none but himself and Jorello abode in this house. I knew the faithfulness of the negro, and the love strong as death which he had to me, and I resolved to put that love to the trial. I came to Tweedaledum Castle, found Jorello all that I had fancied him to be, and, from that day to this, that faithful creature has in this castle served and cherished me unknown to my father. I have been in sickness oft since my coming here; for the anxieties and toils of my wanderings, though unfelt then, have since brought forth the gnawing worm of consumption, which is preying on my life, and hasting the hour when this my earthly house shall be dissolved. Yes! I shall soon die; and, surely, the Lord has pitied His poor handmaid and heard her prayers, in sending thee to my help; for one of the deep longings of my soul, for months past, has been that God would bring to me one of mine own sex, to tend me, and read to me, and pray for me, as I travelled onward through the valley of the shadow of death; and, when thou didst enter this house, Jorello interpreted thy coming on this wise, as an answer to our prayers: hence he took measures to deliver thee from the dragoon, and instructed his sagacious dog to track thy steps, and watch thy movements. Such, then, maiden, is the story of poor, sad, broken-hearted Olympia Berwick. It has done my heart good to tell it thee, and to see the tear of sisterly sympathy which has flowed from thine eye. Tell me now, in return, thy history; for I thirst to hear it; and, moreover, it is so long since I have heard a human voice, | and especially a human voice uttering loveand kindness, that I will gladly hearken to thee until the morning light.'

Magdalene, in obedience to the lady, told the simple story of that life which the reader already knows; but it was told amidst so many graceful interruptions and inquiries by the lady, designed to prolong the artless and interesting warbling of Magdalene's melodious lips, that the evening star had long hidden his golden face behind the curtains of his homeward tent, before these gentle speakers ceased to charm the listening ear of night.

Let us now conduct the reader into that splendid room where Magdalene was introduced, when she first entered the Castle of Tweedaledum. Sir Brian, and Curate Jollyfellow, and Logan Nisbet are there,

seated at a table sparkling with plate and festive liquors. Jorello is in attendance, and the majestic dog is, in seeming sleep, resting his head upon the strong paws which are stretched out in the direction of the blazing log.

'Lauderdale and Sharpe alarmed !' said Sir Brian, addressing the curate; 'how?' 'Because,' replied the curate, 'the Duke of Hamilton, the Earls of Roxburgh and Haddington, with several other persons of figure in the west and south, have resolved to repair to court, to complain to the King of Duke Lauderdale's administration; especially of the ravages of the Highland Host, of the Bond of Conformity, of the charging of the country with Law-burrows, and of a black catalogue of other grievances, under which these patriots pretend the nation groans.'

'But what harm to Lauderdale can these men do at the court?' rejoined Sir Brian. 'Surely, the Duke is more firmly seated in the King's affections than to be injured by any thing that Hamilton or his party can say or do. The King is not such a fool as to turn his back on Lauderdale for all the braying of all the Dukes in Christendom!'

'True, Sir Brian! true! very true!' replied the curate; 'and yet the King is of an easy and indolent nature, soft, and ready to be imposed on by artful and plausible tongues. He is too yielding and merciful by far for the times. Why, did not my Lord St Andrews tell me, only three days ago, that the King, by his clemency, as good as spoiled the victory of Pentland; that it is all of the King's softness that there is not a thorough system of root and branch, root and branch, with all the fanatics in the land? Let some of these glozing fellows at the ear of the King when he is in one of his careless moods, and I say, Sir Brian, there is no calculating the evil that may be done.'

'Well, there is some truth in what you say, Whistlekisty,' returned Sir Brian. 'But how do you mean to balk Hamilton and his gang in their purpose of repairing to court?'

'Why, list, list, Sir Brian! here is my plan-mine own invention; for who can surpass Hardens Jollyfellow in the conception or execution of a plan? I believe I could match that dark Italian fellow, Machiavel, himself; and as for Richelieu, he is but a child to me: but, alas! I am

lost to the world by my unconquerable modesty, and by the world's lack of discernment, But here is my plan:-Firstly, Duke Hamilton has a footman, whom the Council have bribed, and who reports to the Council every nice bit of information regarding the movements of his ducal master: secondly, this footman reports that Hamilton, Roxburgh, and Haddington have agreed to meet at Kames House, in your neighbourhood, on their way to London; and the meeting is to-morrow, and they purpose to pass the night at Kames: thirdly, the footman has engaged to entice the servants to a drinking-bout in the adjacent village, so soon as their masters are asleep fourthly, you send Jorello to gather me a band of stout fellows, armed like hedghogs, and I, and Nisbet, and Jorello, and our band pounce on the Duke and his brace of Earls, muffle them, and carry them off to a convenient place which I have selected, and where, I think, I shall manage to keep them prisoners, and thus chop off the head of the deputation to the King, and so spoil its beauty and cripple its power, that it shall tumble, a harmless trunk, to the ground. I shall do all this, and do it so cleverly, that no Hamilton, or Roxburgh, or Haddington among them shall be able to prove that duke, or bishop, or curate had a finger in the dish. O, what a man I should have been, if Fortune had only placed me on a proper pinnacle! But I am lost through the world's blindness, and ignorance, and Medea-like cruelty, in destroying her brightest children!'

to-morrow eve.

'It is all true that you say, curate,' rejoined Sir Brian, with a sarcastic curl on his lip; and, in order that your abilities may be put to the trial, Jorello will have all things ready for your adventure against No man can wish you success more heartily than I. My regret is, that I cannot be one of you; but I am old, blind, racked with pain, and stricken as if some fury were for ever pouring on me from a cornucopia of torments. My only comfort now is wine! wine! wine! Send round the wine-cup, then-let us drown our cares in claret. The night is all before us; and, famous toper as you are, curate, the old blind baronet will try your mettle ere crowing of the cock.'

Let us hasten from the scene of such unholy orgies, and change the time to the

next morning, and the scene to the lady's room, where, in the presence of the lady and Magdalene Nisbet, Jorello is, now by significant signs, and now by writing, giving an account of the curate's design. 'I understand-I understand,' said the

lady.

'Do they mean to kill the Duke and the Earls?' said Magdalene.

'Scarcely that,' replied the lady. 'The Duke is of too high consideration to be so taken off; for, wicked and reckless though the Privy Council are, they have still some fear of consequences, and that fear restrains when nothing else will. But can we not do somewhat to warn the Duke and his companions of their danger? Duke Hamilton has already done his country service in these troublous times: the Duchess Anne is a good and noble lady, who has often ministered to the wants of the persecuted people of God; and for her sake, at least, we who rejoice in the Gospel, and who love to honour the hands which build up Zion's walls, ought to arise, and keep her husband from the snares which his enemies have laid for him. What sayest thou, Magdalene Nisbet ??

'I say,' quickly and warmly replied Magdalene, with all my heart, let us help the Duke, for Duchess Anne's sake. She it was who interceded for the prisoners of Pentland, and who, but for bloody Sharpe's detaining of the King's pardon, would have been the blessed instrument of saving the life of the now glorified martyr, Hugh M'Kail! Let me be thy messenger, lady; I will go in the strength of God, in the face of every danger, to warn the Duke and the Earls, that they may be saved to go, and to speed in the errand of our bleeding Church and country.'

'Thou speakest like a daughter of wisdom,' rejoined the lady, and like one whom God has strengthened. Yes, thou shalt go on this errand; and the Lord will send His angel before thee, and cause thee to stand in the midst of these nobles of the land, and to make their faces shine by the light of thy counsel. Go, maiden; and should God permit thee to see these nobles, and to tell thy message in their ears, leave them not before thou shalt ask them after Sir William Sunning, who was one of their party, and who was well known to Earl Roxburgh. Strive, strive to bring me some news, that may scatter

the cloud which darkens my soul, and that may plant peace on my dying pillow. O, strive; and I will watch for thy coming more than they that watch for the morning light.'

Fear not,' returned Magdalene; 'for my heart is in the work: and may the Lord prosper me, both to serve His Church, and to bring thee refreshing news!'

'And that the Lord may prosper thee,' replied the lady, 'let us worship together at His throne of grace.'

They knelt in reverential posture before God-Jorello in the background, with his forehead resting on the floor. Let us withdraw from the hallowed scene, and leave them alone with the Hearer and Answerer of prayer; for the Master is there, according to that promise, For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.'

C. M.

spend his beams in process of time, and, as it were, grow dim with age; this object has a rich stock of beams, which eternity cannot exhaust. If saints and angels grow in knowledge, the splendour of this object will be still increasing. It is unbelief that intercepts its beams. Unbelief takes place only on earth; there is no such thing in heaven or in hell. It will be a great part of future blessedness, to remember the object that procured it; and of future punishment, that offered deliverance from it. It will add life to the beams of love in heaven, and make the flames of hell burn fiercer. Its beams will not only adorn the regions of light, but pierce the regions of darkness. It will be the desire of the saints in light,' and the great eyesore of the Prince of darkness and his subjects.

THE CROSS OF CHRIST.

THE Cross of Christ is an object of such incomparable brightness, that it spreads a glory round it to all the nations of the earth, all the corners of the universe, all the generations of time, and all the ages of eternity. The greatest actions or events that ever happened on earth, filled with their splendour and influence but a moment of time and a point of space: the splendour of this great object fills immensity and eternity. If we take a right view of its glory, we shall see it, contemplated with attention, spreading influence, and attracting looks from times past, present, and to come; from heaven, earth, and hell; angels, saints, and devils. We shall see it to be both the object of the deepest admiration of the creatures, and the perfect approbation of the infinite Creator; we shall see the best part of mankind, the Church of God, for four thousand years looking forward to it before it happened; new generations, yet unborn, rising up to admire and honour it in continual succession, till time shall be no more; innumerable multitudes of angels and saints looking back to it with holy transport, to the remotest ages of eternity. Other glories decay by length of time; if the splendour of this object change, it will be only by increasing. The visible sun will

LIFE ONLY IN CHRIST.
He lives, who lives to God alone,
And all are dead beside;
For other source than God is none
Whence life can be supplied.

To live to God is to requite

His love as best we may;
To make His precepts our delight,
His promises our stay.

But life, within a narrow ring

Of giddy joys comprised,
Is falsely named, and no such thing,
But rather death disguised.

Can life in them deserve the name,
Who only live to prove

For what poor toys they can disclaim
An endless life above?

Who, much diseased, yet nothing feel;
Much menac'd, nothing dread;
Have wounds which only God can heal,
Yet never ask His aid?

Who deem His house a useless place;

Faith, want of common sense;
And ardour in the Christian race,
A hypocrite's pretence?

Who trample order; and the day
Which God asserts His own,
Dishonour with unhallow'd play,
And worship chance alone?
If scorn of God's commands, impress'd
On word and deed, imply
The better part of man unbless'd
With life that cannot die :

Such want it, and that want, uncur'd
Till man resigns his breath,
Speaks him a criminal, assur'd
Of everlasting death.

Lord on this interesting occasion. He prayed, as we have seen, three times to His Father, that the cup of suffering might pass from Him, if it were consistent with the Divine will. Our great High Priest was fully apprized of the nature and extent of His future sufferings before He undertook the work of our redemption; and as His mission was entirely voluntary, we are not so to understand this prayer as if it were expressive of a reluctance on His part to finish the benevolent undertaking on which He had so graciously entered. The vicarious mediation of the Saviour was dictated hy His own gracious will, and executed by His own free agency. A forced death could neither have made any addition to His glory, nor have brought any advantage to us. But how, let us ask, could His sacrifice have been other than voluntary? It was evidently impossible for any force, however great, to wrest life from Him, whose power was omnipotent; and the expiatory efficacy of His sufferings and death must have been weakened or destroyed, had He been ordained to suffer and to die against His will. But on so important a point, we are not left to the guidance of our own reasoning, however certain or conclusive it may appear. For, in His beautiful parable of the faithful Shepherd, our Lord describes the voluntary nature of His passion in the simplest and clearest language:-'I am the good Shepherd,' He observes, and know my sheep, and am known of mine. As the Father knoweth me, even so I know the Father, and I lay down my life for the sheep. Therefore doth my Father love me, because I lay down my life, that I might take it again. No man taketh it from me, but I lay it down of myself. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again.'

The anxiety or earnestness expressed in His prayers, about the removal of His sufferings, cannot, therefore, be supposed to arise from any unwillingness felt by Him to continue the work of propitiation; for all its difficulties, in all their extent and in all their duration, were clearly foreseen and cheerfully undertaken. Nor can it be wholly or even chiefly ascribed to the weakness or fears of humanity; for it was supported, as we have seen, by the union of the Divine nature, and by the extraordinary presence of an angel. His man

hood, indeed, may easily be believed to have been ready to yield; for His mental pain, if not different in kind, was beyond all question much greater in degree than any to which mere humanity can ever be subject. But, neverthless, the trembling alarm, gloomy despondency, or anxious restlessness arising from the infirmity of the flesh, was not and could not be the prevailing cause of the urgent and affecting manner in which He repeated the same request three times to His Father. We can neither feel nor explain the peculiar suitableness or propriety of our Lord's prayer on this remarkable occasion, if we do not keep steadily in our view the double or twofold nature of the work of our redemption. The Redeemer descended into this world to procure salvation for our fallen race; and this divine plan of benevolence He could not have executed without magnifying and making honourable the law, whose precepts we had dared to violate, and whose sanctions we were bound to endure. When we peruse the scriptural accounts of His unparalleled sufferings in the garden and on the cross, we feel inclined rather to yield to the tenderness of compassion, than to bear in mind, that while He is removing the curse of the law, He is at the same time subjecting himself to its authority, and working out for us that perfect righteousness, without which we cannot be justified. The love of the Supreme Being, we all know, is the most important part of the moral law: it has been styled by our Lord Himself, the first and great commandment; and this fundamental principle includes, as its most essential requisites, obedience to the Divine precepts, and submission to the Divine decrees. In every day of His life upon the earth, whether in prosperity or in adversity, whether in joy or in grief, our 'Elder Brother' ever expressed a profound respect for the Majesty of heaven, and ever displayed that devout and virtuous resignation, which would distinguish a creature of our nature in a condition of perfect innocence. He acquiesced with the most patient cheerfulness in all the trials of our Mediator; and though, as God, He could clearly foresee, and easily overcome, them all; yet, as man, He felt it to be His duty, if not to decline, at least not to court them, and to pray either that they might be taken away from Him, or