Ir was the deep counsels of the Infinite that gave birth to time, fixed the revolving years, appointed the returning seasons, marked out the lines of human life, and viewing its all-wide and spacious power, consigned it to man, to prove according to his use of it, either a precious boon or a source of woe. Succeeding centuries have rolled away since this decree went forth; nations that trod the busy stage of life with industry and ardour have long been silent, and all their boasted glory lies deeply buried in obscurity. No spot appears on the wide earth's domain but what presents an awful picture of the influence of time. Kings and princes have passed away in quick succession, ancient legislators have ceased to rouse the torpid feelings of their brother citizens by energetic and impassioned declamations; empires have fallen from their pristine greatness; opulent cities have gradually degenerated into uninhabited and desolate ruins; vast and superb edifices have sunk into decay, and the prostrate pillars, the broken fragments we see around us, loudly declare the vast destruction time effects upon sublunary things. Wars, with all their hideous and appalling train, move in its eddying circle; famine, with squalid looks, spreads meagre wretchedness; and dire pestilence, carrying destruction on its forehead, sweeps to the dreary regions of the grave thousands of helpless unoffending victims. Where the loud hubbub of commerce resounded through the spacious buildings; where, amid towering domes, and splendid porticoes, the mixed clamour of innumerable voices welcomed home a favourite warrior from his dangerous toils and rent the air with acclamations, there has time planted his awful standard; not a vestige of ancient grandeur can be discovered, but all is deadly silent; no sound is heard, save the deep-drawn and hoarse murmurs of the rude north wind, or the wild scream of the night bird, who has built her habitation in the solitary ruins. Desolation covers also the face of nature, and where the thick foliage and

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luxuriant meadow gaily smiled, there dwell noxious weeds, or the soil is condemned to sterility. So powerful are the ravages of timethe lofty pyramid, the laurelled monument, gracing the hero's glorious name; the matchless productions of the artist's pencil, all the labour of his lengthened life; the finished beauty, the unrivalled touches of a master hand, h ve perished,

"And like the baseless fabric of a vision,

Le not a wreck behind."

How wide-extended, then, the havoc! Each succeeding day brings fresh calamity, and sheds a sombre aspect over human life. Time waits for none; pursuing with the utmost regularity its destined circuit, it is always on the wing-weeks, months, and years roll round with wondrous velocity, and man's existence seems a span. Still, thus though it is constructed, ever-varying scenes occur, giving full play to all the passions of the heart, while memory, clad in smiles and gaiety, unlocks the deep recesses of the soul, and opens to our view the cheering moments felt and enjoyed beneath the pinions of allcircling time. Thus has it flown on halcyon wing with some few favoured mortals; content and happiness have been their portion, and scarcely have they heeded the moments in their rapid flight. Others, alas! are doomed to drink the bitter draught of misery; they see before them the haven of their hopes and happiness; they behold the wishedfor spot, but every ardent effort, every heroic struggle (by fate's inexorable decrees) is foiled, and they are driven back, hopeless victims of despair. It is to these, the offspring of misfortune, that the hours appear so tedious. Their hopes are blighted, their blissful moments vanished, life itself is irksome, and the long day appears as if it would never end.

Time is a valuable gift, the world's vast actions lie within its womb, and as agents of the immortal Giver we are responsible for our use of it. It ought then to be well regulated, not consumed in frivolity, far less be

made the vehicle of cruelty and debasement. It should not be spent in dull sloth and inactivity. These degrade the character, and sink it below the beasts of the field. It is our duty, as we value and wish to promote the comfort of ourselves and fellowcreatures, to employ it in a more noble and exalted manner; to pursue that mode of conduct which on deliberate reflection will afford most satisfaction to the mind; to culti vate by diligent exertion a familiar intercourse with industry, who has been represented as the parent of content; and to augment and embellish those faculties which the beneficent Author of nature has so liberally bestowed upon us. Then shall we answer the glorious and allwise purposes of creation, and our hearts will be filled with gratitude; we shall form a pleasing contrast to those who have lived without any regard to the invaluable nature of time, who have disobeyed their Maker's mild and generous injunetions, who have eaten the bread of idleness, and followed those trifling and ignoble pursuits which the precepts of wisdom and morality so forcibly condemn. Shall man, eminently superior to all other created beings, moulder in lifeless apathyshall he sink into cuervation, and debase his nature below the senseless earth? Formed to contemplate the stupendous wonders of the created universe, to behold the admirable design and wisdom manifested in every budding tree, and every blos somed fruit; formed to know and

understand the great importance of improving each passing hour, that time once past can never be recalled; seeing for want of industry and energy projects of incalculable moment, pregnant with more than ordinary consequences, fall with lamentable destruction to the ground; is there on this revolving sphere a human being so lost to his own inhe rent dignity, so regardless of his character, so neglectful of the sacred duties, the natural obligations that devolve upon him, as to acquiesce in a useless, mis-speut life, or even a bare existence? Alas! many, very many do thus abuse their precious moments, and bring disgrace on human nature. Let it, however, be our study to employ our time to the best advantage, to shun the slothful, and seek the diligent. Then will our bosoms glow with satisfaction and delight-for industry imparts health and vigour to the frame, it sweetens every action of our lives, and time well spent can always be reviewed with plea sure. Such feelings, such reflections cheer the old man on his dying bed, solace his few remaining hours, and spread around him the balm of consolation. Cherish, therefore, cherish the sacred hours, and make them subservient to some great and useful end; then, with expanded intellect, and with invigorated constitution, we may stand the buffets of the world, without a knowledge of the bitter stings of a guilty conscience. W. TAYLOR.

THERE are in the world about eight hundred millions of human beings. Suppose that instead of eight hundred millions of souls to be brought to God, there were cight hundred millions of lamps to be lighted; and suppose they were to be lighted at the rate of five every minute. At this rate of progress it would take between seven and eight hundred years to light them all. But, suppose again, that every single lamp, when once lighted, had the power of lighting others at the same rate of five every minute. The first minute, five lamps would be lighted;

the next minute each of these would light five; the third minute there would be twenty-five, each lighting five; the next minute there would be one hundred and twenty-five, lighting five each; the next minute there would be six hundred and twentyfive, each lighting five, and so on. By this method of lighting the eight hundred millions of lamps, how long would it take, think you? Less than fifteen minutes! God says, "Let there be light." How many lamps will our chapels and Sunday schools light by the next Confer ence?

POEMS; SACRED, HISTORICAL, AND DESCRIPTIVE. By R. THWAITES. Second Edition. London: Methodist New Connexion Book Room; Durham: G. Walker.

The design of the worthy author is neither fame nor pecuniary remuneration. The work was published, it ap pears, at the urgent request of a friend, whose apology is modestly used as a preface to the first edition. This friend remarks: It has been with considerable difficulty that I have at length prevailed upon the author of these poems to bring them before the public. From feelings of extreme delicacy he never wished them to appear in print. Having myself felt profit and pleasure from them, and believing them to be the breathings of a heart sincere, and dictated by motives most pure, I was induced to urge upon him the publication of this little volume, with humble hope that it may afford the reader, not amusement only, but under the blessings of the Lord be made profitable to the soul. Should this be the case, I have no doubt he will deem this a rich reward for all his labour. As the author feels deeply his own imperfections, he begs most earnestly that the mantle of love may be cast over any of the defcets in this little volume."

The volume contains seventy-six short pocms; and if they are not of firstrate quality, they are free from all bombast and affectation. Should any profits arise from the sale of the work, it is the design of the worthy author to devote them to the erection of a new chapel in Durham, in addition to a handsome subscription already promised by him.

THE FEAR OF DEATH: or, Why should the Atheist fear to Die? With reasons why the Christian should not fear Death. An Essay, read at the Literary Institution, Carlisle street, Marylebone. Published by request. By S. WILLIAMS. 12mo. pp. 16. London: Partridge and Oakey.

Mr. Willians was one of the four local preachers in our Connexion who successfully wrote as Sabbath prize essayists. His excellent production was published, and obtained a respectable circulation. Mr. Williams is now engaged as a London city missionary, and the tract before us has been composed with a view to usefulness in his present arduous vocation. It is a clever delineation of the irrational fal

lacies of infidelity, and a faithful exposure of its utter insufficiency either to afford peace or satisfaction to the mind in this world, or provide for the dreaded future existence. It proves infidelity to be at best a dark and troubled ocean of doubt and despair, on which the anxious soul is tossed without either rudder or compass; and that Christianity is the balm and solace of life, a well-spring of pure and satisfying enjoyment now, and promising immortal joys in the world to come. Though the work has been issued only a few weeks, it is already in its second edition. We earnestly wish Mr. Williams success in his laudable efforts to do good.

Published under the direct patronage of the Author. NOTES, EXPLANATORY AND PRACTICAL, ON THE NEW TESTAMENT. By the Rev. ALBERT BARNES. Reprinted verbatim from the latest American Edition. Edited and carefully Corrected, By Rev. INGRAM COBBIN, M.A. Vols. I., II., including the four Gospels, London: Partridge and Oakey.

The Commentary of Albert Barnes is well known, and so highly appreciated, that we need not offer any additional testimony to those already adduced as to its intrinsic excellence, and adaptation to general usefulness. We have here two volumes comprising the whole of the four Gospels. While the work is well got up, paper and type good, and many passages illustrated with wood engravings, it is sold at a price marvellously low.

SPIRITUAL BLESSINGS: A Discourse on Personal Election and Divine Sovereignty: with an Appendix containing Notes and Observations on Collateral Sub

jects. By the late JOSEPH FLETCHER, D.D. Fifth Edition. London: J. Snow.

A calm, temperate, and dignified exposition of the views held by modern Calvinists on the subjects of election and reprobation. Although we dissent from the talented and worthy author, (now in heaven.) we honour the amiable spirit and the superior talent exhibited in this discourse.

THE PEOPLE'S SERVICE OF SONG: A Tune Book for the Pew. The Harmonies revised by GEORGE HOGARTH, Esq., author of "Musical History," &c.; the whole edited by Joux CURWEN. London: Ward and Co.

In this book we have 180 tunes, twenty-one chants, nine congregational antheins, and two sanctuses. To render

his work adapted to congregational worship, the author collected a list of nearly a thousand hymns, embracing all that are commonly used by the several evangelical denominations; and having analyzed and classified them according to their various metres and subjects, has brought together a selection of well-adapted tunes, and added a copious index, in which the multitude of hymns have respectively their

appropriate tunes set to them. While the work is uncommonly cheap, it appears, so far as we are competent to judge, to be an excellent compilation.

THE CHILD'S OWN BOOK OF POETRY: Original and Selected. 18mo. pp. 170. Religious Tract Society.

The poems are simple and pathetic. They inculcate refined sentiments, and breathe the spirit of true piety. The engravings too are excellent.

EDWARD MASON,

STOURBRIDGE CIRCUIT.

EDWARD MASON was born at Halesowen, January 24th, 1828. In early life he manifested the depravity of his nature by joining in the follies and frivolities of irreligious youth. His associates were such as seek enjoyment in desecrating the Sabbath, in acts of intemperance, and other sources of sinful gratification. But he was arrested in his career of impiety, he saw his folly, abandoned his companions, and sought fellowship with the people of God. He began to meet in class at Cradley Forge in June, 1849. At this time he not only intimated that he was desirous of fleeing from the wrath to come, but he manifested godly sorrow for his numerous sins. He reproached himself with ingratitude to that God who had so graciously watched over him, and so abundantly dispensed his favours unto him. He saw and lamented his wickedness in slighting the Divine authority, and in offering insult to the Majesty of heaven. In this unhappy and burdened state of mind he remained for about three weeks, when he professed to believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and to have redemption in the blood of Christ, even the forgiveness of sins. Then he rejoiced in God as his reconciled Father, and in hope of heaven when this life should terminate.

For a time he was diligent in his attention on the means of grace, and took great pleasure in the society of the people of God. But as it is with others, so it was with him, he was not permitted to run his course of obedience and love without temptations bestrewing his path, and snares being laid for his feet. Unhappily, yes, unhappily for himself, he yielded to temptations, and was ensnared by his old companions in sin. The effects of his associating again with them were soon seen, and they

were lamented by those who had so recently rejoiced in his spiritual welfare. He became negligent in his attendance on the means of grace, and manifested symptoms of lukewarmness, But having joined himself to the people of God, they watched over him, were solicitous for his welfare, and therefore faithfully remonstrated with him. About this time his health began to decline, and thus God himself chastened him with the rod of affliction, and the voice of warning came both from the church and from the Almightythat voice sounded in his ears and reached his inmost soul. He again began to be in earnest in his supplications for forgiveness, for restoration to the Divine favour; and O how valuable did the blessing appear to him at that time! During his affliction he was frequently impressed with the convic tion that he would not live long; thoughts of this kind would intrude themselves upon his attention.

In one of his night visions he had a a view of heaven, and thought he was an inhabitant of that glorious place. But when he was asked particularly about his dream he was diffident, he was reluctant to say much, but he pon dered it in his mind, and said he would tell them more about it when he knew more about it, which he believed he should do before he died.

On the Friday before his death his sister visited him, and proposed to pray with him, saying, as an inducement to secure his consent, "There is no one in the room." But he replied, "O never mind who is here, pray, and pray that the Lord would forgive my backslidings." O how the sin of backsliding embitters the cup of affliction! How it tends to harass, 'to perplex, and to distress the mind! But our departed brother still hoped in the mercifulness of God to man through Jesus Christ, yea, even to the backslider; and he found that the prayer of a beloved

sister, united with his own earnest breathings, was effectual; his hope was invigorated, his faith was strengthened, he believed that God was again reconciled, and that Jesus would soon send his angels to convey him to his home in the skies.

Early in the morning of the day on which he died, he said, "I shall not live all day." Such a declaration was calculated to affect those who were near and dear to him by the ties of nature. They could not conceal their sorrow from him; they could not hide their tears. When he saw them weep he assured them there was no occasion to weep. "You might weep," he said, "if I were going to hell; but I am going to heaven." O how sweet a balm is such a testimony to a sorrowing parent and to every bereaved member of the family! One of the last words which fell from the dying lip of our brother was, "Glory, glory, glory." And when the spirit had fled, a placid smile rested upon the countenance, impressing those who looked on it with the conviction that the soul had entered into rest, and was participating in the joys which are at God's right hand. He died June 1st, 1850, aged twenty-two years.

C. HIBBERT.

EMMA MORRIS,
STOURBRIDGE CIRCUIT.

OUR sister, Emma Morris, was born March 2nd, 1819. The period of her connection with the church of Christ on earth was of short duration. Soon almost as she had put on the armour of righte ousness, entered the field of battle, and sustained a few fiery conflicts, she returned therefrom with the shout of victory. She had occasionally attended the services of the sanctuary without any apparent change of heart or life. But about ten or twelve months ago she was there, when the preacher related a circumstance which had taken place in the neighbourhood of his residence, which deeply affected her. A young woman who had once enjoyed the love of God shed abroad in her heart, but who had afterwards forsaken the Saviour, had sought happiness again from earthly sources, was seized by sickness, and in prospect of death declared she was lost, and died exclaiming that hell would be her doom. The relation of of this awful circumstance was made the means of sending the arrow of conviction in the breast of Sister Morris.

She went home and wept. Her tears and her distress were observed by a neighbour, but she would not reveal to her the real cause of her grief. How true it is, that every heart knows its own bitterness! With a mind thus affected, and burdened, she wisely resolved to seek counsel and instruction from the officers of the church. She united with Brother Evres's class, and anxiously inquired what she must do to be saved. The second or third time she was at her class she found peace by believing in Jesus Christ as her Saviour, and she then went on her way rejoicing.

The class meeting and other means of grace she highly valued, though she could not attend them with the regularity she wished to do; she often found obstacles in her way which she could not remove. In the world the heirs of salvation have often to go through tribulation to the kingdom of heaven. When in her class listening to the experience of the members, and engaged in the sacred exercises of praise and prayer, she would frequently mount as on the wings of an eagle, and in holy meditations soar toward heaven, which she regarded as her home and final dwelling place. Her religious experience, as related in the class, was not of a doubtful character. She expressed strong confidence in Jesus Christ as her Saviour, and in the promises, in the goodness, in the wisdom, in the power, and in the faithfulness of Jehovah; and that confidence which sho had exercised in the season of health did not forsake her in the period of affliction and suffering. Nor was it shaken in the immediate prospect of death and eternity. Her confidence in God had enabled her to endure the trials of life, and now under its influence she waited, yea longed, for the hour of her release When from suffering and sorrow. disease had shattered her frail tencment of clay, and death had evidently marked her as his prey, she mourned not, she wished not for restoration to health, or for the lengthening of her life.

When visited by brother Joseph Smart, before he had time to inquire into the state of her mind, she said, 'Joseph, I shall be in heaven first;" to which statement he replied, "Then I will try to follow you." And while conversing on the blessedness of the heavenly state, her soul was filled with holy joy, her countenance beamed with inexpressible delight, and her lips gave