Up and down in ceaseless moil; Quick and treacherous sands of sin, "ROCK OF AGES CLEFT FOR ME" In the pleasant county of Devon, and in one of its sequestered passes, with a few cottages sprinkled over it, mused and sang Augustus Toplady. When a lad of sixteen and on a visit to Ireland, he had strolled into a barn where an illiterate layman was preaching-but preaching reconciliation to God through the death of his son. The homely sermon took effect, and from that moment the gospel wielded all the powers of his brilliant and active mind. Toplady became very learned, and at thirty-eight he died, more widely read than most dignitaries whose heads are hoary. His chief works are controversial, and in some respects bear the impress of his over-ardent spirit. In the pulpit's milder agency nothing flowed but balm. In his tones there was a commanding solemnity, and in his words there was such simplicity that to hear was to understand. Both at Broad Humbury, and afterward in London, the happiest results attended his ministry. Many sinners were converted; and the doctrines which God blessed to the accomplishment of these results may be learned from the hymns which Toplady has bequeathed to the Church: "Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me;"" A Debtor to Mercy Alone" "When Languor and Disease Invade," and "Deathless Principle, Arise!"-hymns in which it would seem as if the finished work were embalmed, and the living hope exulting in every line. During his last illness, Augustus Toplady seemed to lie in the very vestibule of glory. To a friend, on inquiry he answered with sparkling eye, "O my dear sir, I cannot tell the comforts I feel in my soul-they are past expression. The consolations of God are so abundant, that He leaves me nothing to pray for. My prayers are all converted into praise. I enjoy a heaven already in my soul." And within an hour of dying he called his friends and asked if they could give him up; and when they said they could, tears of joy ran down his cheeks as he added, "O what a blessing that you are made willing to give me over into the hands of my dear Redemer, and part with me; for no mortal can live after the glories which God has manifested to my soul!" And thus died the writer of the beautiful hymn, "Rock of Ages Cleft for Me."--Christian at Work. A DISAPPOINTED LIFE. BY THE EDITOR. She We stand at the grave, as a young woman is being laid in the restingplace of the dead. She was only twenty-four years of age. She was a wife and mother. A husband and three little children mourned her death. died of a broken heart. She wasted away with consumption, induced by neglect, unkindness, exposure and want. Her husband was a drunkard, and as he stood and gazed with callous feeling at the coffin of his wife, as it was let down into the earth, his bloated face indicated the habits of dissipation which he had acquired He, too, was young. A few years before he had led her, full of hope and happiness, to the marriage altar. He was then, as far as known, a sober young man, and she deemed him worthy of her confidence and love. But soon his habits became bad; he spent his nights away from his family, he neglected his business, his family suffered for the want of food and clothing, her spirits and her health failed her, her father took her and her children back to his home, and here at the grave is the end of her sad, disappointed life. Is this a rare case? Alas, no! It is only one of thousands. It is occurring every day. True Christian piety makes happy homes. Sin brings sorrow into the household. Admit faith and prayer into the house, and peace and happiness will enter and abide with them.-Lutheran & Missionary. The path of life is strewn with wrecked hopes. O that the young would learn wisdom and discretion. A cheery gay maiden is planning and making preparations for her marriage. How full of hope! How inviting life seems to her! Full of dreams of coming pleasure! What a heaven on earth will she enjoy with her betrothed! True, he is somewhat fast. His breath often bears the odor of whiskey. He associates with the vulgar who seek the society of women of the baser sort. But then he is so smart, and generous; dresses so tastefully and is so much of a gentleman, she will try to reform him. While wooing her, she moulds him as a bust of wax. So will she do when his wife. The wedding day comes. Hosts of friends bring their greetings, and not a few their bridal presents. In all the town there is no young lady on this evening whose future seems so inviting as hers; in reality none for whom the future has such grief in store. After a short honey-moon a new chapter opens. The mask is dropped. The young husband takes to his cups and cards. Gently and vainly the young wife chides him. He neglects his business. His papers go to protest. His patrons forsake him. His credit and character gone. The wife broods over her keen disappointment; the husband bloats over his cups. Long she endures shame, neglect and even hunger, in silence. Too proud to unburden her bleeding heart to her friends. Her child keeps her affectionate company. Her husband is the companion of fools, an outcast from respectable society. His course is soon run. His end is the drunkard's grave. With him she buries a delusive hope. She survives him in sorrowing dependence upon the bounty of friends. Had she heeded their counsel, she would not have become the widow of a dissolute wretch. Thus it happened that she early became a poverty-stricken widow, and her child a dependent orphan, and for the balance of her days she is doomed to a disappointed life. HABITS OF AUTHORS. Prynne wrote in a long quilt cap, with a peak like an umbrella, to shade his eyes from the light; Addison walked in a long gallery at Holland House, with a bottle of wine at either end, composing as he went; Darwin wrote as he rode in his battered old "sulky," on scraps of paper with a pencil; Rousseau composed among rocks and woods, while Chateaubriand sat at a table methodically piled with paper of various sizes, which he scattered to the ground as soon as they were filled with writting, to be gathered up and arranged at the completion of each chapter. To some it will be strange to learn that Johnson wrote his "Ramblers" just as they were wanted for the press, sending a portion of each week's supply to the printer, and writing the remainder while the earlier part was in the hands of the compositors; and that Goldsmith's manner of composition was, like the man, erratic-sometimes wandering into the kitchen of his farm-house lodging in the Edgeware-road, and then hurrying back to his desk to jot down. whatever thought might have struck him. Lessing walked up and down his study until his eye caught the title of some book, when he would open it, and if he found a sentence that pleased him, he would copy it, and afterwards follow out the train of thought suggested. Jean Paul Richter went out into the fields for his inspiration; and Plato, (on the authority of DeValton) produced his glorious visions all in bed. Burns never wrote his songs until he had completely mastered the tunes for them; and Coleridge had a custom of putting aside his essays till the heat and excitement of composition had subsided, brandishing his pen and beating time with his foot when he wrote, and ever and anon breaking out into a shout at the birth of a felicitous idea. Shelley indulged in music, and Christopher North in opium; Washington Irving composed his "Stout Gentleman" while sitting on a stile; Walker, of the "Original," sat full-dressed on a cane-bottomed chair, in the bed-room of his hotel, during the throes of composition; Douglas Jerrold as might be guessed from his minute caligraphy-wrote at a spotless desk on the whitest of paper; Dr. Channing alternated between his study and his garden; Sir Walter Scott composed as he rode or walked, and put his thoughts on paper regularly every morning; Dibdin thought of and partly composed "Jolly Dick the Lamplighter" in a barber's shop, while having his hair dressed : and Tannahill invented his songs while plying the shuttle; humming over the airs to which he meant to adapt new words; and as the words occurred to him, jotting them down at a rude desk attached to his loom, and which he could use without rising from his seat. -Aspect of Authorships. TESTIMONY FOR THE BIBLE. The following is a collocation of the testimony of the great, the learned, and the wise to the value of the Bible, from the stand-point of worldly wisdom as well as of genuine religion: John Milton.-God has ordained His gospel to be the revelation of His power and wisdom in Christ Jesus. Let others, therefore, dread and shun the Scriptures for their darkness; I shall wish I may deserve to be reckoned among those who admire and dwell upon them for their clearness. There are no songs comparable to the songs of Zion, no orations equal to those of the prophets, and no politics like those which the Scriptures teach. Coleridge. I know the Bible is inspired, because it finds me at greater depths of my being than any other book. Thomas Carlyle.-A noble book! All men's book! It is our first, oldest statement of the never-ending-problem-man's destiny, and God's ways with him here on earth; and all such free-flowing outlines, grand in its sincerity, in its simplicity, in its epic melody and repose of reconcilement. Sir Matthew Hale.-It is a book full of light and wisdom, will make you wise to eternal life, and furnish you with directions and principles to guide and order your life safely and prudently. There is no book like the Bible for excellent learning, wisdom, and use. Queen Victoria.-This is the secret of England's greatness. The Chevalier Bunsen.-The Bible is the only cement of nations, and the only cement that can bind religious hearts together. John Adams.-I have examined all, as well as my narrow sphere, my straightened means and my busy life, would allow me; and the result is, that the Bible is the best book in the world. It contains more of my little philosophy than all the libraries I have seen; and such parts of it as I cannot reconcile to my little philosophy, I postpone for future investigation. John Quincy Adams.—I speak as a man of the world to men of the world; and I say to you "Search the Scriptures!" The Bible is the book of all others to read at all ages, and in all conditions of human life; not to be read once or twice or thrice through, and then laid aside, but to be read in small portions of one or two chapters every day, and never to be intermitted, unless by some overruling necessity. William H. Seward.-The whole hope of human progress is suspended on the ever growing influence of the Bible. John McLean.-If its rules were faithfully observed by individuals and communities, the highest degree of earthly happiness would be attained. Daniel Webster.-I have read it through many times; I now make a practice of going through it once a year. It is the book of all others for lawyers, as well as divines; and I pity the man who cannot find in it a rich supply of thought, and rules for conduct. THE LOST SHEEP. There were ninety-and-nine that safely lay And one was out on the hill away, Away on the mountains wild and bare- Lord, thou hast here the ninety and nine, |