her usual occupations. Her father had told her that he should be home before dusk :-still she tried to persuade herself not to expect him so soon :-but as dusk faded gradually into darkness, she could not help watching with an eager eye the road which led to Charlton, or straining her ear to catch the sound of approaching footsteps. Again and again, as a group of labourers caught her eye, her heart bounded, and she sprang forward to meet them-but they passed on singing gaily, though to poor Susan it was the saddest song she had ever heard-at last, when darkness had quite hidden the road from sight, the sound of a footstep met her ear: this she was sure must be her father, and she called out eagerly, "Oh! father, is that you; welcome home."-"Why lass it is time you should be in bed," replied the man, (for it was not her father but a neighbour who lived not far off); "and,. as for your father, you won't see him just yet I reckon, so good night to you." He then went whistling away, nor waited to answer Susan's anxious question, " have you seen my father lately?" Poor Susan's heart was full she went into the house, and taking her seat by the fire, wept bitterly. But happier and calmer thoughts soon came into Susan's mind; and, taking down the Bible, she employed herself in reading, and in prayer. Hour after hour passed on. The village clock struck" one," and poor Susan's heart was full of fears.

At length, when the clock had struck " two," she thought she heard voices in the road-they grew louder, and were mingled with dreadful oaths:-she ran to the door:what a sight met her eyes! her father dragged along, between two men, dreadfully drunk, while they, half-intoxicated themselves, were swearing at him for the trouble he gave them. Horrorstruck and unable to speak, Susan brought out the light, and the two men flinging Brooker on the floor, went off. Dreadful was the night poor Susan passed; but the morning that followed it was still worse: her

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father when he awoke, gazed wildly around him, and, as recollection gradually returned, the sense of his shame burst upon him :-and, snatching up his hat, he tottered out of the cottage. Susan did not see him again for two hours; and when he did come in, he merely flung himself on the seat by the fire, and covered his face with his hands.

Susan offered him his tea in silence, and would have kindly taken his hand, but he snatched it from her; and, after hastily drinking the tea, he reached down his hedging gloves, took his bill from behind the door where it always hung, and seemed ready to go out to work; but it was plain that he was altogether unfit for labour.

"Indeed, father, you had better stay at home," said Susan, gently. "I am sure you don't seem well.”"Mind your own business," said Brooker, angrily; " and don't be casting my shame in my teeth; 'tis hard enough to bear, without your making it worse." With this he was leaving the cottage, but, before he could reach the door, a sudden giddiness came over him, and he would have fallen, if she had not caught him. Brooker was carried to his bed, which he did not quit for many weeks. He was a man of a weakly constitution, and the intemperance he had been guilty of brought on an illness. But the pains of body which he endured were slight to those of his mind; he had depended on his own strength to keep him from sin; and he found, in the hour of temptation, that it was but weakness. He had prided himself on his fair character in the world, and now his neighbours who came in to see him shook their heads (as he thought) in triumph, as if they were ready to say, "So, you are no better than we, after all!" His temper became irritable and morose, and his children were afraid to come near him. But in these hours of adversity, the better principles of Susan shone forth:-patient, cheerful, and active, she nursed her father, looked to

the children, and contrived to earn a trifle besides ;scarcely allowing herself proper necessaries, she reserved every thing she could spare for him. She soothed his impatience, bore with his ill-humour, and tried, whenever she thought he would bear it, to lead him to think about his salvation. Many were the rough words and angry checks she met with; yet she bore them all with patience, remembering what is a Christian's duty, in imitation of Him who," when he was reviled, reviled not again." All this, by degrees, began to strike Brooker. Why," said he to himself, "there are Jones's daughters next door-they are decent, steady girls, yet not one of them would tend their father, and bear with his cross humours as Susan does;-what can make the difference?" He was thus by degrees led to listen to Susan's hints; and, at length, allowed her to read some chapters in the Bible to him every day. The truth seemed gradually to unfold to him. He was first induced to pray; and at length was brought, by a deep and bitter sense of his own sinfulness, to seek refuge in his Saviour's all-sufficient atonement for pardon, and to rely on his Spirit for help. By the mercy of God he arose from his bed of sickness an altered man:-nor were the vows and resolutions there made forgotten in the hours of returning health. His repentance was sincere, for it had taken place without the fear of death before his eyes; for his illness, though long, had never been considered dangerous. When the contrary is the case, when the fear of death leads men to tremble for their past sins, who can say that this is sincere repentance? I trust and believe that Brooker is now an established Christian, full of love to his Saviour, and earnest in doing His will. His daughter has taught him to read; and he delights in reading the Bible, and other good books. The men who worked with him laughed at him not a little for this change in his character; but, though formerly he could not stand their ridicule in the ale-house,

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he now bears it patiently, because he now knows that his own strength is but weakness, and seeks His help "whose grace is sufficient for us.”

Often, indeed, would he lament that the best half of his life (for he was now forty) had passed away in the neglect of God; years in which he might himself have advanced in spiritual attainments, and might also, by his example and advice, have led others along with him.

I will end this by repeating the concluding words of a conversation on this subject, he one day held with his children. "Whatever you delay, whatever you neglect, my children, oh! delay not for an instant to seek the one thing needful,' the salvation of your souls. Listen not to those who would tell you that God will call you, and convert you in his good time. He calls you every day, every hour; and, if you neglect these calls, it is very improbable that you will have any others. But suppose it otherwise, suppose that you may be, as I have been, awakened to a sense of your sins, while you have yet years before you in which to prove the sincerity of your conversion, even then take warning by your father. If you would avoid the remorse, the struggles, I have suffered, the bitter task of breaking through old bad habits, the grief of feeling that others (perhaps your own children) have been injured by your example, and that you are without a friend, an Almighty friend, in the hour when you most need Him,-then pray earnestly for grace' to remember your Creator in the days of your youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh when you shall say, I have no pleasure in them.' (Sent without a name.)

ON THE HAPPINESS OF HEAVEN.

SIR, I WAS much pleased with the letter of C-r R-n, in p. 221 of your last Number, as well as with the Editor's

remarks upon it. It is of great importance to obtain clear views on the nature of the Christian religion; but the subject is, unhappily, by the mass of mankind, so grievously neglected, that, when any of them are, through God's mercy, brought to think upon it, their views are so confused, that, though they may, we should humbly trust, receive, hereafter, the blessings promised to sincere believers, yet do they lose much of the comfort here, which might be theirs, and are often kept back in their spiritual course for the want of those motives which are intended to urge us on in the race which is set before us.

The letter of C. R. seems to be written by a person who is seeking the right way, and, I should hope, has found it; but may not the doubtful state of mind complained of be, in some degree, accounted for, by an expression in the letter in which the "death of Christ,' and man's" own endeavours," are mixed together as the grounds of hope; whereas the true doctrine of Scripture, and of our Church, is that the sacrifice of Christ is alone sufficient for our salvation,--that this is "full, perfect, and sufficient." Now it is the perfection of Christ's sacrifice that gives us a sure ground of hope, while man's own works are, at the best, so imperfect, and always so defective, that in trusting to them we can never have any confidence that we are in a safe state: indeed, by the works of the law we can never be justified, because the law requires perfect obedience," all things written in the law" must be done before we can be saved by the law :-hence we see the need we have of another covenant, the covenant of mercy displayed to us in the Gospel. Christ's sacrifice is complete; the true believer, therefore, may rest with confidence on His merits; and His fulfilment of the claims of the law being full and perfect, there is no room for mixing up man's work in the scheme of justifying the sinner, and of reconciling him to God. This scheme does not exclude the necessity of man's exertions, as a preparation for eternity, but indeed