To some it is given, through a long period of suffering, to feel their end gradually approaching, and to keep their minds unclouded through all. Again, death may come with a sudden blow, striking down the man or child in full health, without a moment's warning; a deeplyseated disease suddenly attacking a vital part; or an accident, as those to which we are every day liable, may stop the wheel of life, and in an instant hurl us into eternity. We all find it very difficult to take to heart the warnings which God sets before us, both in Scripture and in daily experience. We look at the graves in the churchyards; we meet the funerals in the streets; we read of appalling and fatal accidents daily in the newspapers; we know that in the houses around us, men, women, and children are even now on their death-beds; but still we do not realize the fact that "in the midst of life we are in death." Try and realize those passages in the Bible in which we are told that our "life is an handbreath," that we are like “the cloud that vanisheth away," or "the vapour that appeareth for a little while,' "the eye of him that hath seen him shall see him no more," "he shall return no more to his house." And then, when in their turn they pass away from this sinful, yet beautiful earth, may they, like the dying school-boy, leave it with the full satisfaction and joy of forgiveness, even with a longing to be borne away by angels to that house where there are many mansions filled with the blessed, who, never wearying, sing the praises of Him who called them out of darkness into marvellous light, out of the world and its trials and sorrows, to the perfect rest and everlasting joys of heaven. TRESPASSERS, BEWARE! SOME months since I was staying a few days with a friend in the country, not far from the -shire railway. Having occasion to visit a town on the line, I asked my host about the way to the station, which was, I knew, some two or three miles from us. The road too was a roundabout one, and very dirty, so that I was desirous, if possible, of saving time and toil by making a short cut. In that case," said my friend, when I asked him about it, “you had better go down the line." "What," I said, "walk along the railroad; that isn't allowed, is it?" "Well," he re plied, "it isn't allowed, but we do it." "But," I rejoined, 66 aren't you prevented and ordered off? I don't want to be sent all the way back again and lose my train." "Oh!" he said, "there is a man appointed to keep off trespassers, but we don't often see him. If you should meet him, tell him you are a stranger, and were told to go that way, and I dare say he'll let you pass on." I somewhat demurred, for I did not like the idea of trespassing; but the thought of a clean short walk along the line, instead of a long dirty two miles by a bad country road, was a strong temptation, and conscience soon began to lean to the side of convenience, though not altogether contentedly. I began to think, "Well, after all, there's no great harm in it, and surely my friend would not go that way unless it were allowed, or at least winked at, by the railway people." I did not like, either, to say "No" to what my host evidently thought so harmless; so at last, though still somewhat reluctantly, I allowed him to show me the way down the line. There was a beaten track up the bank, as if it were an accustomed way, and I thought to myself, "Come, it's all right, after all." Then again (I couldn't help it) there would come intruding, “No, it isn't the right thing; trespassing is forbidden on grounds of public safety, and I have no right to break the law." Still, like many another man who has began in a wrong way, I went on. After walking awhile, and finding I was not interfered with (some men on the line, I thought, looked at me as much as to say, "You've no business here"), I became a little more comfortable, and was going on thinking of something else, when right before me stood one of those large white boards with black letters headed Notice, which inform trespassers of the penalties that await them. I could not avoid this staring, obtrusive testifier against my delinquency. I had to pass right by it. Had its position been less prominent, had its writing, like that of some country sign-posts that I know, been obscure or half obliterated, I might have had a plea; but no, there could be no manner of doubt about it. Had the policeman appeared before me at that moment, I felt the excuse with which my friend had furnished me would have been of no service. I was a trespasser, that was clear. Should I go back? If I did, I should lose my train. Should I go, and find myself in custody perhaps? But standing still was worse than either, so I determined to go on and run the risk, conjuring up fearful visions of a bench of magistrates, and efforts, altogether fruitless on my part, to persuade the chairman of the bench that I was not culpable. No one was in sight. The long straight iron rails ran before me and behind me as far as the somewhat misty morning would let me see them, when I heard the distant rattle of an approaching train. I was on a high embankment, and in order to get out of the way of this rushing monster, now rapidly drawing near, I went a few yards down the bank, and then-conscience made such a coward of me-I went all the way down, lest I should be recognised and reported to the people at the station. I fancied the driver and guard looked at me suspiciously, but they said nothing; and when they had got into the mist again, I climbed up the steep bank and went on, beginning heartily to wish that I had chosen the long dirty lanes instead of the clear straight railroad. Well," I thought at last, "I will not run the risk a bit longer than I can help;" so I took the first opportunity of leaving the line, and got into the fields, determining to keep along the side of the embankment, so as not to miss my way. Oh! how relieved I felt when I got off that hateful line, and fancied my troubles were ended. But, alas! the consequences of our "trespasses" do not always cease when we leave off trespassing. My troubles indeed may be said now to have begun. Like Bunyan's pilgrims— 66 "Out of the way I went, and then I found What 'twas to tread upon forbidden ground." I like walking across grass fields, and for a time my way was tolerably pleasant, except that the turf was not improved by a recent thaw and a plentiful quantity of manure, which was, unfortunately for me, well spread. However, I was countryman enough not to care much for that, and was congratulating myself on the change, when I drew near to the end of the first field. The next was not quite so pleasant, in fact, it was decidedly swampy, and my boots soon gave signs of having absorbed as much moisture as they could hold; but the station was now in view, and as I should be in good time, I could get them dried. Alas! again for the vanity of human hopes. At the end of that field there was no friendly gap in the hedge. There was, moreover, a considerable pond of water, into which I must have soused, had I attempted to force my way through. There was nothing for it but to try the hedge higher up. On, on, on I went-what a good hedge it was! -till, growing impatient, I made a gap as best I could, and came without much damage into a ploughed field on the other side. I need not describe that field. Everybody knows what ploughed land is after frost; how the soil forms a sort of crumbling adhesive mixture, far worse than mud, which will not be shaken off. I knew it then, both in expenditure of tissue and time, for my short cut was beginning to prove a long way round; but at last I got to the station (one or two fences had to be scrambled over first), over my ankles in clay, a great deal warmer than I should have thought it possible to get on that rimy morning, and I was, to crown all, behind time! 66 'Where is the train for ?" I asked. "Now due, sir," said the policeman, looking, I fancied, as if he knew how I had been served out. Happily, the train was behind, and I should not lose my journey. A minute later, and I should have been guilty of trespassing, and suffered all my misadventures for nothing. I could have walked the road in less time and with less fatigue. Nobody there would have had the right to call me in question. No visions of possible penalties, no consciousness that I was doing a wrong thing, would have worried me. In the queen's highway I should have been free; on forbidden ground I was in bondage. "You won't catch me trespassing any more," I thought to myself. It was not after all, you see, a very serious affair, and I dare say I did not run much risk of the threatened penalty; but I felt it was not right, and this ought to have deterred me. "Morals" to stories are out of fashion now-a-days, and besides, if mine has not been told already, I have no hope that many added words will teach it; so let these few suffice. The right way is the only safe and pleasant way. It is narrow, and not without its difficulties; but it is the king's highway, and we can walk in it without fear. "Who can harm us if we be followers of that which is good." A clear conscience is a wonderful helper in a tiresome journey. "The wicked fleeth when no man pursueth; but the righteous is bold as a lion." Somehow, too, the following lines seem to have had a fresh meaning for me ever since that morning: "Jesus, my all, to heaven is gone: The way the holy prophets went, SECRET THINGS. "The secret things belong unto the Lord our God; but the things which are revealed belong unto us and our children, that we may do all the words of this law."-DEUT. xxix. 29. READER! You are surrounded with mysteries in the world. You meet with them above you, around you, within you. In every blade of grass-in every insect that flutters in the sunbeam-in every beating heart, there is much you cannot understand. Knowledge has indeed made mighty progress. And yet there are multitudes of secret things on all sides of us, which nature has not whispered in the ear of her most ardent votaries. And so in providence there are many mysteries. We cannot see at present the whys and wherefores of God's dealings with men. and darkness are round about him. In the Bible, too, there are mysteries which the mind of man cannot grasp. Be not disquieted and perplexed with these. A day of revelation will come. Clouds It was to be expected that there would be hidden things in the Bible. It is the book of God. And who is he? A Being altogether different from us-infinite, unsearchable, eternal. Was it not to be looked for, then, that in a communication from him there would be some things dark and hard to be understood? A child is not able to comprehend all that is said to it by its parent. And surely, then, it is not strange that we in our present conditionthe very infancy of our being-should not be able fully to comprehend the revelation of the Infinite. Accordingly, there are domains of truth which are accessible only to God. We are permitted to enter the ante-chamber; but we are not allowed to penetrate the recesses of the sanctuary. Till we pass within the veil, and have our powers of vision strengthened, we must be content to wait. |