the Apostle, "in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content." It may, then, be attained; and, if one of the most difficult, it is also one of the most valuable attainments. But it can only be attained in one way. It is a hard lesson, and it can only be learned in God's own school. We must be taught by God's own Spirit. No one can be content by merely trying to be contented, by resolving to be contented, by persuading himself that he ought to be contented. Men may force themselves to be stoically submissive, resolutely uncomplaining; but Christian contentment is a very different thing, and rests on a very different foundation. The Christian believer is able to take a view of things which is calculated to cause contentment. A man who has been convinced of his deserts as a sinner, and has had vouchsafed to him a clear vision of God's redeeming love in Christ Jesus, will not, while his heart is overflowing with gratitude on account of the great salvation, repine at God's arrangements, even though he find that his way on earth is a little rough. He feels, and is ready to acknowledge, that he is not worthy of the least of all God's mercies, and his cry will be— "Maker and High Priest, I ask Thee not my joys to multiply, He feels that everything is of grace; that he has no claim on, no right in, anything. He brought nothing into the world; it is certain he can carry nothing out. He is completely a tenant at will, and God reminds him, in many different ways, that he holds nothing in his own right. Does he receive anything? it is a gift. Does he lose anything? he suffers no wrong. He will say, "The Lord hath given, the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord." Besides this, the Christian believer has the assurance, that all things form part of God's plan-that plan, according to which, all things work together for the advantage of God's people. Much may appear dark, confused, mysterious; but he knows that there is light on the other side of the cloud, and he is sure that God doeth all things well. The Christian, moreover, will remember that, at longest, his relation to the world is but short; and when most stable, but uncertain. We are but strangers and sojourners, as all our fathers were; and while on our journey homeward we must not account inconvenience and hardship as strange things. "What if the bread Be bitter in thine inn, and thou unshod To meet the flints? At least it may be said, Now it is of the very nature of true religion to inspire the believer with such sentiments; and you will see at once that in the same proportion that we are led, by the Spirit and grace of God, to cherish such sentiments as these, we shall be able to use for ourselves the words of the Apostle, and say, "I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content." Some have need to remember that the dissatisfaction which God awakens must go before the satisfaction, the contentment which God gives. The dissatisfaction which the prodigal experienced in the far country led him to think of his long-forsaken and almost forgotten home, within the sacred and blessed enclosure of which he realized at last a contentment which he had long and vainly sought elsewhere. We must be discontented with ourselves and our condition as sinners, ere we shall seek salvation and satisfaction in Christ. May we all be taught the secret of this true content!* THE HOUSE-TOP SAINT. "YES, yes, sonny, I's mighty fo'handed, and no ways like poo' white trash, nor yet like any of dese onsanctified col'd folks dat grab deir liberty like a dog grabs a bone-no thanks to nobody!" Thus the sable, queenly Sibyl McIvor ended a long boast of her prosperity since she had become her own mistress, to a young teacher from the North, as she was arranging his snowy linen in his trunk. "I'm truly glad to hear of all this comfort and plenty, Sibyl; but I hope your treasures are not laid up on earth. I hope you are a Christian ?" asked the young stranger. Sibyl put up her great hands and straightened and elevated the horns of her gay turban; and then, planting them on her capacious hips, she looked the beardless youth in the eye and exclaimed with a sarcastic smile, "You hope I'm a Christian, do you? Why, sonny, I was a 'espectable sort of a Christian afore your mammy was born, I reckons ! But for dese last twenty-five years, I's been a mighty powerful one-one o' de kind dat makes Satan shake in his hoofs-I is one of the house-top saints, sonny!" 66 House-top saints! what kind of saints are those?" asked the young Northerner. "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Sibyl; "I thought like's not you never "Yes, sonny, dat is me!" Well, I means dat I's been t'rough all de storeys o' my Father's house on arth, from de cellar up; and now I's fairly on de ruff—yes, on de very ridge pole; and dere I sits and sings and shouts and sees heaven-like you never see it t'rough de clouds down yere.” “How did you get there, auntie?” "How does you get from de cellar to de parlour, and from de parlour to de chamber, and from de chamber to de ruff? Why, de builder has put sta'rs thar, and you sees 'em and puts your feets on 'em and mounts, ha ?” "But there are the same stairs in our Father's house for all His children, as for you; and yet you say house-top saints are very scarce?" Sartin, sonny. Sta'rs don't get people up, 'less dey mounts 'em. If dere was a million o' sta'rs leadin' up to glory, it wouldn't help dem dat sits down at de bottom and howls and mourns 'bout how helpless dey is! Brudder Adam, dere, dat's a *From "The Mystery of the Burning Bush, and other Sermons," just published. a Volume which we can most cordially commend. blackin' of your boots, he's de husban' o' my bussum, and yet he's nothin' but only a poor, downcellar 'sciple, sittin' in de dark, and whinin' and lamentin' 'cause he ain't upstairs! I says to him, says I, 'Brudder,'-I's allus called him 'Brudder' since he was born into de kingdom, 'why don't you come up into de light?' "Oh,' says he, 'Sibby, I's too onworthy; I doesn't desarve de light dat God has made for de holy ones.' "Phoo,' says I, 'Brudder Adam! Don't you 'member,' says I, 'when our massa done married de gov'ness, arter old missus' death? Miss Alice, she was as poor as an unfeathered chicken; but did she go down cellar and sit 'mong de po'k barr'ls and de trash 'cause she was poor and wasn't worthy to live up stars? Not she! She tuk her place at de head o' de table, and w'ar all de lacery and jewelry massa gib her, and hold up her head high, like she was sayin', "I's no more poor gov'ness, teaching Col'n McIvor's chil'n; but I'se de Col'n's b'loved wife, and I stan's for de mother of his chil'n," as she had a right to say! And de Col'n love her all de more for her not bein' a fool and settin' down cellar 'mong de po'k barr'ls!' 66 Dere, sonny, dat's de way I talk to Brudder Adam! But so fur it haint fotched him up! De poor deluded cretur' thinks he's humble, when he's only low-minded and grovellin' like! It's unworthy of a blood-bought soul for to stick to de cold, dark cellar, when he mought live in de light and warmf, up on de house-top!" "That's very true, Sibyl; but few of us reach the house-top," said the young man thoughtfully. "Mo' fools you, den!" cried Sibyl. "De house-top is dere, and the stars is dere, and de grand glorious Master is dere, up 'bove all, callin' to you day and night, 'Frien', come up higher!' He reaches down His shinin' han' and offers for to draw you up; but you shakes your head and pulls back and says, 'No, no, Lord; I isn't nothing.' Is dat de way to treat Him who has bought light and life for you? Oh, shame on you, sonny, and on all de downcellar and parlour and chamber Christians!" 66 What are parlour Christians, auntie ?" asked the young man. "Parlour Christians, honey? Why dems is de ones dat gets bar'ly out o' de cellar and goes straitway and forgets what kind o'creturs dey was down dere! Dey grow proud and dresses up fine like de worl's folks, and dances, and sings worldly trash o' songs, and has only just 'ligion enough to make a show wid. Our ole missus, she used to train 'mong her col'd folks wuss den ole King Furio did 'mong de 'Gyptians. But, bless you, de minute de parson or any oder good brudder or sister come along, how she did tune up her harp! She was mighty 'ligious in de parlour, but she left her 'ligion dere when she went out. "I do think missus got to heaven, wid all her infarmities. But she didn't get very high up till de bridegroom come and called for her! Den she said me, one dead-o'-night, 'Oh, Sibby,' says she-she held tight on to my han';-'Oh, Sibby, if you could only go along o' me, and I could keep hold o' your garments, I'd have hope o' getting through de shinin' gate! your clothes and your face and your hands shines like silver, Sibby!' says she. 'Dear soul,' says I, 'dis light you see isn't mine! It all comes 'flected on to poor black Sibyl from de cross; and dere is heaps more of it to shine on you and every other poor sinner dat will come near enough to cotch de rays!' 66 6 Oh,' says she, 'Sibby, when I heard you shoutin' Glory to God and talkin o' Him on de house-top, I thought it was all su'stition and in', "In my han' no price I bring, Simple, to dy cross I cling.' "But she mought a' sung all de way along, if she hadn't forgot de hoomiliation o' de cellar, and 'bused de privileges o' de parlour. Parlours is fine things; but dey ain't made for folks to spend deir whole time in." "What's a chamber-saint, auntie ?" asked the young man. "Chamber saints is dem ́dat's 'scaped de dark and de scare of de cellar, and de honey-traps o' de parlour, and got through many worries, and so feels a-tired, and is glad o' rest. Dey says, 'Well, we's got 'long mighty well, and can now see de way clar up to glory.' And sometimes dey forgets dat dey's on'y half way up, and thinks dey's come off conqueror a'ready. So dey's very apt to lie down wid deir hands folded, thinkin' dat Satan isn't nowhar, now! But he is close by 'em, and he smooves deir soft pillows, and sings 'em to sleep and to slumber; and de work o' de kingdom don't get no help from dem-not for one while! De chamber is a Oh, yes." "I thought you couldn't all be so ignorant 'bout 'ligion up in Boston as dat! Well, you know he wrote 'bout a brudder dat got asleep and lost his roll, and dat's what's de matter wid heaps o' Christians in de worl'. Dey falls asleep and loses deir hope.' "And do you keep in this joyful and wakeful frame all the time, auntie?" asked the young learner. "I does, honey. By de help of de Lord, and a contin'al watch, I keep de head ob de ole sarpint mashed under my heel, pretty gineral. Why, sometimes, when he raises up and thrusts his fangs out, I has such power gin me to stomp on him dat I can hear his bones crack-mostly! I tell you, honey, he don't like me, and he's most gin me up for los'." "Now, Sibyl, you are speaking in figures. Tell me plainly how you get the victory over Satan." Heaps o' ways;" she replied. "Sometimes I gets up in de mornin', and I sees work enough for two women ahead o' me. Maybe my head done ache and my narves is done rampant; and I hears a voice sayin' in my ear, 'Come or go what likes, Sibby, dat ar work is got to be done! You's sick and tired a'ready! Your lot's a mighty hard one, sister Sibby'-Satan often has de imperdence to call me 'sister''and if Adam was only a pearter man, and if Tom wasn't lame, and if Judy and Cle'patry wasn't dead, you could live mighty easy. But just you look at dat ar pile o' shirts to iron, 'sides cookin' for Adam and Tom, and keepin' your house like a Christian oughter!' Dat's how he 'sails me when I's weak! Den I faces straight about and looks at him, and says, in de words o' Scripture, Clar out and git ahind my back, Satan!' Dat ar pile o' shirts ain't high enough to hide Him dat is my strength! And sometimes I whisks de shirts up and rolls 'em into a bundle, and heaves 'em back into de clothes bask't, and says to 'em, 'You lay dar till to-morrow, will you? I ain't no slave to work, nor to Satan! for I can 'ford to wait, and sing a hime to cher up my sperits, if I like.' And den Satan drops his tail and slinks off, most gineral; and I goes 'bout my work a singin': "My Master bruise de sarpint's head, "Does Satan always assail you through your work?" asked the young stranger. "No, bless you, honey; sometimes he 'tacks me through my stummick; and dat's de way he 'tacks rich and grand folks, most gineral. If I eat too hearty o' fat bacon and corn cake in times gone, I used to get low in 'ligion, and my hope failed, and I den was such a fool I thought my Christ had forgot to be gracious to me! Satan makes great weapons out o' bacon! But I knows better now, and I keep my body under, like Brudder Paul; and nothin' has power to separate me from Him I loves. I's had sorrows enough to break a dozen hearts dat had no Jesus to shar' 'em wid; but every one on 'em has only fotched me nearer to Him! Some folks would like to shirk all trouble on deir way to glory, and swim into de shinin' harbour through a sea o' honey! But, sonny, dere's crosses to bar, and I ain't mean enough to want my blessed Jesus to bar 'em all alone. It's my glory here dat I can take hold o' one end o' de cross, and help Him up de hill wid de load o' poor bruised and wounded and sick sinners He's got on His hands and His heart to get up to glory! But, la honey! how de time has flew; Imust go home and get Brudder Adam's dinner; for it's one o' my articles o' faith never to keep him waitin' beyond twelve o'clock when he's hungry and tired, for dat allus gise Satan fresh 'vantage over him. Come up to my palace, some day, and we'll have more talk about de way to glory." THE VOICE OF THE PAST. BY THE REV. JAMES FOSTER. "Ask now of the days that are past."-Deut. iv. 32. TIME is a great mystery. The more we meditate its silent, solemn, never-resting progress, the responsibilities its involves, and the future. eternal consequences to which its years conduct us, the more vividly shall we be impressed with its awful, mysterious, and undefinable nature. "Time," says Carlyle, "is for ever very literally a miracle-a thing to strike us dumb; for we have no word to speak about it." Strictly speaking, it is we who move, and time stands still, although the contrary appears to be the case; as, to travellers in any speedy kind of locomotion, the objects close at hand seem to flit rapidly past them, whereas they know that it is themselves that are in motion. We are like exhalations fleeting over a restless sea-shadows passing rapidly |