tary salute, his blanched locks and scarred face, spoke of strict discipline and hard service; while his meek, solemn expression told that other conflicts, and a better obedience, were not unknown to him. "You are enjoying this beautiful evening," I said, when he came near. "Yes," he replied, "I was admiring God's works, and I was watching my three poor bairns there at their play, and thinking how true an emblem of their future course their present race may be. Now it is all bright and happy, but God only knows how dark the shade may prove, when the eyes that now follow them are cold and dim, and the roof that now shelters has become the home of another. It carries me back," he added, "to the bonny glen where I ran my first race. There were three times three of us, and we little thought as we looked at the rugged hills that surrounded us, how rougher far the world beyond, on which we longed to enter, should prove when we had past these; and now," he said with a deep sigh, "I am left alone, and the dust of my father's house is scattered by the winds of heaven. There were were five handsome men of them slain on the field of battle." This remark naturally led me to talk of the past, rather than the future, and his anxieties regarding his children were not further alluded to; but when we next met, it was evident his mind had been much occupied with them. He then spoke with much emotion of the prospect of leaving them unprotected at the time when they would most need a parent's eye over them, and looking earnestly at me, he said, "You have shown me much kindness, will you promise me you'll be their friend?”—“You need not fear that, Humphrey," I replied; "but you know how little I can do to keep them from evil, even if I were constantly near; and how soon I may be removed far from them, no one can tell; but their father's God can never be distant, and with such a guide and protector, you should calmly leave them." "I should, I should," he said; then stretching his hand towards me, he added, "but promise me you'll no forget them." There was something in his manner so different from what I had ever seen before, and something also in the words he uttered, so at variance with his usual lively trust in God's providential care, that I left him with feelings much less pleasing than my visits to him had hitherto inspired, and a longer period than usual elapsed before I returned. When I again entered his cottage, I found him confined to bed; but he welcomed me with a cheerful smile. "I am sorry," I said, “to find you unwell. Have you been long ailing ?"-"Not very long," he said; "but my strength is far through, and the shaking of the clay tabernacle is clearly telling me I must look to a better habitation." "Well," I said, "you know who has gone before to prepare one for you."—"I do, I do!" he exclaimed; “and I can now trust Him for this and every other good thing." "I am glad to hear you say so," I replied; "for I was grieved to see you so disquieted when I was last here."-"Yes," he said, "I was disquieted, to my shame. I had the Word of the Eternal God, who has said, 'Leave your fatherless children to me, I will preserve them alive,' and yet I could not trust to it. I could not trust my children to Him to whom I had committed my own soul, and I sought in the promise of a mortal what I refused to find in the Word of Him who has preserved me all my life long; but you did well to teach me what I was trusting to. You did well to be long of coming, and I thank you for it. Oh! if I had had to wait for a sight of God's gracious countenance as long as I have looked for you, where would I have been this day? But blessed be His holy name, He is found of them that sought Him not; and truly, when we find Him we need nothing else. When we really know Him, we may well put our trust in Ilim,-aye, we can trust Him with all we hold most dear, both for time and eternity; and I would not take the promise of kings this day, in exchange for that one word, 'Be careful for nothing, but in every thing by prayer and supplication, let your request be made known unto God.'" "I trust," I said, you are enjoying the fruit of being able so to commit all your cares to Him who careth for you."-"I am," he said. "The their father, in some way to serve these peace of God does indeed keep my heart in perfect peace. I know that He will keep that which I have committed to Him; and I can fearlessly resign my children to Him, in the blessed hope that He will make them His children, whether He leaves me with them, or removes me into His own gracious presence." When I next entered the dwelling of this aged servant of God, I found him supported in bed, with his Bible in his hand, and his three girls standing by him. He looked very ill, and spoke with much difficulty, his breathing being much affected by his ailment. Ì expressed my regret at seeing him look so much worse, and he replied, "No present suffering is joyous; but when we know who sends it, and that His love will not mingle one drop of bitter in our cup that can be spared, we may well take it without repining, we may take it willingly; and I thank God I can do so, and that the language of my heart is, 'Not my will, but thine, O holy Father, be done."" Then looking at his children, he said, "Oh! bairns, ye maun learn to trust this Heavenly Father as ye have trusted me; ye must know that there is nothing too mighty for His power to accomplish; nothing too trifling for His tenderness to consider." These words he uttered with frequently interrupted articulation; and as he concluded, his head sunk on his pillow, apparently quite exhausted by the effort he had made. The eldest girl made an effort to support his head, and the two younger burst into tears, as they gazed on his ghastly countenance, and listened to his painfully oppressed respiration. For a few minutes, he lay as if unconscious; then, opening his eyes, he signed to me that he was quite unable to speak. I took his hand to bid him farewell; he pressed mine kindly, and then looking upward, he waived his hand, as if to say, we should meet again where parting is unknown. Only a few days after, I heard that this troubled breathing had wholly ceased,that the weary sufferer had found rest in the bosom of God. poor orphan girls; and I soon succeeded in securing situations for the two elder, with friends whose interest had been excited by hearing of their loneliness; while the youngest was taken home by some distant relations of the mother's, who promised to provide for her till she, too, was able to go to service. On the mind of Barbara, the eldest, a deep and abiding impression had been made by the instructions received from her father. She was conscientiously careful in the performance of any duty, rigidly exact in obedience to any command, and a pattern of all reverential deference to superiors; but there mingled with all her feelings and words an impress of sadness unfitting at her age; and one felt pained by this whenever brought into contact with her. It was not that she saw not the goodness of God; this she felt, and was ever ready to acknowledge; but her spirits seemed to have given way under the feeling of bereavement at the time of her father's death, and no brightening of future events ever had power to remove the cast of sorrowfulness which this had given to her feelings and her countenance. The second, Elizabeth, seemed to have felt also very deeply the parting words, and the last sorrowful scenes; and she strove, too, with all earnestness, to regulate her conduct as became a child of God, keeping ever in remembrance the words of godly counsel which her father had addressed to her. But the cheerfulness of her disposition contrasted most remarkably with the sadness of her sister's. To her, everything was a source of enjoyment; and the manifestation of God's fatherly care and love was read in every event, every object that surrounded, -all seemed bright and hopeful; and this light heart, and willing mind, caused her services to be highly valued by the friend who had engaged her to do such work as her strength permitted, in a nursery, where her happy disposition was an unspeakable blessing. The youngest, Agnes, possessed talent and energy greater than either of her sisters; but it was all unsubdued and I felt very anxious after the removal of unsanctified; and the worthy couple who had given her a home, seemed never to feel that they were called in any way to restrain her. Proud of her quickness at lessons, and activity in ordinary occupations, they overlooked, or were amused by the wild outbreaks of exuberant spirits that characterized her earlier years; and when her increasing age led them to look with anxiety on tendencies which were before unheeded, they found themselves without the authority which would have given them power to control these. They had indulged her while indulgence was pleasant to themselves; now they knew not how to restrain her. Barbara had been placed with an aged lady, whose personal attendant she soon became; and for many years she most faithfully discharged the duties of this situation, when rapidly increasing infirmities of both body and mind, made it a delicate and painful task. While in this situation, she had become acquainted with a young man of excellent character, who desired to make her his wife; but she would not leave the worthy lady who had befriended her in her days of helplessness, and who had now become wholly dependent on her for comfort amid the infirmities of a second childhood; and so her marriage was delayed till after her mistress' death. About the same time Elizabeth also formed a very desirable matrimonial connexion; and being in the neighbourhood where both sisters had settled, I went to see them. I found them together, and both seemed well, and surrounded with many comforts; but both had one deep and growing sorrow in their anxieties about poor Agnes. She had been most imprudent, if not worse, and unable to abide the consequences of her own folly, she had determined to forsake her native land, and had actually sailed for America. For many years after, though I made frequent inquiry, I could never gain any information regarding her. Vague reports of her had reached home through others, but no one had ever heard from herself, and her sisters' minds were filled with most painful and harrowing for bodings. I had not seen either of them for a considerable time, but being again not distant from the place where they resided, I set out for Elizabeth's abode. When she opened the door for me, her eyes were red with weeping; but the happy smile with which she bade me welcome, seemed brighter than even, in her cheerful face, I could have looked for amid deep sorrow; and I hesitated for a moment, doubting how I should address her. She saw my perplexity, and at once said, "I have been weeping, but they were tears of joy, and not of sorrow; and I was just thinking, when I heard you knock, how I could send you that,” pointing to a letter that lay open on the table, "for I knew no one would rejoice more in the good than yourself." "Is it a letter from Agnes," I inquired ?—"Yes," she said, "from the long lost Agnes; and truly she is found at las; for the Lord has found her, and made her willing to love and follow Him." "And where is she," I asked ?-"Oh! she's far far away," she replied; "but what of that, now that she is brought nigh through the blood of Christ. But you had better read her own account," she said, handing me a very long and closely written letter. The first part was filled with very tender and vivid remembrances of the past;-the old cottage, the green fields, the wooded knoll, and all the cherished associations they brought with them, seemed fresh in her mind; and the sadness of being widely parted from all, was very touchingly expressed. Then came the history of folly and of shame hitherto unconfessed, and all that had occurred since she left the place of her birth. She had been engaged as a servant on the voyage out, but soon left a master's, for a husband's house. She had become a mother, and during her husband's absence from her on some necessary business, her infant had been taken dangerously ill. Alone, in a land of strangers, with none to sympathize in her sorrow, she had watched for many weeks its agonizing sufferings; and, in these desolate and sorrowful hours, a long-forgotten God had manifested His gracious and long-suffering character to her, by bringing to her remembrance the words of instruction and reproof which she had, year after year, despised. Hymns she had repeated by her father's side; passages of Scripture learned for the Sabbath school, which had not been thought of since then, all came fresh to her memory; the very voice which had there instructed, and entreated, and warned her in vain, seemed again to sound in her ear, and the truth so long put far away, was, in this hour of sorrow, gladly received into her heart. She then saw and felt as she had never seen before the evil of the past; and her heart turned with renewed affection to those from whom, in the days of her folly, she had fled, because she would not endure their faithful reproof. As I left Elizabeth's house, the words of her father came forcibly to my mind. "I would not," he said, "take the promise of kings this day in exchange for that one word, Be careful for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your request be made known unto God;'" and when I thought of the fearless confidence which this inspired, and of the marvellous answer to a father's faith, made, in the calling back of this poor girl from her wanderings, my heart was filled with thankfulness and joy. VERA. "PAUL, THE PRISONER OF THE LORD." We know from the Acts of the Apostles, that Paul was frequently in bonds for the sake of the Gospel; that he was once a prisoner at Rome; and it was the uniform tradition of the primitive Church, that he was imprisoned there a second time, and was taken forth from prison and beheaded. During his first imprisonment there, several of his epistles to the Churches were written; and during his second imprisonment, it is supposed he wrote the Second Epistle to Timothy, and some think his Epistle to the Ephesians. When he was a prisoner at Rome the first time, he was allowed a consider able degree of liberty; but, on the second occasion, he was confined in bonds within the walls of the prison. We find a few allusions to his imprisonment in those epistles which were written from Rome; they are few and brief. Nevertheless, the fact that these epistles were written during imprisonment ought not to be forgotten; for it is well worthy of being remembered, when reading them, as tending to give increased interest to many of the appeals which are addressed to us, that it is "Paul, the prisoner of the Lord," who beseeches us. And, indeed, there are many seemingly trifling circumstances mentioned, or alluded to, in God's Word which we are apt to overlook, yet which ever amply repay a careful consideration. These often throw light over broad passages of Holy Writ, and tend to heighten the effect of those with which they are immediately connected. Every one knows how much the beauty of a landscape may be increased by the lights which rest on it, or flit across it, and what a striking effect is often produced by a few rays from the setting sun, coming forth to gild some craggy cliff, or light up some dark receding valley. And even so in studying God's Word, we often find that some passage, with which we have been long familiar, acquires fresh beauty, and appears in a new and deeply interesting light, when we take it in connexion with some circumstance which we had passed over as of comparatively trifling importance. It is not, however, our intention to view the imprisonment of Paul in this light, but to call the attention of our readers to the example which he, "the prisoner of the Lord," hath left for our imitation. He was imprisoned unjustly, and was in bonds for the truth's sake, and yet he does not rail against the Roman emperor; nay, he never so much as mentions his name. For Paul knew well that God had some wise design to accomplish by his imprisonment, and that no tyrant could have put him in chains if God had willed it otherwise. Unquestionably, it was cruel injustice that he should be imprisoned for nothing else than teaching the truth; yet the Apostle repines not, he dwells not upon the injustice, he casts no His ness they think the greatest of all sicknesses, their hardships the greatest of all hardships, and their claim to the sympathy of friends stronger than the claim of any other sufferer. Nothing is more displeasing to such persons, than to hear any other person spoken of as deserving of pity, for they have shut the whole world out of their sympathies, and their thoughts never go forth from their own dwellings. How different was the spirit of "Paul, the prisoner of the Lord!" He seems to have had no thoughts for himself, or his own hardships; all his thoughts were employed for the good of others. Even in bonds his mind was ever occupied with the affairs of the churches; and he, " the prisoner of the Lord," prayed for them, and gave thanks for them, and by his epistles taught them the will of God more perfectly. reproaches upon the tyrant; but he sufferer than themselves. Their own sickfers his imprisonment meekly as the servant of the Lord. And even so he teaches the servants of the Lord Jesus, to bear patiently and meekly the evils of this present world, whatever these evils may be. And Peter, speaking by the same Spirit who dwelt in Paul, tells us, "This is thankworthy, if a man for conscience toward God, endure grief, suffering wrongfully. For what glory is it, if, when ye be buffeted for your faults, ye shall take it patiently? but if, when ye do well and suffer for it, ye take it patiently, this is acceptable with God." Nor does "Paul, the prisoner of the Lord," give himself up, in his imprisonment, to brood over his sorrows. body is in bonds, but his spirit is free. His body is confined to Rome, but his spirit visits the churches of the Gentiles. And yet there is a strong temptation when a man is suffering, and more especially when he is suffering wrongfully, to allow his thoughts ever to dwell on his own sufferings; and when a man yields to it, he is inevitably led to repine. Whether the Apostle Paul felt this temptation, it is difficult to say; but of this we are sure, that if he did, he resisted it. On his own privations and sufferings, his thoughts never seem to have dwelt. He regarded them as sufferings not worthy to be compared with the glory that was to be revealed; and instead of thinking himself hardly dealt with, he counted it an honour to suffer for Christ. He would not have exchanged his prison for the king's palace, nor his chain for the king's crown; for he knew that his light affliction, which was but for a moment, was-epistles which not only edified those to working out for him a far more exceeding, even an eternal weight of glory. And, ch! surely, they who spend their time in nothing else than brooding over their sorrows, and sorrows which exist, perhaps, chiefly in their own imaginations, such would do well to learn a lesson of "the prisoner of the Lord." For there are not a few who never allow their thoughts to wander away from their own circumstances, who magnify their own sufferings, and seem never satisfied so long as any one is supposed to be a greater suf Many, in such circumstances, would have said, "Here am I in bonds, cut off from all active duty. If God had wished me to teach the truths of religion to others, he would not have suffered me to be deprived of liberty; and, seeing that I am a prisoner, it cannot be expected that I should any longer teach and strengthen the churches. My duty is not to do, but to suffer." Paul uses no such language. He endeavours to discover something, that even he, a prisoner, may do for the Lord that bought him; and he does not search in vain. Passing over all that he did for the Redeemer's glory, amongst those he had an opportunity of teaching at Rome, he wrote one epistle after another to the churches, whom they were addressed, but which have edified the people of God in all succeeding ages. And truly, the circumstances in which the child of God is placed, must be somewhat extraordinary, if a willing heart can discover nothing that may be done for God's glory and man's good. It is difficult to conceive circumstances more unfavourable than those in which " Paul, the prisoner of the Lord," was placed, especially during his second imprisonment at Rome; and yet the walls of his dungeon could not |