THE OLD VERGER. THERE is a beautiful account given of the journey of Hegesippus, one of the ancient Christians, among his fellow-believers. "He met," it is said, "a Melchizedek in every city, who refreshed not his body only, but his soul too, with bread and wine; and he and they were one in the Lord, through one loaf and one cup, through one faith and one spirit. When he came to a strange city, he was no stranger; in the moment that he presented himself to its Church, a holy family was ready to take him in. Thus he went from blessing to blessing, and from the blessed to the blessed." And as the Christian meets with some fellowChristian at every stage of his heavenward journeysome with whom to take sweet counsel, and to walk to the house of God as friends,-so the Christian will in every place find his Master's work awaiting himthe works, the employments, which God has before ordained that he should walk in them; some of the poor and ignorant to instruct; some dying believer to visit and encourage. Such thoughts naturally arose when I heard of the dismissal to eternal glory of one whom I had visited in a distant place, and whose gratitude for the visits of an uninvited stranger was deep and affecting. I may be indulged in a review of some of these visits; and in fancy again enter the low-arched doorway close by the ancient gate leading to the Cathedral precincts. Kings and conquerors have passed beneath that loftyarched gateway; and visions of the olden time will often present themselves to the mind as we tread : but memory and imagination were silenced as I entered the low door close by the gateway; for as I was about to pay a visit to a dying man, the realities of life and the solemnities of death were presented to the mind. We first descend one step, and then must ascend a dark and narrow staircase; on the top we come to a landing-place of large size. There is much that is picturesque in a building not originally intended for a dwelling-house, but altered from time to time in order to adapt it to its present purpose. This wide landing-place is now fitted up like a kitchen, with all the homely and useful things commonly seen in the cottages of the poor, arranged with neatness and order. This kitchen, or landingplace, led to a yet larger room; in one part of which was a pillar projecting from the wall; in another, a pendent column. It was evident that whatever the building had once been, it was built for a very different purpose from that to which it was now applied; for here, on a humble but decent bed, lay, supported by pillows, the emaciated form of the aged verger of the Cathedral. Two years already had he lain there, and from week to week, and from month to month, his visitors had often thought that they must be seeing him for the last time. On the occasion of the first visit I paid him, when I had talked and read to him of Jesus,-" I love him," he said; "I love his name and his word." In general he could speak but little, but would lie quietly listening; his dark eyes full of intelligence, and his manner most deeply respectful and attentive. Being once asked in whom he put his trust, he said, " In none but Christ, none but Jesus Christ." He much enjoyed the hymn beginning "Rock of ages, cleft for me, Let me hide myself in thee!" and having listened to it, he said, "What a fine thing it is to have a good Saviour! What should I do without the Lord Jesus Christ ?" Many visits to him so much resembled each other, that I cannot particularly distinguish them; but one is distinctly remembered, because two dear little girls, at their own wish, accompanied me; and the incidents of that visit are remembered in connexion with other circumstances of that brilliant summer's day. In the precincts of an ancient cathedral "A temple shadowy with remembrances Of the majestic past," how naturally does the mind go back to scenes long passed away! what traces do we see of the times gone by! We had found one sheltered corner, where stones were piled on stones, fragments of marble and granite. How long they had been there, and who placed them there, were both unanswered questions; but the wild lychnis flower, and the bright valerian, we can tell who planted them here among the ruins, even He who makes the wilderness and the solitary place look gay, delighting to throw beauty around us every where. Sunny and fertile spots were the little gardens in the Cathedral precincts, sheltered by lofty walls; walls that had once formed the sides of a silent cloister, or of the banqueting-room of some mighty monarch, now adorned with wall-flowers, and rich moss and valerian. Here was an archway, there a column, of which some tale of the olden time might be told; here were vines, or Virginian creepers, in all their vivid freshness, mantling the old, time-worn battlements; and here we might stoop beneath an archway, and go on through a dark, subterranean recess, wondering for what purpose such an excavation had been made, and who had trodden that silent path before us; then emerge again, and enjoy the bright sunshine on the soft turf, and gather beautiful moss-roses and long wreaths of the graceful fuchsia, whose every trembling blossom looks like a jewel wrought of ruby and amethyst. In such a garden we had been; and my dear young companions had not been without occupation and amusement; for to collect the drooping rose-leaves, and spread them to dry on a broad rhubarb-leaf, had been enough to interest them; but they left their play to go and visit the aged dying man. He stretched out his wasted hand to each of them; and then kindly told them to look from the window-how pleasant the prospect was! how cool the turf looked, shadowed by the dark elms! and how picturesque the varied dwelling-houses and the stately towers of the Cathedral! There was not a murmur, not a sigh of complaint, that he should never look upon that view again; there was, I doubt not, a fairer prospect presented to the eye of his mind; and till the time of his dismissal should come, he was content to wait. All in his humble home was neat and decent: there was a range of plants both inside and outside of the arched and heavy-barred window-verbena, and geranium, and southernwood. The Christian may have "a good hope through grace." I believe he had; but he could not rest there; he wanted more than hope-he wanted certainty; and his frame of mind seemed a forgetting of the things that are behind, and a reaching forth unto the things that are before; for he said, "I want a signal that I am the Lord's child." I reminded him of the blessed declaration, "The Spirit itself witnesseth with our spirit that we are the children of God;" and his reply was, "Ourselves are nothing; the Lord is a good God to us." Another time he was able to say, "I am happy in my Saviour; I trust in the Lord Jesus." Thus he went on day by day, and week by week; sometimes extremely ill, and then a little revived. Being asked how he felt one day when he had been thought to be dying, he said, "I thank the almighty God, I had a better hope in the Lord Jesus." "A better hope!" I thought; it seemed as though, then, in the immediate view of death, he had felt the need of the Saviour Jesus more than ever before, and had been enabled to receive more of his fulness. Another time he listened to the sacramental hymn: "This is the feast of heavenly wine, And Christ invites to sup; Approach, ye poor, nor dare refuse The banquet spread for you: Kind Saviour, this is welcome news- With much feeling he repeated the line, "Then I may venture too!" One day he lay so still, that he scarcely looked like a living man. A hymn was repeated: "Jesus! thy spotless righteousness My beauty is, my glorious dress." The sound of the metre aroused him; he stretched out his wasted arm and opened his eyes, and said again the line, "And all my filthy garments gone!" "Beautiful!" he repeated; "the filthy garments all gone! The Lord grant it may be so!" Still the patient sufferer lingered on; months passed; and young and blooming ones had been cut down like flowers. At length his turn came; the dear friend who first gave me the privilege of seeing him, and of whom he had spoken with the deepest respect and affection, found him, when last she visited him, scarcely able to speak; but he clasped his poor, skeleton hands, and lifted up his eyes in answer to some text she repeated. He died alone; his wife, who had carefully attended on him, had left the room to send some one on an errand; and when she came back, the spirit was gone. "He died alone," did I say? Nay, there were angels in that dying chamber; there was the Lord of angels himself there, waiting to receive his ransomed one. A TALE OF HUMBLE LIFE.* L. E. A HIGHLY interesting scene occurred some time ago at a meeting of the Bath and West of England Society; when a labourer, eighty years of age, and who had brought up fourteen children without any assistFrom the "Penny Sunday Reader." ance, was introduced to receive the society's premium. A narrative of circumstances relative to this individual was given in nearly the following words by the Rev. William Lisle Bowles, the minister of the parish to which the worthy labourer belonged. John Harding, my old parishioner, having received your bounty, I feel it a duty, having brought him here and set him before you, to narrate some circumstances in his exemplary life, not on his account, but on account of the Christian example, particularly in times like the present. John Harding, now standing before you, is the son of a person who rented a farm in the parish of Bremhill, and who was enabled at his death to leave to twelve children one hundred pounds each, and no more. John, one of the children, was eighteen years of age when he received his humble share of fortune, and was a carter working on his father's farm. Now his having at this early age possession of such a sum, I trust you will think redounds the more to his credit, as it shews his temperance, and attention to those religious duties in which he was carefully bred up, and which he has preserved through his long course of life; for what would be the language of most young men in the same situation? Why, "I can but follow the plough when my money is gone!" On the contrary, never forsaking his honest, laborious employment, he prudently resolved to put out his money "to use," as it is called, and save it till it was more wanted. John had his village sweetheart, whom he married at the age of twenty-five, when he had saved enough to begin humble housekeeping. He laboured on the farm as a carter to his eldest brother, and continued in his service three-and-twenty years, when his brother died. He then went into service on another farm, in the same parish, possessed by two brothers of the name of Cook. One of these brothers is yet living; and John Harding continued to work on the same farm from that time till the present year, living on one farm, in the parish of Bremhill, twenty-three years; and on the other farm, thirty-seven years; and (with his original hundred pounds laid by for what is called a rainy day) breeding up industriously and religiously fourteen children! John continued "Jocund to drive his team a-field,' till his increasing family began to press hard upon him; for having had one-two-three-four-fivesix-seven-eight-nine-ten children, it might be thought, that with not one penny besides what he gained by his weekly labour, six shillings a-week pounds, he and his wife must have had enough to do when he began, and the interest of this one hundred to get on. Still, they kept on contentedly; and he was never absent from his church on Sundays, where I have been-what it is the fashion in these days to call working clergyman-for eight-and-twenty years. Behold him now, the father of fourteen children, seven of whom are now living; and these fourteen children were at one time pressing on his affectionate anxieties; and when he looked on the faces of his "little ones," as he returned from his daily toil on the winter's evening, he looked on them with a prayer to God, and sometimes with tears in his eyes, before he went to rest. It will be conceived, that at this time the thought must often have arisen, that it would be for their advantage to take a small sum from his original stock; but, no! God had hitherto befriended him he never had a day's sickness; and he had weathered in his journey of laborious life many a wintry day. He still, therefore, laboured on; and had now saved up so much from the interest of his own money, that, with a little lent him by his old and affectionate master, he was enabled, not long ago, without any parochial assistance whatever, to purchase two small tenements for three lives of the lord of the land, being still resolved to keep what he had saved so long for the evening of his days, when his work should be done. Now, gentlemen, I would beg your attention to what follows. Be assured, there is nothing poetical in what I have related, but plain and bare matter of fact. You have seen his mild features, his grey hairs, and his erect form, though now in his eightieth year! When his strength for labour was declining, his numerous family being now settled or dispersed, his aged wife and himself lived in a small cottage; and if I might here indulge in one word of poetry, I would set before you that interesting picture of an old couple from the affecting lines of poor Burns-who cannot repeat them? "John Anderson my jo, John, We climb'd life's hill together, But now let us change the scene. The sum which had been preserved so long through the storms and sunshine of village-life, at this time, when it was most needed, John had been persuaded, for greater security, to place in the hands of one of those heartless-I will not debase the name by calling such a being a man, "For what man knowing this, And having human feelings, would not blush And hang his head to call himself a man?" But in an evil day, the savings of a long life were intrusted to the hands of one who left the country in debt three hundred thousand pounds. Among thousands of other sufferers, my poor friend was one. His money was gone to the winds, in the time of the greatest need; but he was not desolate entirely, for though his hundred pounds with which he set out in life were gone, he had two cottage tenements still remaining, now, indeed, held only by one life. Alas! in less than three years, this one life dropt, and he and his aged wife, were, after so industrious and so long a life, left to the reluctant dole of a parish, and their last asylum, a parish workhouse. What did he do? He came to the parson of the parish-the poor man's general friend, notwithstanding the obloquy and insults to which, in the present day, he is exposedhe came to me, he told the plain and simple facts; and those facts, which I have now detailed, I stated from his own mouth, in a petition to the lord of the land, under whom his cottages were held. He was unable to pay for a renewal. The plain statement thus taken from his own mouth, was sent, in the poor man's name, to the great landed proprietor. What did this lord of the land, the instant he had read the statement? Hear, ye revilers of our generous aristocracy! He instantly called on the poor old grayheaded labourer, shook him cordially by the hand, and told him "to make his mind quite easy, for the cottages were his for his own life and that of his wife, which he hoped would yet last for many years." THOUGHTS IN SOLITUDE. BY JOSEPH FEARN. THERE is no season more eminently fitted for the contemplation of divine things than the season of retirement: the world, with its noise and bustle, its dissipating pleasures and its perplexing cares, are for a while banished from the mind; and we are permitted to enjoy the sweetness of solitude, and the delights of the soul holding secret intercourse with her God. I have often thought that these times of retirement are too unfrequent we suffer ourselves to be too much in society; amid the allurements and fascinations of a particular association we are continually to be found, and we seem to be totally unmindful of the words of the Saviour, when he bid us go into our closets, and shut our doors about us, and pray in secret unto our Father in heaven. Secret prayer is one of the most delightful exercises of the renewed mind: it is then that the Christian has "fellowship with the Father, and with his Son Jesus Christ;" and when he gains very close and intimate communion with God, when he climbs to the hill-top, and with the vision of faith views the sparkling and glorious things which have been purchased for him by the precious blood of his Saviour, then he breathes for a time the very atmosphere of heaven, and is unwilling to enter again into the world; he hath seen the land that floweth with milk and honey, and is loath to set foot again in the waste, howling wilderness; he hath tasted of the rich pomegranates and figs of the land of promise, and will not be contented with "the beggarly elements of the world;" he hath "seen the King in his beauty," and therefore he accounts all earthly things to be vile and utterly worthless. Truly, then, the season of retirement, if spent in such exercises as these, will be found the most delightful and profitable to the soul. How beautifully does that most excellent of Christian poets refer to the solitary hour of devotion "The calm retreat, the silent shade, And have we not all distinguishing mercies to recount and to be thankful for? and what time more appropriate than the lonely chamber affords, where, on bended knees, we bless the kind and merciful Benefactor of all living things, who holdeth our souls in life, and causeth goodness and mercy to follow us all the days we spend on the earth? and then the consideration of “his inestimable love in the redemption of the world by our Lord Jesus Christ," will excite the most fervent gratitude and the warmest affection to Him who hath done such great things for us. In such moments as these, we think we behold the Babe of Bethlehem laid in the manger of the inn, and we fancy we hear the dying cry of the Man of sorrows on the summit of Mount Calvary; the details of redemption's thrilling story are dwelt on by us in solitude; and we come away from our retirement full of admiration and love to Him who, while we were yet sinners, died for us. It is in retirement that we can pour out our contrite acknowledgments of sin, our inconsistencies of character, our lukewarmness, our apathy, and our unfruitfulness; then it is that, away from the bold and selfrighteous Pharisee, "who loves to be heard of men," we can stand afar off, and, smiting on our breasts, can exclaim, "God be merciful to me a sinner!" Would that these opportunities for secrecy and still devotion were more sought and cherished when presented! We ought sometimes to be alone; and yet, if we employ our privacy in some such way as I have mentioned, we shall not be alone, for the Father will be with us. Need we examples to prove that solitude was sought after and enjoyed by holy men of old? We read that the patriarch Isaac went forth to meditate at even; that Hezekiah turned his face towards the wall, in his silent chamber of sickness, and prayed; and that Daniel entered into his apartment, and, with his casement opened towards Jerusalem, presented his petition before the Lord. But, should we not be incited to follow the example of these great and good men in the enjoyment of like precious exercises, let us remember that a greater than all, even Jesus Christ our Lord," having risen up a great while before day, went out into a solitary place and prayed." The Cabinet. PEACE IN DEATH.-As for death, no one who has in the course of his life, from illness or any other cause, once made up his mind to contemplate it calmly and religiously-no one who has ever resolutely regarded the hour of his dissolution as at hand, ever loses the calming and soothing influence which that hour has once produced upon his soul: he will feel, because at such an hour he has felt, how unsearchable are the ways of Him that ruleth over all; he will believe, because he has then believed, that there is a saving mercy beyond the grave, and that faith in the Redeemer is the only thing that can bring a man peace at the last. And that feeling once attained, the sting and the pain of death are gone, and the joy in believing is full.-Bp. James, of Calcutta. HUMILITY. It is recorded of one of the ablest and best of men of the age in which he lived, that when he heard of a criminal condemned to die, he used to think, and often to say, "Who can tell whether this man is not better than I? Or, if I am better, it is not to be ascribed to myself, but to the goodness of God." It is the advice of an apostle, that "in lowliness of mind each should esteem other better than themselves;" and if we seriously reflect upon the many sinful passions and desires which lurk in our bosoms, the many evil thoughts which sometimes arise in our minds, our many omissions of duty, our many unguarded expressions,-there probably is not one of us but will find reason humbly to acknowledge, that he knows more harm of himself than he knows of any one else. Archdeacon Berens. TRUE WORTH.-Whatever external advantages a man may have, yet if he be not endowed with virtuous qualities, he is far from having any true worth or excellence, and consequently cannot be a fit object of our praise and esteem; because he wants that which should make him perfect and good in his kind. For it is not a comely personage, or a long race of famous ancestors, or a large revenue, or a multitude of servants, or many swelling titles, or any other thing without a man, that speaks him a complete man, or makes him to be what he should be; but the right use of his reason, the employing his liberty and choice to the best purposes, the exercising his powers and faculties about the fittest objects and in the most due measures; these are the things that make him excellent. none can be said to do this but only he that is virtuous. —Sharp, Archbishop of York. Now MY BELOVED SON.-In this word lies all the comfort of a Christian. No pleasingness, no acceptance indeed out of him; but in him all acceptance of all that are in him. Nothing delights the Father but in this view; all the world is as nothing in his eye, and all men hateful and abominable by sin. Thou, with all thy good nature, and good breeding, and good carriage, art vile and detestable out of Christ. But if thou get under the robe of Jesus, thou and all thy guilti ness and vileness, then art thou lovely in the Father's eye. O, that we could absolutely take up in him, whatsoever we are, yet shrouded under him. Constant, fixed believing is all. Let not the Father then see us but in the Son, and all is well.—Archbishop Leighton. THE TEMPLE OF GOD.-"The temple of God is holy," so writes the apostle; "which temple ye are." Solemn, surely very solemn, is the warning here given us. The Almighty made each of us as a building in which he might dwell, and in which also he might be glorified. "What? know ye not," says the same apostle, "that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost, which is in you; which we have of God; and ye are not your own? For ye are bought with a price: therefore glorify God in your body and in your spirit, which are God's." We have here a description of what we are, and of the purposes for which we were formed, too plain to be mistaken; each one amongst us is, I may say, a building; indeed it is the very term St. Paul uses in another passage: "Ye are," he says, "God's building;" sacred to his name; formed for his worship. To us then, as to his temple, we may be sure Christ often comes. He comes to see if his temple, that is, our heart, is clean and undefiled, and prepared to render him spiritual service. And in what state does he find it? Look inwardly, each of you, and answer. Is all there holy, pure, and peaceful? Is there, as it were, a sacred fire, that emblem of purity, burning within you? Is the sacrifice of a clean and obedient heart ready to be offered? Is the old leaven, the leaven of malice and wickedness, purged out, that you may keep the feast with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth? (1 Cor. v. 8) Or, which God forbid, is his temple thronged only with worldly thoughts and carnal desires? Have the buyers and sellers and money-changers, the cravings of the flesh, the lusts of the eye, the love of gain, found an entrance, and set up their unhallowed work within you? Is pride there, exalting itself? Is selfishness seen, seeking its own? Is uncleanness to be found, with all its evil thoughts? Is the ground of the heart, which should be set apart for other purposes, thus occupied and trodden down? If a few better thoughts, a good desire or two, are still present, have they room to do as they would? or are they not rather, like the poor despised Gentile, denied their proper place? Is not their voice drowned by the wild uproar around them? Are they not trampled down by the strong and unholy legion which has been admitted to vex and disturb them? And if this be the case, need I ask what must the holy Jesus think of such a temple? how he must regard such a heart? He has once before, perhaps, cleansed and purified it. He came, it may be, and by means of some trial or affliction, shewed you how unclean your heart had become, drove out the wicked crowd which had it in possession, and for a time it was more pure, more suited as a habitation for holiness; but now that he has come again, he finds it still more corrupt, and wickedness gaining a firmer footing than ever the last state is, alas! worse than the first.Rev. F. Lear. ACQUIESCENCE IN THE DIVINE WILL-Whatever duties we are called to perform, or whatever we are called to resign, we should look more to the great Commander, than to that which is commanded.—Rev. W. Marsh. DECEITFULNESS OF THE HEART. The heart very often makes use of the bodily constitutions of men to impose upon them. Many give themselves credit for being humble and sober, because their constitution, being naturally sedate, has no tendency to lead them into excesses to which ardent tempers are prone; others impetuously carry all before them, and despise the rest for want of zeal, whereas their own zeal is no more than the heat of their blood. If we would take the measure of our progress in those tempers to which our natural constitutions are most averse, we should more justly appreciate our real character. It is by pursuing the opposite method that we fall into mistakes.-Rev. Henry Martyn. RETIREMENT.-I feel all that I know and all I teach will do nothing for my own soul, if I spend my time, as most people do, in business or company. My soul starves to death in the best company; and God is often lost in prayers and ordinances. "Enter into thy closet," said he, " and shut thy door." Some words in Scripture are very emphatical. "Shut thy door" means much; it means, shut out not only nonsense, but business; not only the company abroad, but the company at home;-it means, let thy poor soul have a little rest and refreshment; and God have opportunity to speak to thee in a small still voice, or he will speak to thee in thunder.-Rev. R. Cecil. LITTLE SINS.-Little sins are pioneers to hell. The backslider begins with what he foolishly considers trifling with little sins. There are no little sins. There was a time when all the evil that has existed in the world was comprehended in one sinful thought of our first parent; and all the evil now is the numerous progeny of one little sin.-Rev. W. Howels. Poetry. THE INSTITUTION OF THE LORD'S SUPPER. BY MISS EMRA. (For the Church of England Magazine.) THERE sat around a sacred board A silent band and few; The blest apostles and their Lord Partings and death in view. He spoke O, how they lov'd to hear I ask no costly sacrifice; Ere long you must such anguish trace Take, then, one piece of broken bread, Remember me! My flesh I give, By faith in me your souls shall live- And since these hallow'd words were said, And tombs that held the mighty dead And time has human laws effac'd, But rich and poor, and high and low, Who name the Saviour's name, Have all united still to shew His dying love they claim. Kings have descended from the throne, Empires are risen, fall'n, forgot, As things of earth must be; But these few words have perish'd not, "Do this, remembering me!" THE SISTERS OF BETHANY. Ye Christians of the present days Know that such trifles boast no worth Ye may not now your Saviour meet; A QUIET CONSCIENCE. BY KING CHARLES I. CLOSE thine eyes, and sleep secure ; A quiet conscience in the breast • From Poems by Mrs. Abdy. |