gratify among the tombs the high and noble impulse of a great affection, the everlasting tenderness of God. Think what a scene! after all our solitude and separation, notwithstanding dreary death, that we shall receive from the Redeemer of our race, not merely eternal life, but friends to share its joy, and hearts to beat with ours in Paradise. The father will say in that day, yonder is my son for whom I grieved so long, and now he wears that glorious robe, and he chants that heavenly psalm. The mother will greet again the daughter of her love, bowed in bended gladness to touch the garment of the Son of God. Countenances will come out among the shadows whose features had been dust so long; and voices will reply to our own that we had not heard for years. Wherefore, comfort one another. Weep not, as Jesus said. He will touch the bier again. He will say once more, "I say, Arise!” and deliver. SLEEP AND DEATH. THE angel of sleep and the angel of death, fraternally embracing each other, wandered over the earth. It was eventide. They laid themselves down beside a hill not far from the habitations of men. A melancholy silence reigned around, and the evening-bell of the distant hamlet had ceased. arose, he exclaimed in joyous innocency, "Men praise me as their friend and benefactor. Oh! what a bliss it is, unseen and secretly, to befriend them! How happy are we ! the invisible messengers of the good God! How lovely is our quiet vocation!" Thus spake the friendly angel of sleep. And the angel of death sighed in silent grief; and a tear, such as the immortals shed, trembled in his great dark eye. "Alas!" said he, Silently and quietly, as is their wont, the two kindly genii of the human race lay in confidential embrace, and night began to steal on. Then the angel of sleep rose from" that I cannot, as thou, delight his mossy couch, and threw around, myself with cheerful thanks. Men with careful hand, the unseen grains call me their enemy and pleasureof slumber. The evening wind bare spoiler." them to the quiet dwellings of the wearied husbandmen. Now the feet of sleep embraced the inhabitants of the rural cots, from the hoaryheaded old man who supported himself on his staff, to the infants in the cradle. The sick forgot their pains, the mourners their griefs, and poverty its cares. All eyes were closed. And now, after his task was done, the bountiful angel of sleep lay down again by the side of his sterner brother. When the morning-dawn The Church is still the Body of Christ, and where He is, there is still the power which exhibited itself in all the mighty works of the Apostolic days.-DR. MOBERLY. "Oh! my brother," rejoined the angel of sleep, "will not the good, also, when awaking, recognise in thee a friend and benefactor, and thankfully bless thee? Are not we brothers, and messengers of one Father?" Thus spake he, and the eyes of the angel of death sparkled, and more tenderly did the brotherly genii embrace each other.-From Krümmacher. Appear what you really are.-The surest and the shortest way to make yourself beloved and honoured, is to be indeed the very man you wish to appear. THE PATIENT SUFFERER. BY A PARISH PRIEST. It was a raw night in the month of December. Everything without was dreary and comfortless. The winds roared violently, as if indignant that they had been so long pent up; the air was keen and biting, and the rain fell fast. Altogether, it was a night on which one would much rather have stayed by the bright and cheerful fire, and enjoyed the pleasing quiet of domestic happiness and social intercourse, than have ventured out, and exposed oneself to the mercy of the blast. Thought nerved my mind; I wrapped my cloak about me, and, big with the commission I had to execute, sallied forth to defy the storm, and do my Master's work; remembering that there will soon come the dark night, when no man can work. And well indeed was I repaid! The cottage, whither I bent my steps, is about a mile from the Vicarage. It stands by the road-side, and in summer is remarkable for the very beautiful flowers that grow in the little garden in front of it. The neatness of the exterior prepares you for the order and cleanliness which reign within. Everything has its place, and is put in its place. And the bedroom—with what an extreme of neatness is it kept! If the poor but only knew how much depends upon cleanliness, they would surely be most anxious to pay greater attention to this subject. It matters not how bare of furniture the house may be―or how poorly clad themselves are-for wherever cleanliness prevails, there always seems to be an air of comfort. On entering the sick-room, I found, lying upon a bed, a young girl, who might well have hoped that there was in store for her many a golden hour of happiness in this world. But such was not the will of God; for though young in years, she was old in sickness. When I entered the room, her mildly beautiful eye was radiant with pleasure, and a smile of contentment played upon her flushed cheek. It required but little discernment to see, that in the bitter school of affliction she had learnt lessons of deep and lasting truth. Racked as she was with pain, not a murmur escaped her lips. I read to her such passages of Holy Writ as seemed best calculated to inculcate lowly submission to the Divine will; to wean her thoughts from earth, and fix them upon heaven; to warm the heart with the fire of Divine love, and create earnest longing for Him, Whose presence constitutes the Christian's joy. Her attention was evidently riveted; and as she drank in with avidity the explanation I read from ancient Fathers, she clasped her hands, and moved her lips, as though in blest communion with the High and the Holy One that inhabiteth eternity. I stood by her side, but spake not. It was, I felt, a sacred moment. Deep thoughts, and holy, filled my mind. A sick-bed, mused I, is the best school for learning practical lessons of religion. Here the pride of the stout-hearted is brought low, and the sorrowing of the lowly-minded turned into joy. Would that the worldling could stand here! He would learn that on a bed of sickness, those frivolous pursuits, which he has so fondly and greedily followed; those scenes of garish splendour, in which he has so often taken part; and that wealth on which he hath heretofore prided himself, are but a broken reed on which to lean when the hour of tribulation comes on. These cannot ease one pang which the sufferer endures, nor strip the bed of one of its thorns, nor conscience of its sting. Here he would learn of a calm and settled peace, which the world can neither give nor take away; a peace which remaineth the same, when the things of earth are passing away from view, and the scenes of the invisible world are breaking in upon him. This was the course of my meditations; but at length I turned to the invalid, and said "I rejoice much, Elizabeth, to see that you offend not God by repining at the dispensation of His Providence." "Oh! Sir," said she, "much cause have I to be glad, none to grieve. True-the burden I have to bear is a heavy one; yet, after all, it is but the kind chastening of a tender Father; and whatever He doeth, is well done. My pains by day, and my constant watchings by night, are hard to bear, and many in number. Still, I trust, my heart's prayer is, 'Not my will, but Thine be done.' And daily I rest with quiet confidence upon the cheering promise which He has made for the comforting of such as I. For He, Who cannot prove false, has said, 'My grace is sufficient for thee, for my strength is made perfect in weakness.' And when my pains are the keenest, and cannot be assuaged, then I fix my eyes upon Calvary; then I meditate upon His bitter agony in Gethsemane, when big drops of blood trickled down His sacred cheeks. I gaze upon the precious cross, and think of Him that hung thereon, and purchased by His own bloodshedding man's redemption. Oh! as I think how He suffered shame and contempt, that I might be honoured; how He drank deep of the cups of sorrow, that I might joy; and trod the pathway of death, that I might ever reign with Him; I ponder upon the depths of His matchless love, and forget all the sorrows I have to bear. The Death and Passion of Christ is the book I study; and at the foot of the cross I school myself in lessons of meek humility, and all-enduring patience. But more than this, I know that Christ is ever present-though unseenwith His Church, and all Her members, and so I strive to keep holy the Temple of the Lord, that with me He may ever dwell. The comforts of the baptized, God's own children, how many, and how great, are they! Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.' -So it is. Sorrow is turned into joy, darkness into light, mourning into rejoicing, the deprivations of sickness become very blessings, when we keep close to God in fervent prayer, and holy meditations, that so we may receive the consolations it is His to give. I am thankful for affliction, inasmuch as I have here learned the nothingness of this world's goods, and been taught to fix my affection on things that are above. Fain would I hope, that these light afflictions, which are but for a moment, will work out for me a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.' They are but the fire through which I am to pass, that so I may be refined, and the dross of sin be taken away. And yet at times I feel a fainting of the heart; and the world which I have renounced spreads its enticing snares. A hope-a sigh-will sometimes rise; a hope that I may yet be raised from my bed--a sigh to think that perchance I might, if restored, sully my baptismal robe. Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.' - Even in this life this is true. For God in mercy hath raised up many kind friends to console me in this my hour of deepest need. My bodily wants are attended to; and as to my spiritual, I cannot say-that no man has cared for my soul. I am supplied with all I need: even good books, which my friends have provided for me. One-which you left-written by a sufferer like myself, but far holier, and far more patient-I have just been reading.' Oh! I cannot tell you how delighted I am with it. It has spoken home to my heart, and imprinted upon my mind holy truths, which I hope not to forget. "Have I not, then, much cause to be thankful? Truly our God is a God of mercies; and I trust that I shall find mercy at His hands at the last day. Never again may I mingle in the scenes of earth. All I have to do is to prepare for eternity. This is, I feel, a difficult task, and not the work of a moment. My position is favourable to my progress; and I only hope and pray, that when the Lord may come at morn, noon, night-I may be found watching, and clothed with the wedding garment, that so I may go to reign with Him for ever." Thus spake the sufferer, in answer to my several queries. I left her, I fain would hope, a wiser and a better man. I learned a lesson,that the path of duty is the path of safety, and is sure of its reward, present and future. For was it not a present reward, to hold converse with one who was thus preparing for her final departure, and to see how calm the Christian can be, even in the prospect of death. Still lingers the patient sufferer-full of faith and hope. Since that evening, oft have I celebrated with her the blessed Communion of the Body and Blood of Christ, oft discoursed of heaven and its joysand the Christian's hopes and fears, trials and dangers. Since that night, much have I learned from her-much have I yet to learn.2 THE ROBIN-A HOUSEHOLD GUEST. THE Robin Redbreast is a universal favourite. His familiarity and confidence in man, together with the sweetness of his plaintive song, render him a welcome visitor wherever he goes. And as at this season of the year, pressed by cold and hunger, he ventures boldly beneath our roof, and often becomes so thoroughly domesticated amongst us as to form part of our family circle, we have abundant opportunity of watching his move 1 The Doctrine of the Cross illustrated, &c.-(Burns.) This sketch appeared some time ago in a periodical which has been given up, and it is reprinted here as the first of a series of similar sketches.-ED. ments, and tracing the peculiar fea- | employed in chopping any for tures in his character. family use. In connexion with the familiarity of the robin, we have several pleasant recollections of our own. One winter, in particular, recurs to our memory, remarkable for its peculiar severity, and for its effects on the lower animals. During that season, we were resident in a quiet and secluded spot, with leisure to notice more particularly the different phenomena of nature going on around us, and the results produced on animal and vegetable life. Many an admired evergreen, many a cherished plant, fell a sacrifice to the intense cold, and among the smaller of the feathered tribe the effects were very similar. An adventurous robin, however, resolving to escape, if possible, the miseries of cold and hunger, established himself during the day beneath the shelter of our roof. At first, with his peculiarly rapid but interrupted hop, he ventured into the kitchen, where the warmth, and the abundance of food attracted him. Here, the bustle and the hasty movements to and fro somewhat daunted his resolution, so that he could only contrive to secure a few crumbs before he made his retreat. A second attempt, made at a more auspicious moment, was so well received by the inmates, and so encouraging to the bird, that he now fearlessly ranged every part of the room in search of food, and perching on a holly branch which adorned the wall, he sang a few little notes of gratitude before his departure. From this time the robin was a constant guest. Early in the morning, as soon as the door was opened, he left his roosting place in a neighbouring outhouse, to enjoy the friendly shelter of his new home. He became particularly attached to a goodly row of hams, &c., as they hung in their paper cases from the kitchen ceiling; and he took occasion to steal bits of suet from the cook, whenever he found her If His visits, which were at first confined to the kitchen, now extended to the other parts of the house. the door or window of the diningroom was left open for a short time, we were sure to see our little friend performing the duty of gathering up the crumbs beneath our table, and then taking his favourite station on the top of an Argand lamp, which stood on the sideboard. Here he would in general content himself with watching the proceedings of the party to whose presence he had introduced himself, but occasionally we were favoured with a song, the notes of which were so sweet, clear, and yet subdued, that for the time we were wont to praise his music above that of all the songsters of the spring. It was now no unusual thing to find our robin in the sleeping apartments, or in those devoted to study; and when it was wished to exclude him from either of these rooms, and the window was set open for that purpose, we were sometimes highly amused to find that no sooner had we driven him out in that direction, than with his rapid flight he immediately entered the house again through the kitchen, and was winging his way upstairs to the very same apartment he had just been compelled to quit. For a time, the excessive freedom of our guest was borne without complaint, and his visits afforded much pleasure and diversion to the younger branches of the family; but at length, when every room in the house was subject to his intrusion-when he made the nursery his sleeping apartment, joined the family at breakfast, alighting on the table, and pecking holes in the butter,-when he not only demanded our hospitality on his own account, but brought one of his acquaintances to share in it, and when the tarnished state of the furniture reminded us that, however |