pages of the New Testament. Thither we must go, if we would behold "the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ." To know the mind of Jesus we must study the record of his life.

Whatever, therefore, be our feelings towards the religion professed among Christians, or towards its author-whether we regard the one or the other with faith, with admiration, or with bare curiosity, our interest in either or in both is a sufficient reason for our examining the volume in which alone we can find authentic accounts of Jesus and of his doctrine. The nature of its contents should prevent any one from putting it aside as unworthy of his attention, or as if it would not repay him for the most careful and habitual study. It will reward him for every moment spent in its perusal. It has justified the pains bestowed upon it by multitudes, to whom it has been a spring of refreshment and a channel of salvation. The Bible is needed by us. This is finally the great argument on which to rest an entreaty that it should be read. It is needed by us ;-not merely are its truths needed, but they are needed in the form in which they are here presented. The book is needed-a volume, which may be kept and read and quoted. In great mercy has the Providence of God taken care that we should have just this means of guidance and comfort. The book is precious to them who have felt its power, whether to enlighten or to console, to admonish or to encourage; for here is something positive, clear, intelligible; neither an abstraction of philosophy, nor a dream of fancy, nor the faint utterance of the human soul, nor the echo of the public voice; but the distinct, decisive, authoritative voice and will of God. To the humble seeker after truth, to the earnest inquirer concerning duty, to man in the midst of the world's temptations, and to woman under this life's afflictions, it is invaluable. It makes the ignorant wise, the weak strong. It gives companionship to the solitary, animation to the disheartened, courage to the timid, patience to the suffering, and submission mingled with joy to the dying. All this it has done in countless instances, and is doing every day. How unjust then, and how unwise is the neglect which it receives at many hands; unjust, because it deserves grateful examination; unwise, because we may ourselves (and we know not how soon) be brought into situations where we shall stand in greatest need of its direction or support, and then, if we have not previously made ourselves familiar with its lessons, we shall be destitute of that ability to apply them which can be gained only by long acquaintance. For Scripture, like every good gift of God, is seen to be more valua

ble as we obtain a fuller insight into its properties and relations. As there are many situations in life when nothing besides this can satisfy our wants, so there are none in which this cannot yield us advantage of some sort or other. It will teach us how to enjoy our prosperity, if we should not need it to solace our adversity. It will inspire a serene and hopeful temper, if our faith be already invincible. It will counsel us in the education of our children, if we do not require its help in forming our own characters. It will, in a word, be just such a friend as we should rejoice always to have near us. E. S. G.

AN INCIDENT AT SEA.

AFTER We had been at sea nearly a month, a fine, stout sailor, about twentytwo years old, fell from the side of the ship, whilst engaged in repairing the rigging. He was the pride and " darling of the crew." And the passengers had singled him out as the best man who took his turn at the wheel, or climbed the shrouds. He had a free and noble bearing, an iron frame, a step like an antelope's, and a face deeply ruddy and weather-beaten but ever ready for a smile. When the wind was blowing heavily and the waves were running "mountain high," and the order was given to reef or take in sail, he was always the first to mount the rocking mast, and the outermost on the trembling upper-yards, bending over their extremities to bind the flapping canvass, that would have dashed a less steady and powerful hand like a feather into the boiling sea.

It was a fine day. The ship was making easy way before a light breeze, and the passengers were all on deck. The man, whose name was William Hanney, was standing outside of the tafferel near the stern of the vessel, tying a thin cross bar of iron across the lower part of the mizzen shrouds. Suddenly a splash was heard, and a faint scream, and the piteous cry, a man overboard," resounded through the ship. We ran to the side, and looked over, and saw the poor sailor with the bar still in his grasp, tossing back his long black hair that hung dripping over his face, as he emerged from his first plunge. He was strong and active, and put forth such tremendous energy as he swam in the wake of the ship, that at every stroke of his arms he rose to his middle above the waves. The captain instantly

ordered the helm to be put " hard down," and one of the boats to be lowered. It was, perhaps, four minutes before the boat touched the water, and six of the stoutest hands at the oars, with the chief-mate at the helm, were pulling lustily away from the ship. But the swimmer, who until now had been seen and cheered by the passengers, suddenly disappeared, and the boat passed and repassed in the direction in which he was last visible without any trace being discovered of the object of our search. Whether he had been wounded in the head by the bar, or been attacked with the cramp, or fallen a prey to some wandering shark, that might have been attracted after the ship by the blood of a sheep which had been just before killed, or what had been his fate, no one could tell. Many believed that he might be still buffeting the waves at a greater distance from us than it was supposed he could have reached. But, whatever was the case with him, after remaining half an hour in search of him, the sails of the Europe were again squared to the wind, and our lost mariner was left to his fate.

It was about 4 o'clock P. M. when the accident happened, and it may well be supposed that the remainder of the day was occupied by the tenants of our ship with melancholy reflections. Many tales of similar casualties were related by the mates and seamen; but all agreed that a better sailor had never found a watery grave.

On opening his chest we found that he was carrying home many little tokens of remembrance to his mother and sister, and a small quantity of superior tea carefully wrapped up directed to his grandmother. Besides, there was a piece of paper certifying that he had eight gold sovereigns ($40) enclosed in a belt, which he wore under his clothes,-the earnings of his last voyage, laid up for his poor mother. Under his bed was found a very neat floor-mat woven of strips of cloth, spun yarn, manilla, &c., which a comrade of his told me he had seen Hanney sitting up at night, when the rest of his watch were sleeping, (being not on duty,) that he might finish quickly, in case we should have a short voyage. This he had made for his mother. And, what was singular, he had completed it when his watch was called on deck at 12 o'clock, on the very day on which he was drowned.

Doubtless, by some cottage fire in the interior of England, (where he was born,) his anxious mother and aged grandmother were eagerly expecting his return, and I am sure that they often thought that there was not in all the world such another sailor as their own kind and thoughtful Willie.

C. R.

MEMORY.

Now Memory comes with an articulate tongue,
And, in the perfect stillness of the heart,
Tells me of former pleasures; brings me back
Each image of the past, each quiet scene
Where I have wandered in the days of youth,
When I was free to roam among the hills,
And listen to the rushing of the stream,
And the wild warble of the forest birds,

And every woodland murmur, which had power
To sanctify the elements of thought,

And give the soul a spiritual life.

Now the articulate tongue of Memory,

E'en while she tells me of the greenwood shades,

Repeats the music of a voice I loved.

Long years have passed since I have heard that voice,

Yet even now I see a cherub form,

And a mild eye, and a soft rosy cheek
Most exquisite in beauty, and I feel
The welcome pressure of an offered hand,
And once more listen to that liquid voice
Which sang to me of old. Oh, how we loved
To wander out at twilight, while the clouds
Took a faint radiance from the parting sun,
And the small birds were gathering to their nests,
And the wild flowers closed up their delicate leaves,
Nodding 'farewell.' Yes, in the by-gone years,
How oft amid the soft light of the woods,
And the green things of nature, did we feel
Our joyful spirits quick'ning into life!

Now thou art taken to a fairer home,

And o'er thy grave slopes up a gentle mound
Waving with grass, and I have seen the flowers
Bow down their velvet blossoms to the earth,
As if they sorrowed there for one they loved.
It is a sacred spot, and ever brings
Lessons of heavenly wisdom to the soul.

R. C. W.

THE POOR SHOEMENDER.

THIS is the title of "a sermon preached at Bridport, England, by Philip Harwood," with the character of which we have become acquainted only through extracts given in the "Christian Teacher." was occasioned by the death of an individual, of whom we have seen some previous notice, although the memoir of which the preacher made use has never fallen in our way. The name of John Pounds, the poor shoemender, deserves a place among the benefactors of the world. He not only did good during his life,-to an extent which has been seldom equalled by those who had at their command far greater resources, but he has left an example which ought to quicken the sluggish and encourage the timid in the work of benevolence. He has shown that no one need plead a want either of ability or of opportunity. If we have but faith, as Mr. Harwood says, "the faith that removes mountains" of discouragement and perplexity, we may all do more good than most persons dream of expecting even from the labors of those who devote themselves to the service of their

fellow men. The introductory remarks of the sermon are so excellent and pertinent, that we copy them, as well as the notice of the philanthropic cobbler, and commend the whole to perusal.

ever

"The power is immense of a man's faith, in God, in truth, in goodness, in himself, in his fellowmen-in his own power of doing good, and their capacity and willingness to receive good from him; the power is immense of such a faith, when perfect and entire, to remove mountains-mountains of difficulty and opposition, to overcome hindrances, to annihilate or neutralize perils,-to make him conqueror, and more than conqueror, over all things. In the simple strength of such a faith, results almost incredibly great may be, and have been, and are, accomplished with outward means as incredibly small; and without this faith, nothing great or good was achieved, whatever the outward means. History is full of the triumphs of an overcoming faith. It was Luther's faith that shook the papal throne. It was Clarkson's faith that put down, first the slave-trade, and then slavery. It is faith that makes reformers, philanthropists, prophets, martyrs. It is faith that appropriates new or long-lost truth, and speaks it in the hearing of the world, and speaks on, though the world will not hear, or hear only to scoff and persecute. It is faith that proclaims humanity's wrongs, and vindicates humanity's rights. It is faith that pursues knowledge under difficulties, and