"So, though my tears were blinding me, I ran back, fast as fast could be, To come again to you;

And here-close by-this squire I met, Who asked (so mild) what made me fret; And when I told him true,

66

"I will go with you, child,' he said,
'God sends me to this dying bed—'
Mother, he's here, hard by."
While thus the little maiden spoke,
The man, his back against an oak,
Looked on with glistening eye.

The bridle on his neck flung free,
With quivering flank and trembling knee,
Pressed close his bonny bay;

A statelier man, a statelier steed,
Never on greensward paced, I rede,

Than those stood there that day.

So, while the little maiden spoke,
The man, his back against an oak,

Looked on with glistening eye
And folded arms; and in his look,
Something that, like a sermon book,
Preached "All is vanity."

But when the dying woman's face
Turned towards him with a wishful gaze,
He stepped to where she lay;
And kneeling down, bent over her,
Saying "I am a minister-

My sister! let us pray."

And well, without even book or stole, (God's words were printed on his soul) Into the dying ear,

He breathed, as 'twere, an angel's strain, The things that unto life pertain,

And death's dark shadows clear.

He spoke of sinners' lost estate,
In Christ renewed-regenerate—
Of God's most blest decree,
That not a single soul should die
Who turns repentant with the cry-
"Be merciful to me!"

He spoke of trouble, pain and toil,
Endured but for a little while

In patience-faith—and love—
Sure, in God's own good time, to be
Exchanged for an eternity
Of happiness above.

Then as the spirit ebbed away—
He raised his hands and eyes, to pray
That peaceful it might pass;
And then-the orphans' sobs alone
Were heard, as they knelt every one
Close round him on the grass.

Such was the sight, when a gay throng Of noble huntsmen rushed along

And reined their coursers back,

Just as they saw their chief, astray,
Who in the chase had lost his way,
And wandered from the track.

Each noble checked his foaming steed,
And lighted down, as if agreed,
In silence at his side,

And there, uncovered all, they stood-
It was a wholesome sight, and good-
That day, for mortal pride.

For the noblest of the land

Was that deep hushed, bare headed band:
And central in the ring,

By that dead pauper on the ground,
Her ragged orphans clinging round,
Knelt their anointed king.

LESSON CLXV.

HUMAN IMPROVEMENT.-EDITOR.

If any Christian, in spite of the promise that the Gospel must be preached to every creature, and the hope that its principles are one day to influence every heart, is still disposed to doubt whether the world is growing any better, he had better study the history of Toleration, of War, and of Temperance, and see if this will not afford him encouragement and consolation. The lesson must be spoken with earnestness and animation.

Are we to be told that the world is growing worse; that that fair work which in its infancy the beneficent Creator pronounced good, has no tendency but to evil, no progress but to decay, no end but physical and moral death? Are we to believe that, while inanimate nature breaks upon the eye of each successive generation of men without diminished interest or beauty, and with all the improvement of art, and even with the added charms of age, man, the chief work of the divine hand, the only work wrought after the divine image, is to fall from his original rank, and so to continue to sink forever ?

We grant that he has wandered; we grant that he has sinned; we grant, if you demand it, that he has fallen; but where do we find recorded, the edict which prohibits the wanderer's return, which forbids the chief of sinners to repent, or the lowest fallen to rise? Grant that all men had mistaken the way to God and goodness; grant that they had erred and strayed from the truth; grant that they had incurred the tremendous

penalty of death, grant it all, and we may triumphantly point to Him who is the Way to those that are lost, who is the Truth of God to all that are in error, and who is the Resurrection and the Life to all that believe. Yes, sink man as low as that gulf into which the rebellious angels were plunged, and divine mercy will still regard him, divine love will still yearn over him, and the almighty arm will be outstretched to snatch him back.

But is it true that we behold no work of man but what is evil, no movement but that which is only downward, downward continually? If it be so, I know not how to interpret what I see. It is not many years since man could bind his brother to the stake, and by a death of agony punish him for his opinions. Is it nothing that no civil or ecclesiastical power in Christendom now dares to commit this outrage upon human right, this usurpation of the judgment seat of the Eternal?

It is not long since the desire of extended empire was a sufficient excuse for inflicting the curse of war upon unoffending and defenceless nations. Is it nothing that public opinion has restrained those purpled butchers, whose shambles were incessantly reeking with human blood? Is it no gain that human life has at last been counted too precious to be poured out to mark the boundary line of states, too sacred to be made the plaything of ambitious or profligate potentates, too solemn a tie to be loosed by any hand but God's ?

Finally, is it nothing that, instead of the desolation which excessive indulgence had spread over the moral world, instead of the blight which had chilled the heart, shrunk up the affections, and crushed the hopes of millions of the unhappy victims of intemperance, we behold a great army of the redeemed, which no man can number, pressing forward, conquering, and we trust, to conquer; is it nothing that their banner is reaand their war-cry peace; is it nothing that, unlike

son,

the armies whose tramp has desolated the earth, beneath their feet the virtues are beginning to put forth vigorous blossoms, the neglected affections have begun to distil their precious balsams, and earthly comforts, and eternal hopes give promise of a plentiful harvest?

If these are indications that the world is continually growing worse, God grant that it may continue to do So. If these are proofs that our course is downward and backward, God forbid that we should ever advance one step. Individual crimes, individual wrongs, no doubt exist every where, but the public is composed of individuals, and if the progress of the whole is onward, we must never despair of the parts, but with grateful hearts and unwavering resolution, "thank God and take courage."

LESSON CLXVI.

THE OLD ARM CHAIR.

The following beautiful poem, which has also been embalmed by song, was written by MISS ELIZA COOKE, of England.

I love it, I love it, and who shall dare
To chide me for loving that old arm-chair?
I've treasured it long as a sainted prize,

I've bedewed it with tears, and embalmed it with sighs; 'Tis bound by a thousand bands to my heart→

Not a tie will break, not a link will start.

Would
ye learn the spell? A mother sat there!
And a sacred thing is that old arm-chair.

In childhood's hour I lingered near
The hallowed seat with listening ear;
And gentle words that mother would give,
To fit me to die, and teach me to live: