dence of refinement and cultivation. She said but little, being almost constantly occupied in sewing; but when she did speak, it was with so sweet a voice and manner, that her speech and her silence, her motion and her repose, seemed alike to belong to some hallowed sphere, beyond poor Wilhelm's reach. And suppose she should learn the story of his sister's disgrace, which was constantly kept before his mind by his mother's nightly search among the outcast and degraded of her sex, would not the pure Susanna turn away from him with loathing, as though he himself were tainted by the hated relationship? This was his fear, and for this reason he resolved to tear himself from her beloved presence, before it should be too late. He resisted the temptation, therefore, powerful as it was, remained at home, suffered and sighed. He was vexed at his mother's unwearied perseverance in seeking one, who, he could almost hope, nay, even wish, might be numbered among the dead. He spoke shortly to her, but received only such gentle, sorrowful, deprecating replies, that he reproached ⚫ himself most bitterly, and lost his peace of mind more and more every day. Such a struggle could not continue long, without injuring his health, and Thomas, his only companion, during the long evening hours, at last, observed his increasing lassitude and restless irritability; the boy's brotherly anxiety being awakened he determined to call his mother's attention to Wilhelm's altered and sorrowful appearance, the cause of which he could not at all imagine. The mother listened as though only just recalled to the recollection, that her son had claim upon her affectionate care. But she, too, now observed his loss of appetite, and his half-repressed sighs. "Wilhelm, Wilhelm, what ails you, my son?" she asked him, as he sat idly gazing into the fire. "Nothing particular," he replied, as if the inquiry annoyed him. "But, my child, I am sure there is something." He did not reply, and she did not even know whether he had heard her, he sat so motionless, still gazing vacantly before him. "Is it that you want to go back to the Meadow Farm ?" she asked sadly. "It is just the time for berries," remarked Thomas. Wilhelm only shook his head. The mother looked scrutinizingly at him, as if she would have read in his face the solution of her perplexity. "Wilhelm, and you too Thomas, you can go," she said, "but I must stay here, you know, until I have found her," she added in a lower tone. Wilhelm turned suddenly, and with the authoritative manner which he always used toward Thomas, bade him go to bed. When his brother had left, he collected himself to speak. (To be continued). THE GIFTS OF THE HOLY SPIRIT. A Translation of the favorite German Hymn, "Komm, o komm, Geist des Lebens." BY REV. J. H. DÜBBS. Come, O come, Thou Holy Spirit, Give the mortals that adore Thee Show us, Lord, the steps of blessing, With Thy witness ever bless us, Give us strength to come before Him; Then the Lord will grant us peace, Should our hearts, when comforts fail us, O, our God, how long-how long?" du O Thou Lord of strength and power, Grant Thy grace in ample measure! When, at last, death hovers near us, e our crowns will soon have won- ST. PAUL'S THORN IN THE FLESH. BY PERKIOMEN. That we should learn not to think above that which is written, is no excuse for us not to try to understand what is written. There is a pleasure in thinking-per se and per aliud. Some approach toward the truth will result from it, even if no appulsion against it. * The wisest of heads, and the most loving of hearts have meditated ardently and thought profoundly over the "sting," "stake" or "thorn," which was allotted to St. Paul, as "the messenger of Satan to buffet him," though anticipating throughout only an exciting pursuit, rather than a satisfactory possession. "Nor do we count ourselves to have apprehended; but this one thing we do * * * * we press toward the mark." Secrecy seems to be an attendant characteristic of St. Paul's ecstacy in the Temple (2 Cor. xii. 3-9). The narrative is full of reticence. The vision itself the Apostle kept to himself for about fourteen years. The burden of his revelation lay in "unspeakable words, which it is not lawful for a man to utter," and the cross imposed on himself, he both names and defines in an enigmatical way. Why wonder then over the multitude of conjectures to which his mysterious affliction has furnished material? Numberless authorities locate the thorn wholly in the outer, or physical man. Among those, some pretend to see an explanation in the phrase, "as of one born out of due time." Not here or there must we look for it, consequently, but regard it as something constitutional rather, and as pervading his entire physique; as a general debility, not bidding fair for vigor, extended usefulness or long life. Was not "his bodily presence weak" (2 Cor. x. 10)? But as a counter thought, it is maintained, from the office he had filled under the high-priest, and the terror he occasioned as a persecutor, that he could not have been so very weakly constituted. If not such, then some bodily deformity, others say. Nicephorus, a writer in the fourteenth century, thus describes him: "Paul was a little man, crooked and almost bent like a bow; with a pale countenance, long, and full of wrinkles; a bald head, his eyes full of fire and benevolence; his beard long, thick, and interspersed with gray hairs, as was also his head." But another writer makes St. Paul "four feet, and six inches high, and yet, nevertheless, touching the heavens," thus denying any pigmy stature to the apostle. But his stammering tongue explains the mystery, it is further said; for was not, according to his statement, "his speech contemptible" (2 Cor. x. 10)? But is it not strange then, that the Lycaonians were so ready to mistake Paul for Mercury, the god of eloquence, on account of his persuasive words and graceful elocution? A defective eye-sight constituted his chief ailing, according to others. Why else would he declare the Galatians to have been willing "to pluck out their own eyes and give them to him, if it had been possible" (Gal. iv. 15)? Only, we are met here again by the declaration, that such sayings as, "to give one's eyes,' dearer than one's eyes,' and 'dearer than the apple of one's eye,' are proverbial expressions, and intimate the liveliest tokens of strongest affection. เ Nameless authors have pronounced the "thorn," a nervous disorder of the face, a Tic Douloureux." Spurgeon says, every pulpit effort of his costs him forty-eight hours of stinging pain. We may admit the truth in the case of the great Baptist; but that will not oblige us to concede the same in that of the great apostle. It is after all but a fancy or surmise. Tertullian calls it a dolor auricula, ear-ache. Chrysostom and St. Basil think it to have been megrim, head-ache, even though they subsequently make the source of trouble a more general one. Cyprian lays stress on the carnis et corporis multa ac gravia tormenta, "Many grievous bodily Torments." Augustine, Thomas, and Jerome, as well as Bede, call it," A temptation of the flesh," an opinion which Gordeau has undertaken to establish in a choice thesis. Others favor such disorders, as hemorrhoids, hypochondria, melancholia, dyspepsia, epilepsy, and even some one or more of that class of diseases, which render a surgical operation necessary. Lithotomy was rendered necessary, according to Luther. On the other hand, there are by no means wanting respectable and numerous writers, who probe for the fiery core of the thorn in the inner man exclusively. The theory, that the sting consisted of a Satanic torment, in the form of "blasphemous thoughts," or of "remorse of conscience," because of his earlier ungodly persecution against the infant Church;-this theory, we say, has its grave authorities and zealous advocates. Nor can any view prove even partially satisfactory, we should judge, that does not in some way conduct the effect of the thorn, at least, over into the spiritual man. Mere corporeal torture never made any man a better man, either at the stake, or in the cloister, in human or Divine economies. Only as penalty becomes penance, can it fruit into something good for the victim. Paul would hardly have thought any sheer bodily ache worth mentioning, especially after having endured it for fourteen years in silence. It is not a fashion among the saints, from the Prince of martyrs down, to retail the ills of the flesh. But, as if anxious to move to a still further extreme, another class transfers the apostle's sore evil wholly outside of himself. His bitter foes were for him the "buffeting messenger of Satan." Among the early writers there are found advocates to this view. Theodoret is found in this class. Chrysostom and St. Basil incline in this way, in their later expositions, in spite of an apparent inconsistency. Happily such authors as Osiander and others, take an irenical position and combine the various theories in one. Under this view, St. Paul's foreign adversaries aggravated his inner evil motions, which latter had their ground in the infirmity of the flesh. The rays of heat radiating from the external fires built around him, and playing angrily upon the physical man, were brought to a focus in the inner chamber of the spiritual Paul. With so much data before us, we may "press toward the mark." That the "thorn" must be regarded as an affliction, personal in its nature and application, as well as peculiar in kind, no one will question. The bare fact, that St. Paul considers the circumstance worthy of special mention, is already full of significance. In the enumeration of his tribulations in another place (2 Cor. xi. 23-29), he refrains from including this cross, and reserves it as something to be placed by itself, and extraordinary. It is consequently difficult to regard the "thorn" in the light of a common physical ailing; both from the fact, that we have no intimation of any of the apostles ever having been subject to an interrupting sickness, |