and that nothing but a supernatural religion can avail or satisfy; a religion that stands in the inward power, testimony, and the witness of the Holy Spirit. In feeling, we are only spiritual as the blessed Spirit spiritualises us; for if he is not at work in our hearts and souls, the world, the flesh, and the devil are.

When we get at 'the ends of the earth,' then is Jesus nearest to us, and we to him; if not manifestly so, yet truly so, for it is in this spot that Jesus usually, in his own good time, gives the soul to taste of his redeeming grace and dying love, and speaks comfortably to the heart; and then comes forth a song of praise, 'Thou hast brought me up again from the depths of the earth; yea, from the very ends of the earth.' 'Bring my sons and daughters from the ends of the earth.'

We were truly sorry to hear of the bad state of health of your dear wife, but we sincerely hope that she is by this time much better. Nothing is too hard for the Lord. O for precious faith, precious submission, and precious patience! How hard it is to really believe in the day of trial and affliction all that we profess to believe. We are poor, poverty-stricken believers unless the blessed Spirit is graciously pleased to keep faith in living exercise. We profess to believe that the lot is cast into the lap by the Lord, and that what he wills is best when the lap is filled with sweets and plenty, but when it is filled with little else beside bitters and wants of all kinds, what then becomes of our faith in God's promises and assurances, unless the blessed Spirit works and keeps alive precious faith in the soul? Unless so favoured, our cry is, 'All these things are against me,' and then we sink down into the pit of self-pity, and become murmuring, rebellious, wretched, and desponding; and here we learn this truth, The rebellious dwell in a dry land.'

My dear wife joins me in kind Christian love, wishing you both all that the Lord sees fit to bestow, both as a God of providence and a God of grace, and no more,-only a contented mind, and that the Lord must give.—Believe me, dear Friends, affectionately yours in truth and love,

Southwick, Wilts, Nov. 21, 1871.

H. N.

As a ring set with precious stones is esteemed, not for the quantity of gold which encloses the stone, but for the stone itself, so sinners are justified by faith in and through the Son of God, whom faith, as the ring does the jewel, receives and apprehends.-Bugenhagius.

FURNACE WORK.-No. II.

DEAR SIR,—I received your kind letter by the Sandy gardener, but could not return an answer by the same conveyance, because he intends no more journeys to Olney for some weeks. My housekeeper has been ill of a fever for three weeks, and is so weak she cannot sit in a chair, and so fainting on her bed, that life is scarcely kept in her. There is a hope of her recovery, but a distant one. This circumstance, with the approach of winter, has induced me to put off my visit till the spring. It is an easy matter, I find, to get into debt, but no easy matter to get out. Yet what are my debts to you, in comparison of my debts to God? These are numerous indeed, and attended with every kind of aggravation; and the weight of them so presseth down my spirit at times, that I can scarcely look up. However, when they have well broken and melted my heart, the Surety appears, and cheers up my spirit; and then with a tear in mine eyes, I sing hosannahs to the lovely Jesus. Ten years ago I expected to be something before this time, and seemed to be in a very hopeful way, but Jesus has cropped my locks, and sawed my horns, and harrowed my back so stoutly, that scarce anything is left me besides the skin of my teeth, and that I suppose must go by and by, for he will have all. Well, though I sometimes snarl and snap at my Master, I think the more he whips me, the more I love him. Solomon says, 'A rod for a fool's back;' and I am sure no instructions suit me like rods and scorpions; for my heart is a quintessence of folly and madness. A furnace seems a hot atmosphere to breathe in, and a deadly path to walk in, but is really a place of liberty. Like the furnace of Nebuchadnezzar, it only burneth our bonds, our earthly and selfish attachments, and consumeth no other flesh but proud flesh. A handful of grace sprinkled into a furnace changeth its nature, like the handful of meal thrown into a pot, and maketh fire, in its nature destructive, prove a salutary heat. I need not tell you that I love you, nor that Jesus has taught me to do so; and the less cause you can find in yourself to be esteemed, the more cause I shall have to love and esteem you. Kind Christian salutations to Mrs. Newton and your guests, unknown indeed to me, but known to Jesus I trust, else they would not seek a place in your house. If the good centurion, Captain Scott, is with you, let him know he has long had a corner, and a large one too, in my heart; and may have when he please a corner in my house for a lodging, and my horseblock for his pulpit. As I am but an awkward old bachelor, I must

beg of you to speak a handsome word, and make a leg up for me to his lady, a deaconess, I suppose. The Lord bless her. Jesus Christ bless you all, and the smallest of you all,

J. BERRIDGE.

Everton, Nov. 2, 1773.

BE STILL.

CHRYSOSTOM propounds this question, 'Was Job miserable when he had lost all that God had given him?' and returns this answer, 'No; he had still that God who gave him all.' And is not Christ thy treasure? Is not heaven thine inheritance? and wilt thou murmur? Hast thou not much in hand, but more in hope? Hast thou not much in possession, but more in reversion? and wilt thou murmur? Hath not God given thee a changed heart, a renewed nature, and a sanctified soul? and wilt thou murmur? Hath not God given thee himself to satisfy thee, his Son to save thee, his Spirit to lead thee, his grace to adorn thee, his covenant to assure thee, his mercy to pardon thee? and wilt thou murmur? Hath he not made thee a friend, a brother, a son, a bride, an heir? and wilt thou murmur? Hath not God often turned thy water into wine, thy brass into silver, thy silver into gold? and wilt thou murmur?

When thou wast dead did he not quicken thee? And when thou wast lost did he not seek thee? And when thou wast wounded did he not heal thee? And when thou wert falling did he not support thee? And when thou wert down did he not raise thee? And when thou wert staggering did he not establish thee? And when thou wert erring did he not restore thee? And when thou wert tempted did he not succour thee? And when thou wert in danger did he not deliver thee? and wilt thou murmur? What! thou that art so highly advanced and exalted above so many thousands in the world! Murmuring is a black garment, and it becomes none so ill as saints.-BROOKS.

CHRIST'S cross is the sweetest burden that ever I bore; it is such a burden as wings are to a bird, or sails to a ship, to carry me forward to my harbour.-RUTHERFORD.

THOSE Who do not as they teach, pull down with one hand, what they build up with the other.-ANON.

THE house of a formalist is as empty of religion as the white of an egg is of savour.-BUNYAN.

A TESTIMONY TO THE FAITHFULNESS AND FREE GRACE OF GOD, FROM THE PEN OF THE LATE BELOVED MISS VAUGHAN, OF LUDGERSHALL, NEAR ANDOVER, HANTS; WHO, AFTER A LONG AND PAINFUL ILLNESS, ENTERED INTO THE REST SHE SO EARNESTLY DESIRED, OCTOBER 19TH, 1885.

Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth: yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours; and their works do follow them.'

JANUARY 28th, 1858. Great and merciful God in Christ Jesus, wilt thou be pleased to enable me, a poor, guilty, filthy, base, helldeserving sinner, to tell out a few of the great and blessed things thou hast in infinite condescension done for my poor, sin-ruined, defiled, and truly helpless soul! and if thou wilt be pleased so to do, thou shalt have all the honour and praise, for thou only art worthy. Unto me, O Lord, thou knowest, belongeth deep shame and confusion of face; but for thine own honour and glory's sake help me to set forth some of thy merciful dealings with me, so that if it should be thy blessed will that these writings should fall into the hands of any of thy poor, seeking, cast-down, and distressed followers, own and bless as far as in accordance with thy holy mind and will; but if it be not thy will that I should write respecting thy gracious dealings with me, O Lord, for thy beloved Son's sake prevent me so doing. Thou canst prevent, for all power belongeth unto thee, the God who made heaven and earth, and all things, without whom was not anything made that is made. I ask all, I would beg all in the holy name of the Holy Child, Jesus Christ; for his sake put thy amen to it.

I know not for certain the month or the year in which I was born, but think from what I could gather it was in the year 1803. I shall pass over my childhood, but surely the Lord in his merciful providence watched over me then, although an undutiful and perverse child. Even in the tender age of childhood what a sinner I was! What dark workings of sin, even then, went on in my young breast! nor did they altogether stop there, but from time to time broke out into actions. O what grief and anguish of heart have I caused my dear, kind mother! O Lord, deal not with me after my sins, but look upon the face of thy Holy Child Jesus, and for his dear sake forgive the sins of my childhood, for thou knowest they were great indeed.

As I grew up to womanhood I became proud and overbearing, and very vain of my poor, dying body, but had no thoughts of what would become of my never-dying soul. I remember, when very young, feeling at times uneasy in my mind respecting my state, for I seemed to have some slight knowledge that I was a sinner, and that there was a God, and he was a holy God, who hated sin, and would surely punish it in the everlasting fire of hell. But as I grew up, these fears wore off, and I followed the pleasures of the world with all my heart; while such a tyrant did I become, to my shame be it told, that at the sound of my voice my poor parents have trembled. This my beloved mother told me years after the Lord, in mercy, called me. I have wept, and am weeping while I write, at the remembrance of my shameful unkindness to them whom the word of God teaches me to honour.

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In the year 1839 I was in London, but had a strong desire rise

in my heart to visit the place where I was born. On my way to Dublin I visited my dear mother, who was then staying at Liverpool. I remember before I left her house (it was only felt for a moment) a most fearful feeling of dislike and contempt sprang up in my heart against my own dear mother, and that without the slightest cause. O God, unto thee is known how great a sinner I am, but I trust thou hast put away my sins. In this state of wickedness I set sail in the vessel called the Victoria (since lost). The voyage was a rough one, and while some of the passengers were uneasy, the wretched writer could laugh and even jest while others feared. 'When Satan's blind slave I sported with death.' The same day I landed in Dublin I felt a loneliness creep over my proud, selfish spirit. I felt as if I belonged to no one, and that no one cared for me; and although it was the place where I first opened my eyes in this wretched world, yet there was no person in it I knew, but was cast among strangers.

If any one had asked me what brought me to Dublin I could not have given any good reason beyond feeling a powerful desire to visit once more my native country. I was then a stranger to the fact that a restraining power was laid upon me, and that the merciful hand of the Lord was in the matter, and that he was about to work in me, to shew me what I was doing, and where I was fast hastening, to receive the awful wages of sin.

The same day on which the Packet arrived at Dublin I found lodgings in the house of a widow, who was very kind to me. She