hospitality I was enjoying, who gave me as much of his fruit as he thought good for me every day, and who allowed me to play in his garden, only on the express promise on my part, that I never would take any without his leave. All this, and much more passed through my mind as we walked slowly in to breakfast; I thought not only of my fault with reference to man, but having such slight experience as yet in the frailty of my nature, I wondered how it was that when it most behoved me to remember it, I should have forgotten our resolution when we found ourselves free from the consequences we deserved at the drawing back of the red-curtain, and wondered more than all that I should have forgotten the saying that hung so often in my sight, "Thou God seest me."

We entered the house and found breakfast ready; the heat was wonderful, and the stillness in the air was complete. A singular glow was diffused over everything, though the sun was not shining, and through the open window came multitudes of minute flies like morsels of black thread.

Sister said there was going to be a storm, we all felt oppressed. Lucy was quiet, but a restless feeling of apprehension hung over me. My mind was busy with the young apricot tree, and in every face I fancied I saw a reflection of my thought.

It was impossible to keep the flies off the bread, the tea was sprinkled with them, as well as the table-cloth and our clothes. Grandmother presently began to tell how such a swarm had preceded a great storm which took place in her youth, when a house was struck, and a bed driven into the middle of a room, while two children who were sleeping in it remained uninjured.

This wearisome wind at length was over, the poor little children were quite overpowered, the youngest came up to his sister and leaning his head against her said, "I want to sit on thy knee." As she took him up, James and Lucy brought their stools to her side, and looked in her face apprehensively.

"What art thou afraid of," she said composedly to Lucy, "GOD IS IN THE STORM, He can take care of thee."

The father and grandmother went out of the room to give some orders; and the next instant, several vivid flashes of lightning seemed to dash across our faces. "There," she said, when the thunder which followed them ceased, "Dost thou see how great Sophia is ?-she is not afraid."

"I am not afraid of the storm," I replied, and I asked her if I might go up to my own room.

She gave me leave, and I moved up stairs to the little chamber. I remember something of the terrible dimness which seemed to have gathered in an instant; and of the glowing heat that appeared to strike against me as from the door of an oven.

But sister's remark, that God was in the storm, was paramount to every thing else, and before the thought of safety came the necessity to ask forgiveness.

Let no one say my fault was a trifling one; it was the same which had cost my first mother her place in Paradise. I had eaten forbidden fruit; and as I knelt at the foot of the bed, and hid my face, I remembered what sister had said on this subject, and how I had despised her advice to keep away from temptation. Again, there rushed over my heart the sudden comprehension of the nearness of God; in my childish thought, I felt his presence so close to me, that I did not need to pray aloud; but as well as I could, I entreated forgiveness, though the deafening peal of thunder seemed to drown my words and confuse my very thoughts and senses. The floor shook under me, and I heard the furniture rattle and reel; but God I knew was in the storm, and gradually, as I prayed to Him, his dear presence, which had been so terrible to me, because, to my apprehension a source of rest, and brought a consciousness of protection.

There was nothing else to trust in during that great danger; but it was enough. I was quite alone, and though sometimes a little stunned by the noise, was able to distinguish the strange sounds, the creaking and crashing of boughs of trees, the lowing of the frightened cattle, the distressed cries of the rooks. The very house itself seemed endowed with power to complain, and groaned and trembled to its foundation.

One other incident I remember of that half-hour. Something soft had brushed across my hands. I lifted up my face, and saw two trembling, dripping swallows sitting on my pillow!

And now, the sound of drenching rain was added to the tumult of the thunder; I remained kneeling, but was no longer afraid. Then came a short pause, and I thought I would get up and look for Lucy's father. I did not doubt that my fault was forgiven, but my head was still a little confused with the noise, and I wished to tell him my fault without considering whether this was a convenient season.

I wandered about, but could find no one; I opened several doors; at length I came to the upper room so often mentioned, advanced to the red curtain and looked in. There I saw him and the grandmother sitting side by side, perfectly composed; but with somewhat awestruck faces; the son was holding his mother by the hand, and they were quite silent. I came in and stood beside him for a few minutes; the storm was clearing off with magical celerity, and two minutes after the last tremendous clap of thunder, the rain ceased and the sun shone out over the sodden grass; and the ruined garden, all strewed with broken branches, fallen fruit, and dead nestlings flung from the nests,

D

and over which the mother rooks were piteously lamenting. The great fear of God so lately suffered, had taken away for a time all fear of man; and though the grandmother was present, I did not feel afraid, when I asked Lucy's father if he would hear something that I wanted to tell him.

Some few things in our childhood make such a deep impression on the mind, that they are never forgotten. I remember to this day how I told my story to Lucy's father, and almost the very words in which I told him.

I remember his benign face, which to my great surprise, never once became in the least displeased, all through the broken narrative. I remember the grandmother's manner, which, stranger still, never reproached me as it did at other times; I remember the touch of her aged hand, as once or twice she passed it softly over my hair; and more than all, I remember the quiet kindness of Lucy's father, and how gently he said, when I had finished, and he had reflected for a few moments on my tale, "Well, well, let him that is without sin among us, first cast a stone at thee."

From that day forward, the grandmother was particularly kind

to me.

ORRIS.

SELFISHNESS IN RELIGION.

THE religion of many of the saints of God appears of too selfish a character to be very healthy. This, beloved friends, is the full conviction of my own mind, and has been so for a long time.

The selfishness of which I complain, is seen, I apprehend, in various ways. It is to be traced in that sort of religion which is exclusively, or at least, far too much, confined to a consideration of ourselves—our own feelings and experiences, our own sorrows and joys, our own temptations and deliverances-in short, OUR OWN SELVES, with far too little, if any, real consideration of others-the salvation of the sinners around me, the sanctification of my fellow saints, and above all, too little consideration of Him who is the Great End of all, God in Christ, God in his glory.

This selfishness, I allow, may not be destitute of spiritual diligence and spiritual watchfulness; but so far as it prevails, it has but little of a filial spirit in it. It is ungospel-like-it is little like Christ-it is little like God. And it grieves me to reflect how much I seem to have been under the influence of it, in all my past days.

You will not, I am sure, mistake me, nor confound the distinction between selfishness and self-love. The former is everywhere spoken against. The latter seems not only bound up in the very element of the creature, so that the creature cannot exist without it, but it is a principle equally acknowledged in the law (Matt. xix. 19) and in the Gospel (Gal. vi. 1, 2). To watch over the state of my own soul, to give diligence -yea, ALL diligence to make my own calling and election sure-to look well and narrowly to my goings, to ponder the path of my feet, to keep my "heart with all diligence"-are things not only right and proper, but it would be an invasion of common sense were they not placed in the front rank of appointed duty; therefore, all this is peremptorily and strictly enjoined me. But none of all this is urged upon low and selfish grounds.

I am sure, dear friends, that you quite agree with me, in thinking that the great end of God, in the whole covenant of grace, was his own glory. Election speaks it-Redemption speaks it. The effectual call of the Holy Spirit, in all its blessed effects on the souls of men, equally speaks it.

All is of God, all is in God, all is by God, and therefore all must be for God.

And that which was God's great end must be ours also.

In this, too, we must be imitators of God as his "dear children." And never, can we be in a healthy or happy state of soul when this is not the

case.

Fully assured am I that in all those various and ever-varying states of mind in which the people of God are from time to time found, they would, through grace, and by the power of the Holy Spirit, much sooner experience the cure of a multitude of the evils of which they complain, were they more led out in their hearts towards God Himself not merely seeking, beneath the cross, the cure of this or that frame, but seeking beneath that cross, a more close and intimate acquaintance with, a more true delight and rest in GOD, as exhibited in and by his Son. In GOD, therefore, as infinitely and supremely Great, and Gracious, and Glorious, and Lovely; not resting in means, however diligent in them-and this is indispensable-but resting in Himself alone; and in order to that, never giving over the search after his presence in those means, even as the Church in the Canticles (Song iii. 1, 4), till HE be found in them.

And most especially would this, I humbly believe, be the case, if with this in view, diligently and prayerfully sought, we also sought to lay ourselves out more for HIS GLORY-making that, which is the first petition in the Lord's form of prayer, "Hallowed be thy Name," the very first desire and aim of our souls and lives. If many, whose time is spent in little else than complainings-that, for the most part, end in nothing were graciously so led, very different, I fully believe, would be the aspect of their religion (Job xxii. 21).

Bear with me, beloved reader, if I urge this point with all tenderness, but with all faithfulness upon you. Suffer the word of exhortation. Oh, urge it back upon myself, by your prayers, by your lives. How much I need it, He alone knows, who knows all things.

BEWARE OF SELFISHNESS IN RELIGION. In all things beware of it; but especially HERE. Beware of all its secret subtle workings, and seek to "do ALL to the glory of God," 1 Cor. x. 31.