cry of the grasshopper, the lark's glad hymn, the solemn waving of the plumed trees-increased rather than marred the repose. Yet amidst this scene of quiet, I could not banish the melancholy thought, how little this tranquillity of nature harmonizes with the restlessness of the human mind, and was reminded of the pathetic exclamation of Cowper:

"How ill the scene that offers rest,

And heart that cannot rest, agree!"

It is often in vain that we fly from the world to some rural retreat, in the hope that we shall there enjoy a larger share of holiness and contentment: for we find that the absence of external distractions is by no means the only thing necessary for our repose, and that the pulsations of an unquiet heart only become the more audible in solitude, just as the moan of a distant sea, overpowered by the noise of day, makes itself heard amid the stillness of night. Man, a fallen creature, can no longer walk amid this beauteous earth with the unbroken calm of innocence: the disordered passions, the aimless or improper wishes, the discontent and impatience which so frequently agitate him, are constantly reminding him of the dislocation which the moral framework of the world has undergone. But to the Christian there is light in the darkness: his very inability of finding happiness on earth becomes to him an earnest that he is reserved for superior enjoyments: nor does he desire to share an apathetic repose while he can feel conscious that his inward struggles arise from the work of purification which Divine grace is carrying on in his soul, and which is making him "meet to be a partaker of the inheritance of the saints in light." It is only from the Prince of Peace that true peace can come, and by him will, at length, be breathed into the hearts of his people, the peace of God-a peace akin to that eternal and invincible calm which is the culiar property of Him "with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning."

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While the believer can realize this feeling, the calm around him becomes a glorious emblem of everlasting re

pose. Gladly, then, does he seize the opportunity of being able, for a few moments, to close his ears upon the harassing but necessary cares of life, and forgetting the crimes, the meanness, the strife of men, give himself up to the sensations of peace and love, engendered by the surrounding scenery, which, thus considered, yields him a faint adumbration of those plains of peace into which no tumult, no sorrow can intrude.

In the days of paganism, a shady solitude such as this, would probably have been made the scene of idolatrous rites. Here would some hideous idol have been evoked; and the silence have been affrighted by the cries of the human victim borne struggling over the turf, soon to be moistened by his blood. These horrors the light of the Gospel has driven from our land. Let us then gratefully acknowledge "the tender mercy of our Lord, whereby the dayspring from on high hath visited us, to give light to them that sat in the darkness and in the shadow of death," and ever remember in our prayers those nations upon whom this cheering light has not yet arisen. There is, indeed, no altar nor outward sign of worship in this secluded spot; but who can tell how often the sacrifice of a contrite heart may here have been offered? how often the enlightened soul may here have held communion with heaven, and worshipped that God who is a Spirit in spirit and in truth? Blessed change! from the frightful image, the sacrificial knife, the fiend-like shouts, and all the revolting characteristics of barbarian superstition, to the spiritual worship of the Christian, mingling with his God in ineffable communion, and joining with his prayers for his own salvation earnest entreaties for the forgiveness of his enemies and the welfare of all men.

As I stood beside the trees, gazing wonderingly on their immense height and bulk, I could not but think of the insignificance of the human form in size and duration, when compared with these huge productions of the vegetable world, whose tops it was an effort for the sight to reach, and whose strength had outlived so many generations of their noble owners. And

yet how immeasurable is the superiority which the spirit breathed into man by God gives him over these masses of matter! Through his reasonable soul, a puny creature standing at their base, can calculate their height and age, can pass back to an era which knew not their existence, and press on to a day when they shall be no more, and can make of them the suggesters of "thoughts which wander through eternity," mounting towards the skies far more boldly than their lofty tops, and summoning forth a loveliness more exquisite even than that which their leafy temple contains. An insignificant tool, a woodman's axe, can level these monsters of the forest; and so, indeed, may a trifling accident lay the form of man in the dust; but the human soul will still live on, brought only into nearer connexion with spiritual existences, and animated with a fuller life. How greatly, then, should the believer prize his intellectual nature which forms his bond of union with heaven, and strive, through faith and prayer, to assert for it its rightful supremacy over his animal part, in which he is excelled even by the inferior tribes of creation!

The mourner, perhaps, in his moments of despondency, may be induced, when comparing the duration of man with that of the less noble productions of nature, to join in the complaints of Job, "There is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will flourish again, and that the tender branch thereof will not cease. But man dieth and wasteth away; yea, man giveth up the ghost and where is he?" But thanks be to Him who has brought life and immortality to light through the Gospel, these feelings can be but transient in the Christian's mind. Faith in the word of Jesus, the resurrection and the life, turns him to those cheering promises which throw open the gates of a celestial Paradise, and tell him that the righteous shall bloom eternally in the garden of God. They point him to the day when the weak frame, which to some of us is a sore let and hindrance in running the race set before us, shall be etherialized into a glorious body, and made fit for the marvellous

employments of eternity; and when

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as the days of a tree" shall be the days of God's people, yea, and far more, for "they shall reign for ever and ever."

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A young deer, more curious than its fellows, advanced between the trees to fix its bright eye upon me: but, at my nearer approach, fled in trepidation. Alas! gentle creature, why dost thou fly from a peaceful moralist, (like thyself, astray from the herd,) who was but desirous of gazing awhile on thy beauty? "O thou Adam, what hast thou done?"* What a painful proof does this shyness of the animal creation give of the fall, which probably broke the free communion theretofore existing between man and his humble associates, who after that awful event no longer

Of man,

"Stood much in awe

but fled him: or with countenance grim Glared on him passing."

Man fled from the God he had disobeyed, and the animal now flies from the stranger, in whom he expects to meet a foe rather than a friend. Hence, we find the removal of this state of apprehension adduced to set forth that restored beatitude which Isaiah was commissioned to foretell, "The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb," says the raptured prophet, "and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them."

As I walked along, I observed a solitary leaf falling slowly to the ground. Amid the innumerable leaves it had left behind, it was not missed : the noise of its fall was drowned by the rushing of the foliage; and the tree whence it had been detached still tossed its stately head, as though disdaining to notice the single leaf it had lost. So drops the individual amid this crowded world; the throng, intent on traffic or pleasure, still rush on, regardless of their fellow-mortal who has just lain down by them to die; and his last sighs are unheard amid the hurry and clamour of the myriads who survive. But even the

*2 Esdras, vii. 48.

HAVING lately been engaged in the study of a book which has brought before me some new and blessed views of the greatness of the Lord Jehovah, I desire to invite some of my fellowscholars in the school of Jesus to come and read with me, in the hope that we shall afresh magnify the Lord, and exalt his holy name. Nor need we seek the well-filled volume in the deep recesses of the lores of learning, nor bring a costly price with. which to purchase it. No, blessed be God, it is within the reach of every godly peasant, of every shepherd boy, who, while he sings of God's "glory above the heavens," can also trace His hand in "all sheep and oxen, yea, in the beasts of the field, the fowl of the air, and the fish of the sea, and whatsoever passeth through the paths of the sea," and in the contemplation of them all, can say, "O Lord our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth!" We are apt to look with curious interest upon the habits and occupations of those who lived in distant bygone days. The Theban temples, the lofty pillars, the massive pyramids, and the buried tombs, afford wondering speculation to the antiquarian and the historian-while from the well-nigh obliterated sculpturing or carving, he strives to decipher some fact respecting a Cleops or a Sesostris. But there is a record more ancient far than these. Yes, more ancient even than the divine writings of Moses and of Job. And if we would read and understand God's written word, we must study, and in a measure understand, that beautiful scheme which he reveals and spreads before us and around us in the world in which he has placed us-in which "the heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament sheweth his handiwork. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowledge." Nor was it ever intended by the Maker of this wondrous universe, that its tenant, man, should be an idle recipient of the bounties in the midst of which he SEPTEMBER-1846. 2 D

stood. For, "when God created man in his own image," "the Lord God planted a garden, and there he put the man whom he had formed." Here, then, we have (we speak with reverence,) the first husbandman, the first tiller of the ground, the first cultivator of the soil, when it had but just come fresh from its Maker's hands.

"God planted a garden.” But now the Sabbath-day was come. That Sabbath ere which God finished the heavens and the earth, and "ended his work which he had made, and rested from all his work which he had made." But is the newly-planted garden to be left to grow old in luxuriant beauty? Is no being, capable of reading the Creator's love, and power, and wisdom, to watch each opening bud, to receive the fragrant perfume, to delight in the glowing brilliancy? Shall the wide-spreading palm, or the heavy cedar branches need no clearing around them-nor the tendrils of the vine need raising from the earth-nor the fruit of the pomegranate need gathering? Shall no tenant, no willing labourer, be found to cultivate the garden thus marvellously planted? "The Lord God took the man, and put him into the garden to dress it and to keep it." Yes, unfallen man was to have a home -this home not a building of wood or stone-of stately rocks or sparkling granite-God's garden was his home; and unfallen man was to have an occupation, and this not in scanning the heavens nor counting the stars, nor seeking after mysteries which were hidden from his view; but the occupation of his garden home was this, "to dress it and to keep it." And God made him overseer, and gave him "dominion over the work of his hands." The cultivation of the earth is then the most ancient of all occupations-God was the teacher-unfallen man the learner. And thanks be to God, this occupation yet belongs to fallen man. True, it is embittered by the fall. Instead of only training and pruning the

luxuriant fruits which the earth brought forth abundantly, man has now hard work to cultivate and enrich the land, that it may bring forth sufficient for his maintenance; and many a time when he would rejoice in the work of his hands, or nestle in some sweet garden home, a pricking brier, or a grieving thorn, (Ezekiel xxviii. 24.) or a worm at the root of some choice plant, is sent to remind him that this is not his rest-not his Eden. Sin is here, and it is no fit dwelling-place for a child of Godhe must arise, because his sweetest comforts are polluted. Man has now to learn, by the sweat of his brow, the dreadful nature of sin, the truth of man's fall, Satan's power, God's curse. Out of Eden he toils and labours; and if, only for a little season, he wearies and relaxes in his efforts, the heading weed quickly reminds him that he is only adding to his toil by idleness, and that the seedling which a child's hand might have rooted up but a few days since, now needs the heavy spade, to remove it from its place. But how profitable the lesson which is taught us by this fact! If God has been pleased to allot toil and labour, and thorns and thistles, as the offspring of sin, there is surely a lesson of love in this. Weeds may be pleasant to the sight, but they are mischievous, yea, noxious. Sin may be alluring, but it is deadly. "Who hath Woe? who hath sorrow? who hath contentions? who hath babbling? who hath wounds without cause? They that tarry long at the wine; they that go to seek mixed wine." (Prov. xxiii. 29.) "There is a way that seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death." (Prov. xvi. 25.) "At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder." (Prov. xxiii. 32.) "The wages of sin is death." (Rom. vi. 23.) Here then is God's truth-" In the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die." (Gen. ii. 17.) Man wrought sin, and sin wrought death.

But

did God close with a curse ?-had he no bowels of compassion for the work of his hands? Shall Satan triumph? and the garden world become a desolate wilderness and its tenant, man, the slave of his lust, and of his cruel

enemy, the devil? Then would the God of the universe be no more Jehovah the Lord of Hosts-then would the tempter be stronger than the Creator. Praised be our God, if we weep over his truthful curse, we may rejoice over his truthful blessing. "The seed of the woman shall bruise the serpent's head." "God is jealous, and the Lord revengeth; the Lord revengeth, and is furious; the Lord will take vengeance on his adversaries, and he reserveth wrath for his enemies. The Lord is slow to anger, and great in power." (Nahum i. 2, 3.)

The earth shall be regenerated; for thus saith the Lord, "Drop down, ye heavens, from above, and let the skies pour down righteousness : let the earth open, and let them bring forth salvation, and let righteousness spring up together; I the Lord have created it." (Is. xlv. 8.) And man, the tenant man, must yet be found faithful. Now the godly man ceaseth, and truth is well-nigh perished out of the earth. But it shall not always be so. And even now, as God's blessing upon appointed means prospers to the production of good fruit from this curse-stricken earth, so, even now, the Holy Spirit is pleased to sow the seed of eternal life in the hearts of God's children. He gathers them one here and one there, and though the world see it not, and understand it not, and the favoured ones can scarce believe the distinguishing grace and love that is bestowed upon them, yet the great Husbandman looks upon them with delight, and says, "A garden inclosed is my sister, my spouse; a spring shut up, a fountain sealed." (Cant. iv. 12.) "I am come into my garden, my sister, my spouse; I have gathered my myrrh with my spice; I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey." (Cant. v. 1.)

Reader, have you found any delight in thus tracing out the early history of the first tiller of the ground? Have you learned any new lesson concerning the goodness of the bountiful Husbandman, who, in the midst of judgment, has remembered mercy; and when his servant, man, forfeited his Paradise, in Eden, yet still allowed him to live upon this beautiful and