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were presented to my mind on reading this striking passage. And first let us consider the time and place when this question was asked. Isaac was young, and knew not whither he was going; but his Father bade him follow, and he did so, willingly, knowing that, in his guidance, there was safety: he was to ascend the mount; the path might be toilsome, but still he was under his father's direction, and we may imagine that he commenced his journey with the determination to persevere unto the end. And may we not cheer ourselves with the hope that, if we set our faces to ascend the mount, we too shall have the blessing of a Father's presence? Does He not promise, "I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee;" so that we may boldly say, "the Lord is my helper, I will not fear what man can do unto me." Shall we not then follow the Lord's call, trusting to Him and praying to Him, every step that we advance, for clearer indications of His hand to guide us?

But if we admire the conduct of Isaac, who submissively followed whither he was called, how much more deeply must we feel the submission of Abraham, who had gone up knowing the sacrifice which was to be demanded of him! He knew that he was to resign that which was dearer to him than his existence; but did he therefore hesitate? No: he had reached the altar of his God, and fresh trials here awaited him; but he knew that he was to go on. Thus it must be with the Christian. When we seem to have advanced a little way towards our God; severer trials are sent, to see if we will here also resign, and fully and freely give ourselves up to Him who hath loved us. And is there any thing more acceptable to our Maker than to see our hearts brought into that state of submission, that we can say, "Thy will be done," and feel that that will is the wisest and the best? This state is often gained by deep trials, and by a daily and hourly

warfare against our inward thoughts and desires, "to bring them into captivity to Christ." And shall we not then, like Abraham, find our reward? Perhaps not so instantaneously as he did in the outward event; but his inward reward shall be our's, where his Lord promises, "by myself I have sworn, saith the Lord, that in blessing I will bless thee, and in multiplying I will multiply thy seed as the stars of Heaven, and as the sand which is upon the sea shore, and thy seed shall possess the gate of his enemies." The better principles of our nature will be more firmly rooted, and enabled to close the gate against those evil thoughts and feelings which indeed disturb our tranquillity: The peace of God, which passeth all understanding, will be our's for ever and ever.

M.C.L.

The Truth, the whole Truth, and nothing but the Truth,

In a Court of Justice, a witness is required not only to keep strictly to what is true, but to tell all he knows on the subject of enquiry. But it is often said, in the world, that "the truth is not to be spoken at all times," not meaning that we are to speak falsely, but that it is not necessary to say all we know. Concealing however part of the truth very often carries as much deceit with it as telling a direct falsehood, and does as much harm too, and is therefore as great a sin. How often do we see examples of this, in buying and selling, and such concealments of the faults of what we sell, as an honest man might well be ashamed of.

There is often a great deal of deception in giving characters of servants. If a Master or a Mistress give a bad character of a servant, because they are

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angry at losing that servant, this we see at once to be both in itself a falsehood, and moreover a most cruel injury to that servant.

But a Master or a Mistress are often tempted in a different way, namely, to give a better character than a servant deserves. We cannot wonder that this sometimes happens, and that, instead of being considered as a sin, it is thought to be a piece of goodnatured kindness. It is however injuring the person who takes that servant, and it is a falsehood besides ; so that it is highly wrong.

There is another way of carrying on a deception with regard to a character, without actually speaking a word that is false, and this is by just stating the bad qualities of a servant without mentioning the good ones,-or on the other hand, by setting forth the good qualities and concealing the faults. The first of these is cruel and unfair to the servant, the second is unjust to the new master, and often injurious to the servant besides.

The following tale is abridged from Mrs. Opie's "Illustrations of lying."

Mistaken Kindness.

ANN BELSON had lived in a respectable Merchant's family of the name of Melbourne for many years, first as nurse, then as house-maid, and lastly as lady's-maid. Her Master and Mistress were pleased with her, and believed her to be an honest and upright girl; at length however they discovered that she had long been in the habit of taking little articles that lay in her way; and she went on so for some time, without being discovered, till at length she stole some valuable lace, and was found out. Her Master and Mistress naturally felt a kindness for the girl who had nursed their children, and could not bear to have "poor Ann sent

other manner than by turning her away without a character. But, on reflection, they thought that this was like ruining the girl, and they therefore determined to keep her themselves, as they could not conscientiously recommend her to any body else. Ann was so touched with this kindness, that, for the four next years, she conducted herself with perfect honesty, and her Master and Mistress felt convinced that she was a sincere penitent, and they rejoiced that they had kept her.

At this time, the Melbournes failed in trade, and were obliged to part with the greater part of their servants, especially the lady's-maid. Ann felt so full of gratitude for the kindness which she had experienced, that she could not bear the thoughts of leaving such true friends: but offered to stay with them upon any terms. They would not however accept of this, but determined to try to find her a situation. When they heard of one likely to suit her, the great difficulty was about "the character." The girl had behaved well during the last four years, and this they might fairly state;-and they determined, after a great deal of consideration, from a feeling of kindness, to say nothing about her conduct before that time.

The lady, who wanted a maid, was Lady Baryton, a lady of fashion, very careless and thoughtless, fond of dress and finery, and card-playing. It was the most dangerous place that Ann could have gone into. She had jewels, and laces, and ornaments continually before her eyes; and Lady B. did not scruple to let her have the care of these, because she was sure she was honest, having had so excellent a character with her from the Melbournes. Sometime Lady B. would come home at night, and throw notes and sovereigns into her drawer without ever thinking of locking it. Poor Ann, who really wished to be honest, at first begged of her Mistress to lock up her money. "Why should I," said the

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Lady, "there is nobody to steal it; nobody has any business here but you, and I know you are honest, the Melbournes gave you such a high character. However, do you lock up the drawer, and keep the key." "No, keep it yourself, my Lady." Lady B. however refused to do so, and flung down the key, little thinking to what danger, temporal and spiritual, she was exposing a hapless fellow creature. Ann, after locking up the money one night, found that two sovereigns had dropped on the carpet. This was at a time when she had a widowed sister in great distress, and she was so strongly tempted to keep this money that she almost fancied it would be doing a right action to take it and give it to her sister. In this temptation she fell, but not without that great struggle which there always is between a penitent and a tempted soul. Sin is never so dangerous as when it puts on the appearance of what is good. It was in this sort of temptation that the Melbournes fell, when they thought they were doing a kind action to their maid, and were at the same time guilty of deceit.

This first dishonest step in her new place led Ann to others; for Lady B. still carelessly put temptation in her way; thus leading her into great danger both as to this world and the next.

Ann

was at length discovered to have stolen some pearls from a necklace; and as these had been counted, she was found out. She was committed to prison on her own full confession; for she was not hardened enough to deny to her Mistress that she had committed the theft.

Lady B. then reproached herself for her carelessness. The Melbournes were miserable; feeling that they were the cause of all this distress.

Ann Belson was tried, and condemned to death. She was, however, strongly recommended to mercy, and her sentence was commuted to transportation. The Melbournes were however truly wretched and