have tribulation;" and D. experienced it, in a degree little suspected by those who watched the expression of his happy countenance. There are insects that, in the darkness of the night, steal forth to prey upon the gentle flower that typifies D.; but though they sometimes rend its petals, they cannot mar the lovely bloom of what remains: and thus had he his undiscovered enemies-cares that he revealed to none but his heavenly father, and disappointments blighting the dearest projects of an affectionate heart. He felt their gnawing progress, but he knew the wise purpose for which they were sent; and though, in thoughts and visions of the night, his spirit was often sorely harrassed, yet the morning sun beheld him bright and cheerful as ever, through the freshening of that early dew that never failed to visit his prayerful chamber. Occasionally he has admitted to me that so it was; for he well knew that a fellowship in suffering would add power to his ready consolations; and when he found me so much absorbed in my own griefs, then -only then-it was that he would impart to me a portion of his secret sorrow, just sufficient to rouse my interest, to excite my sympathy that he might immediately turn the discourse to the sweet solacings of the Divine Comforter, which he described as being so effectual, as to make him, ‘through the grace of God,' more thankful for a little tribulation than he should have been for a vast abundance of pros

perity. And thus delicately would he insinuate the comfort which my fretful spirit was unwilling to receive in a more direct way.

The last christmas that D. celebrated with the militant church on earth, will long be remembered by those who passed it with him. It fell on a Sunday; and he had busied himself much on behalf of his poor children, the wild little Irish, who attended our dear schools. It is customary, on the Sabbath, to give each child, on leaving the school, a thick slice of bread and butter, except in cases of flagrant misconduct, when the culprits must march past the tempting board empty-handed. The importance of this boon cannot be appreciated, but by those who know something of the squalid misery that pervades St. Giles, and that very few of our children tasted any thing better than half a meal of potatoes on any day throughout the week. A good piece of well buttered bread is a prodigious feast to them. However on the day in question, D., as if conscious that it was his last time of celebrating the happy season among them, provided, for the afternoon, a more luxurious entertainment. He filled his blue bag with excellent plum-cake, and merrily remarked to me, that for once all his clients would be satisfied with its contents. To this he added the more durable gift of some small books and tracts; and very delightful it was to us, the teachers, as we stood about him, to witness the reciprocal looks of love

between the donor, and the gleeful recipien of those gifts. Gravity was, of course, out of he question. I should pity the person who tried to look solemn among our dear Irish children, when the work of the school is over. Neither fluttering rags, ill-suited to repel the season's cold, nor naked feet, cut and bruised by the filthy pavement of St. Giles, nor famished forms that bespoke the weekly fast, could counterbalance the mirthful as pect wherewith they approached the pile of cake, and the delighted grin of each farewell obeisance. My poor dear Irish children! Why do so few among the wealthy ones of London take thought for that swarming hive of ever active beings, who, by a little devotion of time, a little sacrifice of the unrighteous mammon, might be trained to industry, and piety, and peace! Alas! even of those who partook of D.'s parting feast, are not there now many to be found in the dens of profligacy, or the dungeons of detected crime? It is the shame, and will prove the curse of Christian England, that the very heart and centre of her gorgeous. metropolis should form a throne on which Satan is permitted to hold an almost unquestioned reign over her empire. Many a missionary is girding himself to the work of the Lord in foreign lands. but few are the missionaries who will step fifty yards out of their daily path, to carry the light of

the gospel among the dark abodes of wretched St. Giles'.

D. worked diligently; so that when his sun went down at noon, he had accomplished more than would be deemed, by the bulk of those in his sphere, a full day's labour. He has entered into his rest, to shine as the sun, and as the stars, for ever and ever, in the kingdom of his Father. Is the prize that he has grasped, worth striving after? Go to St. Giles's, and do likewise. Is the work that he has wrought, meet to be copied? Go, and gather the desolate little ones, whom he loved to lead to Christ. I cannot resume the subject of a flower, while my soul is oppressed with the sorrows of thousands of perishing souls, enclosed in bodies that also are perishing in want, and vice, and all the fearful train of consequences attendent thereon. If I begin with D. I shall be constrained to end my paper, as he ended his life—in pleading with the favoured children of God, for pity on the poor, the destitute children of Erin.

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CHAPTER XI.

THE LAURISTINUS

"THE memory of the just is blessed." Happy are they who comprehend how sinful mortal man may be just with God—who, in taking up the happy boast "He is near that justifieth, who shall condemn me ?" can discern as their sole claim to this glorious immunity, the justifying righteousness of the Lord Jesus Christ, in virtue of which their iniquity is forgiven, and their sin is covered: theiz persons are accepted, and their souls are saved.

I knew an aged man, who lived through many long years in the delighted contemplation of this mystery; who realized in its fullest extent the application thereof to himself; who, taught daily to comprehend more of the love of Christ which passeth knowledge, had a well-spring of love flowing from the depths of his renewed heart, towards every child of Adam. When I saw him last, he was green and flourishing; in the seventy-sixth year of his pilgrimage-aye, and blossoming too, in all the rich, vigorous life that distinguishes my