Hume were the spectators, without being aware that it was any tragedy at all.-John Foster.

SCRIPTURE ILLUSTRATIONS.

THE ROCK IN HOREB.

"And the Lord said unto Moses, Go on before the people, and take with thee of the elders of Israel, and thy rod where

with thou smotest the river, take in thine hand, and go: behold, I will stand before thee there upon the rock in Horeb, and thou shalt smite the rock, and there shall come water out of it, that the people may drink. And Moses did so, in the sight of the elders of Israel."Ex. xvii. 5, 6.

MOUNT MERIBAH still bears striking evidence of the miracle about it, and is quite isolated in the midst of a narrow valley, which is here about two hundred yards broad. There are four or five fissures, one above the other, on the face of the rock, each of them about a foot and a half long, and a few inches deep. What is remarkable, they run along the breadth of the rock, and are not rent downwards: they are more than a foot asunder, and there is a channel worn between them by the gushing of the water. The Arabs still reverence this rock, and stuff shrubs into the holes, that when any of their camels are sick, they may eat of them and recover.

THE PASSAGE OF THE ISRAELITES

THROUGH THE RED SEA. "And Moses stretched out his hand over the sea and the Lord caused the sea to go back by a strong east wind all that night, and made the sea dry land, and the waters were divided: and the children of Israel went into the midst of the sea, upon the dry ground, and the waters were a wall unto them on their

right hand and on their left."—Ex. xiv. 2, 21, 22.

In three days, travelling slowly, we reached the shores of the Red Sea: it is here a fine sheet of water about ten miles broad. This is the place where the Israelites are supposed to have crossed. Directly opposite, on the other side, the mountains, which above and below form a continual range, are divided, and, sloping gently down, leave a space or valley of about six miles broad, through which the Israelites passed on their way from Pihahiroth.

MOUNT SINAI.

"And Moses brought forth the people out of the camp to meet with God; and they stood at the nether part of the mount." Ex. xix. 10-18.

We had not the opportunity of making the tour of the whole of the region of Sinai, yet we traversed three sides of the mountain, and found it everywhere shut in by narrow ravines, except on the north, in which direction we had first approached it. Here there is a valley of some extent, and a small plain, in the midst of which is a rocky hill. These appear to be the only open places in which the Israelites could have stood before the mount; because on the fourth side, though unvisited, we could observe from the summit were only glens, or small rocky valleys, as on the west and south, for the precipices opposite rose near and high, and a country like this can change little in the progress of ages. If water was not more plentiful of old than at the present time, it was impossible for so numerous a people to have been sustained without a constant miracle in their favour, the number of wells is so small, and in summer so soon exhausted.

light in their having other pursuits than ours, are all based upon a thorough perception of the simple fact, that they are not we.

Another rule for living happily with

of disputation.

Again; if people wish to live well together, they must not hold too much logic, and suppose that everything is to be settled by sufficient reason. Dr. Johnson saw this clearly with regard to married people, when he said, 'Wretched would be the pair, above all names of wretchedness, who should be doomed to adjust by reason, every morning, all the minute detail of a domestic day." But the application should be much more general than he made it. There is no time for such reasonings, and nothing that is worth them. And when we recollect how two lawyers, or two politicians, can go on contending, and that there is no end of one-sided reasoning on any subject, we shall not be sure that such contention is the best mode for arriving at truth. But certainly it is not the way to arrive at good temper.

If you would be loved as a companion, avoid unnecessary criticism upon those with whom you live. The number of people who have taken out judges' patents for themselves is very large in any society. Now, it would be hard for a man to live with another who was always criticising his actions, even if it were kindly and just criticism. It would be like living between the glasses of a microscope. But these self-elected judges, like their proto

One of the most provoking forms of the criticism above alluded to is that which may be called criticism over the shoulder. "Had I been consulted,""had you listened to me,"-" but you always will," and such short scraps of sentences, may remind many of us of dissertations which we have suffered and inflicted, and of which we cannot call to mind any soothing effect.

Another rule is, not to let familiarity swallow up all courtesy. Many of us have a habit of saying to those with whom we live such things as we say about strangers behind their backs. There is no place, however, where real politeness is of more value than where we mostly think it would be superfluous. You may say more truth, or rather speak out more plainly, to your associates, but not less courteously than you do to strangers.

Again; we must not expect more from the society of our friends and companions than it can give, and especially must not expect contrary things. It is somewhat arrogant to talk of travelling over other minds (mind being, for what we know, infinite); but still we become familiar with the upper views, tastes, and tempers of our associates. And it is hardly in man to estimate justly what is familiar to him. In travelling along at night, as Hazlitt says, we catch a glimpse into cheerful-looking rooms, with light blazing in them, and we conclude, involuntarily, how happy the inmates must be. Yet there is heaven and hell in those rooms-the same heaven and hell that we have known in others.

A FAMILY PICTURE. LET us consider the case of two persons, of unequal tempers and dissimilar habits, about to form an engagement for life, by which their whole future existence might be affected; what repugnance, on reflection, would they not mutually feel to such an engagement, especially if one of the parties was to be in a state of subordination to the other! How diversified, how strict, how persevering, would be the inquiries of each respecting the other! Unless the dispositions, the temper, the habits, the genuine character, and the innermost principles were mutually known, what rational hope, what tolerable chance of happiness could subsist?

"Temper, whose unclouded ray Can make to-morrow cheerful as to day; That never answers till her husband cools, And, if she rules him, never shows she

rules;

Charms by accepting, by submitting sways,
And has her humour most when she obeys."
"Oh! sweet as vernal dews that fill
The closing buds on Zion's hill,
When evening clouds draw hither,-
So sweet, so heavenly, 'tis to see
The members of one family
Live peaceably together."

SOME WIVES AFTER MARRIAGE. Now their pleasant smiles are turned into frowns, the neatness of their dress into sluttery. She who opened her mouth with wisdom, in whose tongue was the law of kindness, now speaks unadvisedly with her lips, and carries herself so disrespectfully towards her husband, as if she studied how to disoblige him, and to alienate his affections from her; by which means, many times, women make themselves to become the wives of madmen and sots; whereas, had they been as careful after their marriage to have pleased their husbands as they were before, they might have made their husbands happy, and themselves too: and had they had that conjugal love which they ought to have had, they would have done it; for love is an affection that will render

persons active and diligent to content and please those who are beloved by them; and when the wife has so much love for her new husband as to make her careful to oblige and fearful to offend him, in process of time she will soon engage his affections to her, as that she may defy the world to alienate them from her.

If ever there was a time when it was important to distinguish between the true and the false in religion, both doctrinal and personal, it is the present; and if there ever was a man who had a thorough understanding of the difference, that man was Andrew Fuller. That extraordinary writer did more than any of his compeers-more,

perhaps, than all of them united-to purify the theological atmosphere of Great Britain. But of all his writings it may be doubted if there is a more instructive passage on the subject than that in which he sets forth the history of his own conversion, which will repay the solemn consideration of every reader.

Andrew Fuller was born on the 6th of February, 1754, at Wicken, a small village in Cambridgeshire, where his paternal ancestors had resided for several generations. His father rented a small farm, and his son assisted him in cultivating it, until he was nineteen years of age. During the latter part of this period, he was the subject of frequent and deep religious impressions. At one time, he thought himself converted; and as the delusion under which he laboured was a common one, it may be proper to describe it in his

own words:

"One morning, I think about the year 1767, as I was walking alone, I began to think seriously what would become of my poor soul, and was deeply affected in thinking of my condition. I felt that I was the slave of sin, and that it had such power over me, that it was in vain for me to think of extricating myself from its thraldom. Till now, I did not know but that I could repent at any time; but now I perceived that my heart was wicked, and that it was not in me to turn to God, or to break off my sins by righteousness. I saw that if God would forgive me all the past, and offer ine the kingdom of heaven, on condition of giving up my wicked pursuits, I should not accept it. This conviction was accompanied with great depression of heart; I walked sorrowfully along, repeating these words, Iniquity will be my ruin!-Iniquity will be my ruin! While poring over my unhappy case, those words of the Apostle suddenly occurred to my mind: Sin shall not have dominion over you, for ye are not under the law, but under grace.' Now, the suggestion of a text of Scripture to the mind, especially if it came with power, was generally considered by the religious people with whom I occasionally associated as a promise coming immediately from God. therefore so understood it, and thought that God had thus revealed to me that I was in a state of salvation, and there fore that iniquity should not, as I had

I

The effect was, I

feared, be my ruin. was overcome with joy and transport.. I shed, I suppose, thousands of tears as I walked along, and seemed to feel myself, as it were, in a new world. It appeared to me that I hated my sins, and was resolved to forsake them. Thinking on my wicked courses, I remember using those words of Paul, Shall I continue in sin, that grace God forbid !' may abound? I felt, or seemed to feel, the strongest indignation at the thought. But, strange as it may appear, though my face that morning was, I believe, swollen with weeping, yet before night all was gone and forgotten, and I returned to my former vices with as eager a gust as

ever. Nor do I remember that for more than half a year afterwards I had any serious thoughts about the salvation of my soul. I lived entirely without prayer, and was wedded to my sins, just the same as before, or rather was increasingly attached to

them.

"Some time in the following year I was again walking by myself, and began to reflect upon my course of life, particularly upon my former hopes and affections, and how I had since forgotten them all, and returned to all my wicked ways. Instead of sin having no more dominion over me, I perceived that its dominion had been increased.

Yet I still thought that must have been a promise from God to me, and that I must have been a converted person, but in a backsliding state; and this persuasion was confirmed by another sudden impression, which dispelled my dejection, in these words: I have blotted out as a thick cloud thy transgressions, and as a cloud thy

sins.'

This, like the former, overcame

my mind with joy. I wept much at the thoughts of having backslidden so long, but yet considered myself now as restored and happy. But this also was mere transient affection. I have great reason to think that the great deep of my heart's depravity had not yet been broken up, and that all my religion was without any abiding principle."

The devil can quote and impress Scripture, when it suits his purpose.

He once attempted this artifice upon our blessed Saviour: "He shall give his angels charge concerning thee, and in their hands they shall bear thee up, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone." There is no more effectual means of destruction than a perverted, misapplied passage of Scripture.

About two years after this, the attention of Mr. Fuller was again arrested, and his impressions now issued in a saving change. The account which he gives of his conversion is eminently instructive and satisfactory; and though the passage is somewhat long, and has been often quoted, we

cannot forbear giving it again. In

these days of shallow impressions and slender conversions, it may be well to look at one of the old genuine stamp :

"One morning, I think in November, 1769, I walked out by myself with an unusual load of guilt upon my conscience. The remembrance of my sin, not only on the past evening, but for a long time back, the breach of my vows, and the shocking termination of my former hopes, and affections, all uniting together, formed a burden which I knew not how to bear. The reproaches of a guilty conscience seemed like the gnawing worm of hell. I thought surely that must be an earnest of hell itself. The fire and brimstone of the bottomless pit seemed to burn within my bosom. I do not write in the language of exaggeration. I now know that the sense which I then had of the evil of sin, and the wrath of God, was very far short of the truth; but yet it seemed more than I was able to sustain. In reflecting upon my broken vows, I saw that there was no truth in me. I saw that God would be perfectly just in sending me to hell; and that to hell I must go, unless I were saved of mere grace, and, as it were, in spite of myself. I felt that, if God were to forgive me all my past sins, I should again destroy my soul, and that in less than a day's time. I never before knew what it was to feel myself

an odious, lost sinner, standing in need of both pardon and purification. Yet, though I needed these blessings, it seemed presumption to hope for them, after what I had done. I was absolutely helpless, and seemed to have nothing about me that ought to excite the pity of God, or that I could reasonably expect should do so; but everything disgusting to him, and provoking to the eyes of his glory. 'What have I done?-what must I do?' These were my inquiries, perhaps ten times over. Indeed, I knew not what to do! I durst not promise amendment, for I saw that such promises were self-deception. To hope for forgiveness in the course that I was in, was the height of presumption; and to think of Christ, after having so basely abused

his grace, seemed too much. So I had

no refuge.

"It is difficult, at this distance of time, to recollect with precision the minute workings of my mind; but as near as I can remember, I was like a man drowning, looking every way for help, or rather catching for something by which he might save his life. I tried to find whether there were any hope in the Divine mercy-any in the Saviour of sinners; but felt repulsed by the thought of mercy having been so basely abused already. In this state of mind, as I was moving slowly on, I thought of the resolution of JobThough he slay me, yet will I trust in him!' I paused, and repeated the words over and over. Each repetition seemed to kindle a ray of hope, mixed with a determination, if I might, to cast my perishing soul upon the Lord Jesus Christ for salvation, to be both pardoned and purified; for I felt that I needed the one as much as the other.

"On a review of my resolution at that time, it seemed to resemble that of Esther, who went into the king's presence contrary to the law, and at the hazard of her life. Like her, I seemed reduced to extremities, impelled by dire necessity to run all hazards, even though I should perish in the attempt. Yet it was not altogether from a dread of wrath that I fled to this refuge; for I well remember that I felt something attracting in the Saviour; I must-I will-yes, I will trust