thoughts half aloud, “the grass withereth, the flower fadeth, but the word of our God shall stand for ever,'—His word, which is written on our hearts, and forbids us to give place, even for a moment, to the tyrant who would have us dishonour his name and profane his worship. He knoweth that the cause for which we struggle is his, and his alone. Perhaps even yet He may have pity, for there is none else to aid us now." Just then he perceived a young comrade seated on the flight of steps leading to one of the large and fashionable houses which abounded in that part of the town. Assuming a cheerfulness which he was very far from feeling, Philip accosted him with the singular though characteristic Dutch salutation, "How do you sail?"

The person addressed feebly raised his head, but did not reply. "Are you ill, my friend?" Philip inquired, in a more anxious

tone.

"Ill," was the answer, "Yes; I am ill of hunger, and despair, and misery. Toiling all day on the fortifications, my feeble limbs scarce able to support me, and envying every brave fellow that found a quick painless death from the enemy's bullets. One fell at my feet as I worked; how I cursed the bad marksman who fired it!"

Shame, Quinten!" what will your companions say if you yield in this manner?"

"I know not, and care not-they would do the same themselves."

"You of all men to sit here whining and moaning like a girl! You that were always the bravest in every danger, and the most cheerful under every privation!"

"So I was, and so I am still. You doubt me: ask Hans, or Hugo, or Paul Van Esek, if Quinten Lambert is ever without his song or his jest. Ah, Philip, a bursting heart finds many a veil beneath which to conceal its agony!"

"We are all suffering now, but we should still remember that we made that suffering our free choice, and have therefore no right to shrink from the consequences. You remember the conditions-freedom, with the horrors of a wasting siege, war, and famine, perhaps even unto death-or, peace and security, with slavery, the Pope, and the Inquisition. You were not the last, Quinten, to raise the cry of Liberty, or to join in the shouts of Vivat Orange, Orange for ever,' that we made the air ring with that day. But this is no place to discuss these things. Come with me, friend, our homes lie in the same direction." Quinten shrunk instinctively from him, and answered almost fiercely, "No, no, not home-anywhere but that. Is it not enough to suffer myself, without looking on the pale of those I love, and reading the trace of anguish there-anguish

worn faces

that bears down the strong man and the feeble child, and I that would die for them unable to relieve them. It is too much, Philip, man's heart could never bear it."

"Why not, when feeble woman's can? Times like these, although they are terrible, are glorious too: glorious, for they bring to light many a virtue which would else have remained hidden for ever, and serve to show how much of disinterested affection, of nobleness, and lofty heroism, is even yet to be found in human hearts. Think you I have felt all you describe; and more, far more! I too have a home, and that home contains an aged father, unused till now to want or suffering, two little children that have learned at last to cry no more for bread to him who has none to give, and one gentle sister whose cheek fades daily before me; yet it is there I go to gather strength. How could I murmur whilst they bear all in silence? Whilst they forget their own pain and their own sorrows, to say kind cheerful words of hope and love to the weary soldier who returns faint and toil-worn from his long day's watch on the ramparts ?"

Quinten slowly rose and placed his arm within that of his friend, "Thy heart is stronger than mine," he said; "but do not triumph over me."

"Who could triumph here ?" answered Philip. "I know," he added, after a pause, "that I am less sensible to cold, and hunger, and physical pain, than some others. This I suppose is a peculiarity of constitution, for which I certainly deserve no credit, but which I fear makes me uncharitable in my judgment of others."

"It must be of immense advantage now, however," replied Quinten; "I have often struggled, but in vain, against my weakness; the horror of pain or danger still clings to me, and makes me alike selfish and miserable. It requires the influence of excitement to render me as reckless of death as I sometimes appear in battle. But that death is easily borne. It is the slow lingering agony of starvation that I dare not look on or anticipate. Unless He who sends the bitter cup give strength to take it meekly and bravely, it lies not in the power of humanity."

"His arm is not shortened that it cannot save,'" replied Philip, solemnly; never yet were any that trusted in Him ashamed, and we have trusted Him. Ever, both in word and in act have our rulers acknowledged, that 'except the Lord keep the city the watchman waketh but in vain." I know He will

yet interpose on our behalf; and He only waits so long that we may all see the work to be his, and his alone."

Yes, but many hearts must bleed and break before that deliverance comes."

DEBORAH.

THE CALL TO REPENTANCE.

UNDERSTANDING that there is no intimation in the original constitution of things of the probability of pardon, and that this great truth received its most pointed and distinct avowal from the lips of Christ, we inquire as to the persons for whom this forgiveness is provided.

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Opening the pages of our New Testament we read of the voice of one crying in the wilderness, the burden of whose cry was Repent ye. Alone amidst the solitudes of the everlasting hills, where the everlasting stars looked down on the wide plains and the distant sea; alone with the everlasting silence of the great work of the Highest, he had learned something of the true courses of nature-something of the order which regulates the universe. From thence, with his ear filled with the eternal harmonies, and his eye with the eternal beauties, he came forth into the busy cities; the garment of camel's hair, fastened with a leathern girdle, hung in careless grace about his loins; the discord of the city grated on his keener senses, and his prophetic eye saw beneath the active exterior the rotten heart. And the marching soldier, the camel driver, the white-robed Pharisee, and the learned Sadducee, flocked to hear the strange enchantment of that voice which proclaimed the axe to be laid at the root of the tree, and that a more righteous government, the kingdom of God, was at hand. Not one word of encouragement does John give to the multitudes whom he baptised. For that he told them to look to One mightier than he, whose shoe latchet he was not worthy to unloose. That He was coming as the great rewarder, and the great avenger-that his fan was in his hand and He will throughly purge his floor, and gather his wheat into the garner; but He will burn up the chaff with

unquenchable fire. And that the only way in which they could be in a safe condition was by repentance.

Passing on we ascertained that this doctrine of repentance was the first sermon with which Christ opened his public teachings. And then again, when at Capernaum, after He had answered Peter's question as to the number of times he ought to forgive his offending brother, He proceeds to say unto his disciples that the kingdom of heaven is likened unto a certain king, who, when he had reckoned with his servants, found that one was unable to pay him his account, and, instead of casting him into prison, or selling him into bondage, freely forgave him all. We need only mention the parable of the Prodigal Son, or bring before our minds the beautiful truths of that tale, and the tender compassion of the Father unto the repentant child.

And so thoroughly was the kindliness of the greatest benevolence rooted in His heart that in the last moment of his sublime life, when the film of death threw a greater shade over his spirit than the veiled sun, and the faith in the Father's care seemed almost to waver, a petition for mercy on his executioners went up with his expiring breath. Space would fail to point out all the instances in the teaching and life of Christ, illustrative of the simple fact that to them who truly repent there is remission of sin and entire and perfect absolution for the past.

The next question which presents itself is this: How can God forgive, when He has expressly declared that certain consequences shall always follow transgression; and yet be true to Himself? The answer to this query, which may be called the philosophy of salvation, finds its solution in the writings of the Apostles; but without leaving the four Gospels we can understand how Christ gave his life a ransom for many, and that by his death we have life. This great truth, one of the greatest which Christ came to proclaim, was totally at variance with the usages of the people to whom his

mission sent Him. The consequence was, persecution on their part, and suffering on his. "Thy will be done." He became a man of sorrows in fulfilling his Father's business, and although it cost Him his life He sowed the seeds of Christianity. Had He not been willing to sacrifice his life, had He not been willing to drink the cup, the weary night had yet hung on the moral world, and humanity would have been without God and without hope. There may be many other reasons for Christ's death, but this is one which we can appreciate, the Good Shepherd laying down his life for the sheep. How truly did He die, the just for the unjust.

The pardon of sin thus remains purely an act ex gratia, and not ex debito justicia. We do not deserve it; but the mercy of God bestows it on the contrite spirit.

S. G. J.

ALONE, YET NOT ALONE.

YES, thou art left alone, oh pilgrim, toiling up life's rugged steep,

For the friends who marched beside thee, weary grew and "fell

Now the sunshine of their presence streams no longer o'er thy

way;

But upon thy path the shadow of their silent graves is thrown, And with sad and shrinking spirit thou must brave earth's storms alone.

Not the dizzy heights thou fearest, which before thy footsteps

rise,

Not the gloomy scenes around thee, not the thick and lowering

skies;