMS,

VOLCANOES IN CENTRAL AMERICA.

PERILOUS ADVENTURE.

THE whole country is dotted with volcanoes, active or extinct. Mr. Dunlop visited Cartago, the old capital of Costa Rica, which was utterly destroyed by an earthquake on September the 2d, 1841. "It is still," he says, "a mass of ruins." He ascended the old volcano of Cartago, which must at one time have been terribly active, as the whole neighbourhood is composed of a mass of stones, lava, and scoriæ, though there is no existing tradition of its eruptions. The previous night,-July 11th, 12th,-he slept at a hut one-third up the mountain, where he suffered severely from the cold, although the hottest season of the year, and in the tropics; and the peasants told him that snow often falls there in January.

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Starting before sunrise, I reached the top of the mountain at nine A.M. During the ascent, I was kept pretty warm by walking quick; but I had not been ten minutes on the top, before my teeth were chattering with cold; and the Mestizo, who was my guide, seemed to suffer still more. The day was, fortunately, remarkably clear for the season of the year; and I succeeded in getting a glimpse of the Atlantic Ocean. In the months of December and January, I was told that both it and the Pacific are clearly seen from the top. The view is, however, in other respects, probably more singular and picturesque at the present season: the whole landscape below is covered with white fleecy clouds, which slowly move along the lower ground, followed by others, like flocks of monster-shaped animals; while the fields and trees appear of a dark blue colour, through frequent breaks, which give to them the aspect of motion, and to the clouds an aspect of rest; in the same manner as, at sea, the waters seem to move, and the ship to stand still. But while this covering is placed over the low ground like a ragged sheet, the volcano and all the high mountains are perfectly clear, and the sky above is of an intense blue colour, without the least speck or cloud. Leaving the guide, who said that no reward would tempt him to enter the crater, I proceeded alone to examine it; and perceiving a small rill of smoke issuing from the side of the grand crater, I was so eager to examine it, that I descended without thinking of the difficulty of the re-ascent; and after satisfying my curiosity, I found this to be impossible, from the slippery nature of the ground, composed as it is of ashes and cinders. After two or three attempts, and several violent falls, I found that there was no resource left but to descend to the bottom of the crater, and seek my way out by another path. After descending some distance as best I could, I came to a perpendicular ledge of rocks, at least twenty feet high; but on examination, I perceived, that if I could manage to get down the face of it, and creep round the end of a large projecting rock, I should be able to reach a small break in the side, by which I might get to the bottom; so, tying my riding-belt, neckcloth, and pockethandkerchief together, which I afterwards found to measure between twelve and thirteen feet, I fastened them, as best I could, to a point of rock, and lowered myself to within about a yard of the projecting ledge. While, however, I was looking how I might properly alight on it, the belt became detached from the rock, and I was precipitated forward. By a great effort I managed, on touching the ledge, to keep myself from falling down the precipice, (which would certainly have been a singular death,) and, descending the crater, walked to a hole in the centre, some hundred yards in dia

meter. I looked into it, but could see no bottom to the yawning abyss; and I then rolled in some stones, which fell from rock to rock, till the noise was lost in the distance. I longed much for a rope to lower myself a short way down; but this was out of the question. The sides of the crater were formed of a dark-blue granite, in many parts completely melted, and in others only cracked with heat; but there was no sulphur, nor any appearance of lime, clay, magnesia, or any of the metallic bases which are supposed to form volcanoes by their combustion, when brought in contact with water. Having found a more easy path to ascend, I returned to my guide, five hours having been spent in the crater, and in the descent and ascent."

NEW VOLCANO OF ISOLCO, NEAR SONSONATE.

This volcano rose from a plain seventy-seven years ago, and has ever since continued increasing in size.......... Unlike all other volcanoes, it may be said to be in a continued state of eruption, not only ejecting flames and smoke, like the mountains of Pacaya and old Guatemala, but large quantities of stones, cinders, and ashes. Its explosions are regular, occurring exactly every sixteen minutes three seconds. When close to the mountain, as in the ascent to Salcuatitan, I heard loud reports, like the discharge of a park of artillery; and immediately after, a dense cloud of smoke rose from the mountain in gradual ascent, and passed off with the wind; and stones were seen to fall, and roll down the sides. Viewing it at night (as I have frequently done) from Sonsonate, the explosion is followed by a red glare from the volcano, like that from a smith's furnace; and the stones may be seen to rise a great height, red hot: the greater number falling back into the crater, but a part of them rolling down the sides of the mountain. Between the explosions the mountain appears perfectly quiet, and emits no smoke or flames. The period between the explosions is said to be exactly regular ; but at some periods they are much more violent than at others. At present they are but slightly heard in Sonsonate, which is three leagues distant from the volcano, and are sometimes said to be inaudible; while at others they are regularly heard, like the discharge of a large gun a short distance off. The volcano has now attained the height of at least seven hundred or eight hundred feet from the base to the top, and its height is constantly increasing; but even should its eruptions continue, as at present, without intermission, which seems improbable, from the analogy of other volcanoes, many ages will be required before it can reach the height of the volcano of San Miguel, or those of Old Guatemala. It has never ejected any lava; but when the wind blows from it towards Sonsonate, it is said to disperse a very fine powder, which is inhaled in the lungs, to the serious injury of many people. In removing the tiles from the roofs of houses, a deposit of the powder has been discovered underneath, some inches in thickness.Dunlop's Travels in Central America.

THE FAMILY AT BROAD-OAK.*

In the reign of Charles I. there was an orchard at Whitehall, and the keeper of it was John Henry, a Welshman. His wife, Magdalene Rochdale, was a pious woman, who took great pains with her children, and instructed them carefully in "Perkins's Six Principles," and the other

* From preface to Select Works of Matthew Henry, by the Rev. James Hamilton, London. Thomas Nelson, London and Edinburgh.

lesson-books which preceded the Shorter Catechism. When dying, she said, "My head is in heaven, and my heart is in heaven: it is but one step more, and I shall be there too." The name of their only son was Philip. Having become a thoughtful boy at Westminster school, and at Oxford, under such teachers as Owen and Goodwin, having grown into an enlightened Christian and an accomplished Divine, he became a Minister, and was settled in Worthenbury, a little parish of Flintshire.

The playmate of Princes, for Charles II. and James II. were near his own age, and, when children, were often in his father's house, a gainly suavity marked the demeanour of Philip Henry all his days; and the memories of his boyhood mingled with the convictions of his manhood, and without diluting his creed softened his spirit. When a Presbyterian and a Puritan, he still remembered Whitehall; how he used to run and open the water-gate to Archbishop Laud, and how his father took him to visit the Primate in the Tower, and how the captive Prelate gave him some pieces of new money. He recollected the crowd which assembled before the palace that dismal 30th of January, when a King of England lost his head. And he treasured up the keepsakes which the royal children had given him. His father died a sturdy Royalist; and though he himself loved the large Gospel and strict religion of the Commonwealth, with a filial tenderness he always cherished these personal recollections of the reign.

The people of Worthenbury were very few. Though a popular Preacher, Philip Henry never counted eighty communicants. And his parishioners were poor: they delved and ploughed, and made the most of hungry little farms. But though they were neither numerous nor learned, their Minister felt that they were sufficiently important to demand his utmost pains. He visited and catechised them till he diffused a goodly measure of Christian intelligence; he took an affectionate and assiduous interest in all their concerns, and by the amenity of his disposition as greatly endeared himself as by the blameless elevation of his life he commended the Gospel; and, though destined for a small and homely congregation, he laboured hard at his sermons. Indeed, this latter part of his work was hardly felt as a labour. He had an instinct for sermon-making. To his quaint and ingenious mind there was the same enjoyment in a curious division, or a happy plan, which an enthusiastic artist feels in sketching a novel subject or a striking group; and it was a treat to his methodical eye to see accumulating in his cabinet piles of clear and evenly-written manuscript, and systems of pungent theology.

Few have surpassed Philip Henry in that trim antithesis and exact alliteration which were so prized by our ancestors. If it were asked, "What are the promises?" the answer was, "Articles of the Covenant; Breasts of Consolation; Christian Charter: "-and so on through all the alphabet down to "Wells of Salvation; 'Xceeding great and precious; Yea and Amen in Christ Jesus; Zion's peculiar." And even his common conversation shaped itself into balanced sentences and proverbial maxims. "If I cannot go to the house of God, I will go to the God of the house." "Forced absence from God's ordinances, and forced presence with wicked people, is a grievous burden to a gracious soul." "Solitariness is no sign of sanctity. Pest-houses stand alone, and yet are full of infectious diseases.” "There are two things we should beware of: that we never be ashamed of the Gospel, and that we may never be a shame to it." "There are three things which, if Christians do, they will find themselves mistaken: if they look for that in themselves which is to be had in another, namely, righte

ousness; if they look for that in the law, which is to be had only in the Gospel, namely, mercy; if they look for that on earth, which is to be had only in heaven, namely, perfection." In defiance of modern criticism, we own a certain kindliness for this old-fashioned art: it has a Hebrew look; it reminds us of the alphabetic psalms, and the "six things, yea, seven," of Solomon. And we believe that it has a deep root in nature, the love of alliteration and antithesis being, in another form, the love of rhyme and metre. We never see in an ancient garden a box-tree peacock, or a hemisphere of holly, but we feel a certain pleasure; we cannot help admiring the obvious industry; and we feel that they must have been a genial and gay-hearted people who taught their evergreens to ramp like lions, or flap their wings like crowing cocks. And, more especially, we feel that but for this grotesque beginning we might never have arrived at the landscapegardens of later times. Though they were the mere memorials of what amused our fathers, we could tolerate these conceits in cypress and yew; but when we recollect that they were the first attempts at the picturesque, and the commencement of modern elegance, we view them with a deeper interest. Doubtless this alliterative and antistrophic style was eventually overdone; and like the Dutch gardener, who locked up his apprentice in the one summer-house, because he had secured a thief in the other, the later Puritans sacrificed everything to verbal jingles and acrostic symmetry. But Philip Henry was a scholar, and a man of vigorous intellect, and, in the sense most signal, a man of God. Translated into the tamest language, his sayings would still be weighty; but when we reflect that to his peasant hearers their original terseness answered all the purpose of an artificial memory, we not only forgive but admire it. Many a good thought has perished because it was not portable, and many a sermon is forgotten because it is not memorable; but, like seeds with wings, the sayings of Philip Henry have floated far and near, and, like seeds with hooked prickles, his sermons stuck to his most careless hearers. His tenacious words took root, and it was his happiness to see not only scriptural intelligence, but fervent and consistent piety, spreading amongst his parishioners. When he had settled at Worthenbury, Mr. Philip Henry sought in marriage the only daughter and heiress of Mr. Matthews of Broad-Oak. There was some demur on the part of her father: he allowed that Mr. Henry was a gentleman, a scholar, and an excellent Preacher; but he was a stranger, and they did not even know where he came from. "True," said Miss Matthews; "but I know where he is going, and I should like to go with him" and she went. There is little recorded of her, except that she was very kind-hearted, devout, and charitable, "and always well satisfied with whatever God and her friends did for her." Five of their six children grew up; and when Bartholomew-day banished Philip Henry from his pulpit and his people, his wife's inheritance of Broad-Oak supplied a better home than was found by the families of most ejected Ministers.

Seldom has a scene of purer domestic happiness been witnessed than the love of God and one another created there. Ensconced in his well-furnished library, transcribing into his folio common-place book choice sentences from Cicero and Seneca, Augustine and Ambrose, Calvin and Beza, Baxter and Caryl, or writing out courses of sermons which he yet hoped to preach, the industrious Divine improved his abundant leisure. And whilst his partner looked well to the ways of her household, the thriving fields and tasteful garden proclaimed their united husbandry. Standing hospitably by the way-side, their house received frequent visits from the most renowned and