than I ever ventured to hope for, that it appears almost like a dream to me."

Dear reader, are you one of these happy dreamers ? Can you sympathize with the restored exiles, and with the rejoicing Christians, not merely from natural benevolence but from kindred experience? Are there any spots in your pilgrimage, and any seasons in your spiritual life, of which the grateful retrospect calls forth this avowal, "When the Lord turned again the captivity of Zion, we were like them that dream"? How should the remembrance of them endear to you the loving-kindness and faithfulness of your heavenly Father! for He has not only fulfilled all your expectations, but He has surpassed them. His goodness has exceeded your hopes as well as your fears. He has given you more than you asked for, or even thought of; before you called He has answered you; and His grace has often surprised whilst it solaced you. Well may you rejoice with the exulting occupants of Jerusalem, and affirm, "The Lord hath done great things for us, whereof we are glad!"

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"Like them that dream.” We have said, dear reader, that this dream-like state of mind is natural, but we have not said that it is commendable. It appears to us rather deserving of censure than of praise; and if you will analyze it for a few minutes, you will perhaps be inclined to coincide with our opinion. When the Lord turned again the captivity of Zion, we were like them that dream." "Like them that dream, we had not calculated upon this glad event; we were not waiting for it; it took us so by surprise that we could hardly at first realize our position." Now this shows that the captive Jews had either forgotten God's plain and unmistakable promises respecting their deliverance, or else had failed to appropriate them. They ought to have been looking out eagerly for their fulfilment; to have been anxiously

and joyously anticipating their homeward return; and it was from the want of this lively faith that when they were really restored to their own land the event was so unexpected, that it seemed to most of them like a dream.

And is it not from the same want, or weakness of faith-if not from positive unbelief that in our Christian experience we are so often like them that dream? That youthful convert, whose history we have so briefly sketched, why was he almost ready to doubt whether the burden which he had lost, like Pilgrim at the cross, was actually gone? almost ready to think that his joy was too great to be real, or lasting? Had not God promised those blessings to him in His word? had He not assured him, as He assures us, that there is full, free, and immediate forgiveness for all who seek it in Christ? Yes, but he had overlooked these promises, or else had not heartily grasped them by the hand of faith. He mused over his own sinfulness and unworthiness until he felt that it would be presumptuous in one like him to hope for peace and joy, instead of accepting, as he ought to have done, the rich and glorious invitations which the Gospel brought to him; and believing, as he ought to have believed, that in the utterance of His gracious promises, God means exactly what He says.

And that grateful tradesman, lost in astonishment at God's providential dealings with him, had he never read such words as these, “Call upon Me in the day of trouble, I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify Me." "Seek first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you?" Had he never learnt from the lilies of the field, and the birds of the air, lessons of trust in God's providing and preserving care? Why, when help came to him in his emergency, was it not just what his Father in heaven had promised him? Would he have been so surprised at the well-timed succour, had

he rested with a simple, childlike trust on God's assurances ?

And that meek sufferer in her lonely chamber, if she had looked as often and as steadily at the lamp of truth beside her, as she had looked into the dark valley of death before her, would the light which at last illumined that narrow passage and dispelled all her fears, have seemed to her such a strange phenomenon? Since one of the great purposes for which Christ took upon Him our nature, was to deliver us from the fear of death, is it singular that He should banish the apprehensions, and soothe and gladden the hearts of His departing servants?

Dear reader, amidst the vicissitudes of the present life, one thing remains sure and steadfast. "The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away"-all here is evanescent and uncertain-" but the word of the Lord endureth for ever; and this is the word which by the gospel is preached unto you." 1 Peter i. 24.

Then make this word, dear reader, more and more your study and your trust. Honour God, by believing that His promises are true, and their performance certain, Put an unwavering confidence in all His declarations. "Hath He said, and shall He not do it ?" And while, in reviewing the past, you mourn over your slowness of heart to believe all that He hath spoken, and breathe with real earnestness of spirit the prayer, "Lord, increase our faith;" admire and magnify that grace which pities your infirmities, forgives your distrust, and so overwhelms you with marvellous and unlooked-for mercies, that in the astonished reception of them, you are "like them that dream."

ELLA THORNTON: OR, THE TWO MISSIONS.

IN THREE CHAPTERS.-CHAPTER III.

"TO-MORROW I shall be twenty-one!"

Such were Ella's last words to Mrs. Maitland on the last evening of her minority, and such was Ella's last thought as she laid her head on her pillow that night.

And the morrow came, as warm and sunny as any birthday morn need be.

In consequence of the recent death of Mr. Hyde no gaieties had marked the succession of the heiress to her estates, so the holiday-loving folks at Greyhurst, Miss Thornton not excepted, determined to indemnify themselves for having missed the rejoicings usual on such occasions, by celebrating the "coming of age" with remarkable festivity. The entertainments, however, were not to commence until the day after that important event, in order that all necessary business should be first despatched. Mr. Graham was to arrive in the evening; Mr. Wilton, his co-trustee, was to meet him at Greyhurst, and, after the proper preliminaries, their authority was to be formally resigned. The rest of the day was therefore disengaged, and to escape the bustle of preparation for the ensuing fêtes, Ella agreed to join a fishing party arranged by Mrs. Wilton. Mrs. Maitland urged her district duties as an excuse for not going, but Ella offered to wait for her.

"If you go to the village directly after breakfast, and shorten your visits for once, we shall manage very well-I will not start till you come back, and then we will drive together in the pony-chaise to the headland. The Wiltons will find their way thither about the same time; and after sailing about for an hour or two, we are to land, have dinner on the beach, and come home about five or six o'clock; it is to be a little pic-nic, you see, in a very quiet way, dull enough, but still preferable to remaining here while the house is in such confusion."

So Mrs. Maitland consented to go, and hastened through her round of visits-looked in at the schools, called on some old women, her special pets, Ella said, gave flannel jackets to rheumatic old men, and soup-tickets to whoever needed them, left tracts at every cottage (she was an indefatigable tract distributor), and hurried back to Greyhurst, just as the handsomest pair of ponies in the country stood champing

their bits, and pawing the gravel, before the door; and their mistress, standing in the portico, was looking down the avenue impatiently, and regretting that she had not offered to send to meet her old friend. "But Mrs. Maitland makes a point of taking a long walk every day, so that it does not signify for her, only it would have saved my time."

Selfish, as well as inconsiderate, Ella!

A few minutes more, and they were seated in the low phaeton, and rolling easily and rapidly through the park, and down the road towards the shore, Ella holding the reins, and restraining the spirit of the beautiful animals, as they sped along.

All persons are more or less affected by the weather, and there is in some so strong a sympathy with outward things that their spirits are as much damped by a dense fog as by a serious misfortune. Ella was peculiarly sensitive to meteorological effects, but, in this instance, she falsified an opinion on which she had often insisted, that it was impossible to be sad beneath a summer sky, and that a fresh sea breeze carries away every care. She had frequently found that there is some truth in this idea, as her griefs had often been fanciful ones, which a brisk canter over the smooth, hard sand might dissipate; but now, notwithstanding the unclouded sapphire above, and the soft winds which scarcely filled the sails of the light vessels, that awaited her coming at the point of the promontory, she leaned back in the little carriage, carelessly allowing her ponies to choose their own pace; and when her companion suggested the prudence of attending to their movements, she impatiently urged them forward, and then suddenly checked their speed; complaining of the heat, and the dust, and the distance, and the uncomfortable motion of the easiest phaeton that ever ran upon wheels. At length seeing Mrs. Maitland smile, she exclaimed, "You think that the fault is mine; perhaps it is, I am rather out of spirits." "The day may have something to do with it," returned Mrs. Maitland.

"A birthday brings a feeling of sadness, and of vague regret for the years that are gone, however bright may be the future. Beginning another year is like bidding farewell for ever to old friends, before starting on a journey to a distant country, where new friends may be ready to greet your arrival. The new friends may welcome you, but you do not feel the same assurance with them as with those you have left behind."

But pensive recollection was not the expression of Miss Thornton's countenance, and she was probably conscious that