The few lines which remain of the space at my disposal in this letter, must be devoted to the latest born of the Christian sects at Jerusalem, the Protestants. The first attempt to spread the light of pure Protestant Christianity here in the city where Christ was crucified, was made by our own countrymen, not with a design to Protestantize the Oriental Church, but to spiritualize and vivify it. In the end it failed, and the field was abandoned. Meantime, agents of the London "Society for the spread of Christianity among the Jews" had come in and commenced their labours. In 1840, a well-meaning friend of the mission, Frederick William IV., changed the whole face of things by conspiring with the dignitaries of the Anglican Church to found an English bishopric on Mount Zion, he promising to furnish one-half the endowment. The bishopric was founded, as all the world knows, the Sultan being glad to get back Syria from Mohammed Ali's hands by so slight a concession to the Christian powers, to whom he owed its restoration. Thenceforth Jerusalem possessed not a Protestant mission, but a Protestant sect.

It is true, that this Anglo-Episcopal establishment here still lays claim to a missionary character, and labours to convert the Jews; but having become a part and parcel of the great British Circumlocution Office, a fitting ease and dignity have supplanted the ardour and fire of the genuine missionary. It has a sort of completeness, is an "establishment," and more than half

conscious of the fact, has "institutions,” and "interests," and "officers;" in a word, it has ceased to be a mission, and become the representative of a sect. All which is said without the slightest reflection upon the brethren who labour here at present, or those who have "ceased from their labours."

Our intercourse with Bishop Samuel and his entertaining family has been very pleasant. The bishop has now held his honourable post for eleven years. He is a large, stout, German-looking gentleman, not far from fifty years of age. He was born in the Canton of Bern, educated in the Missionary Seminary at Basle, and has laboured as missionary in Egypt, Abyssinia, and the Lebanon. With a good understanding of several Oriental languages, and nearly all the Occidental, intimately acquainted with the peculiar situation of things in the Holy Land, he was eminently prepared to continue the labours which death had not permitted his predecessor, Bishop Alexander, to complete. His excellent lady adorns well her station, converses with nearly all comers in their own tongue with fluency and elegance, and knows how to accumulate all the comforts and elegances of an Occidental home, even in the semi-civilization of Syria. before saying my good-bye last night, she presented me a beautiful little paper weight, on which is a cross in altorelievo, the whole made of a stone from the garden of Gethsemane. I need not say how much I prize it. Jerusalem, Dec. 1857.

To recount now the chief conclusions to which the foregoing pages are intended to lead-endeavours have been made to prove, -that the natural end of human existence is the "first death," the dreamless slumber of the grave, wherein man lies spell-bound, soul and body, under the dominion of Sin and Death,-that whatever modes of conscious existence, whatever future states, of "life" or of "torment," beyond Hades, are reserved for man, are results of our blessed Lord's victory over sin and death,- that the resurrection of the dead must be preliminary to their entrance into either of the Future States, and that the nature and even existence of these states, and even the fact that there is a futurity of consciousness, can be known only through God's revelation of Himself in the Person and in the gospel of His Son.

Just

W. F. W.

And the leading object and design of the whole work has been, to exhibit the value of this revelation of God; by showing that man, without Christ, is a creature of dust, a worm of the ground; and by pointing to Him whom the Gospel reveals, "who only hath immortality," who only "hath life in himself," and through whom only we can have "eternal life abiding in us."

With the same object it has also been maintained, that Scripture represents man to have been, even before his fall, a mortal being; formed indeed for Paradise, but not in it, and of merely an earthly origin; supported, while in Eden, by the Tree of Life, and falling, when banished thence, by natural relapse, to the dust whence he was taken; and becoming (but for His interposi tion who obtained a probationary respite

before the execution of the sentence, and converted death, through the promise of resurrection, into sleep), even as before he was called from nothingness. And it has been further urged, that they who savingly believe in the Redeemer receive, in this life, his quickening Spirit; yet that neither their bodies or souls are exempted from the (temporary) dominion of death, although they have in that Spirit an earnest and pledge that they shall be preserved in both body and soul, unto Christ's coming; and that they shall not cease to "live unto God," though they, with all the rest, go to one place, and for a period which appears but as a little moment, are unconsciously awaiting the trumpet-call of God.

They

It cannot be denied that these conclusions, if true, are of much importance. must necessarily lead the mind that will embrace them, to take a darker view of the deadliness of sin, and a more humbling view of humanity; to value revelation more highly, and reason less; to feel more dependent on God, ascribing both future happiness and future being, to the Redeemer of the world, and the Giver of Life; and to realize more fully the speedy return of the Lord, from whom we are parted only by a few brief earthly years, and a momentary slumber in the grave.

But these conclusions are opposed by a numerous array of current opinions, natural feelings, and popular arguments; and the writer who encounters such, however good his cause, must be contented with but partial success. Our nature shrinks from death: tender affection is unwilling to believe that departed friends are, even for a time, altogether gone, that earthly ties are completely sundered: and they who have not submitted to the severe training of the Gospel of truth, and learned to fix their affections and hopes beyond the tomb, upon the second coming of their Lord, will reluctantly forego their belief that in a few short years they will rejoin those whom they loved, in some intermediate region of blissful repose. But God, by disappointing it, will more than realize their expectation, if they be faithful to him. He will restore them both to those whom they hoped to meet, and to those whom they had left behind, and bless them at once with the consummate happiness of heaven itself.

There is much also to flatter the pride of intellect, and to gratify a curious mind, in the popular arguments which advocate a belief in the immortality of the soul. But the infallible testimony of Scripture proves all such search to be vain, for in Adam all die, and the dead know not anything. And a better philosophy proves all such search to be vain; for the unassisted moral faculties can only lead us to a faint though anxious hope, that the almost Unknown God may show favour to the more virtuous of mankind and if revelation in one sense confirms this hope, it contradicts it in another, by declaring that no favour will be extended to man, in reward, simply, of unaided human but that "the whole world has become guilty before God," and would have been condemned, but for that unspeakable mystery of compassionate love, which the

virtue

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JOHN THOMPSON'S MARRIAGE. AFTER two years John first thought of taking a wife he had often been with his master's cart to Farmer Jenkins's house, and while doing there what he had gone for, he more than once or twice saw a tidy, hard-working dairy-maid, with whom he exchanged now and then a few civil words. This was our friend, Phebe Turner,-and how it came to pass I cannot tell,-such things will and do happen every day; but John Thompson felt his heart open more and more towards that humble, but truly good girl. But while his father lived, he kept as much as he could of his feeling to himself; and if Phebe Turner did suspect something now and then, she, too, had the good sense to keep quiet and wait till John should say something more. After his father's death John felt lonely, notwithstanding his brother's company. Farmer Richardson had become generous as well as gentle; he soon found that covetousness was no part of a Christian's character, and John's wages were raised, and he was put at the head of the men; for, like Joseph, his master could safely trust him with everything he had. The farmer not only did this, but just after harvest was finished, he told John that the cottage must be thoroughly repaired, and that he must tell him all that it wanted doing to. One day, after all was finished, Farmer Richardson was surprised by a visit from John Thompson at his house; when he asked him if he could go over to Farmer Jenkins's, as he wanted to speak to him about his dairy-maid.

"We don't want a dairy-maid," said Mr. Richardson; "Nance is not going to leave me till I die.'

"No, sir," stammered out John, "but I'm going to make bold to ask Mrs. Jenkins to spare Phebe Turner, for I'm sure she'll make me a good wife, and make us comfortable at the cottage after work."

Mr. Richardson was, as I should before have told you, a bachelor, and at first he rather stared, and was for saying something about letting well alone; but at last he smiled, and said, "Well, John, if it must be, it must be; and if you have thought well about it, I'll not discourage thee, my lad." Ay, master, I've both thought and prayed over it; and I think God will give us His blessing."

"Then go to Farmer Jenkins's, John, and, if you like, I'll just give you a bit of a letter, to say I'm quite willing that you shall marry, if my friend, Mrs. Jenkins, can spare her maid."

John thanked his master, and waited while

the note was written; and then off he set with it to Merrifield Farm.

Phebe Turner saw him coming, gave him a cheerful, modest nod, and then went about her business; but John called after her, that he wanted a word with her mistress.

as

Mrs. Jenkins was always glad to have a chat with hard-working, "honest John," she called him, and it did not take very long for him to make known his wishes, and to ask her advice. To say the truth, Mrs. Jenkins had fancied that John had had his mind on Phebe Turner for some little time (ladies do see through these things pretty quickly); and she had more than once said to her husband, as she saw John walking from church with Phebe, "Some day or other we shall be losing Phebe. Well, go when she will, she'll turn out well, and make some cottage comfortable!"

Thus prepared, Mrs. Jenkins gave John every encouragement, and said, that "she would talk to Phebe, and get her mind on the subject. But what am I to do for a dairymaid, John? Phebe's the best for miles round, I can tell you!"

"If you would but try my sister Jane, ma'am; she's leaving her place this next quarter, as her master and mistress are going to give up their farm; and if I may speak, ma'am, my sister's a rare steady girl!"

"She's not one of Richard Thompson's girls if she is not, John; so, if you make up matters with Phebe and her parents-mind, her parents, John,-I'll not say nay; and, what's more, I'll try Jane into the bargain."

John then, for the first time, thought of his master's note; and as he brought it out, he said, "If you please, ma'am, here's a letter master wrote to Mr. Jenkins."

Mrs. Jenkins used a wife's privilege, and opened it, but did not read it until she had told John just to say a few words to Phebe, and settle with her to call together on her parents.

While he is gone, we will hear Mrs. Jenkins read aloud Farmer Richardson's note:"DEAR JENKINS,

"My servant, John Thompson, will bring this letter, and will tell his own story. If your dairy-maid don't say no, and your good wife wants to get rid of her, and will let him have her, I'm as willing as an old bachelor can be; and the cottage up by the orchard shall be made as snug as I can make it. I'll see, too, that good wages for good work shall keep Poverty away, and, as far as I can prevent, keep Love from flying out of the window. Do you and your good mistress manage matters for the young folks.

"Yours, ever thankful,

"JOHN RICHARDSON."

Tears came into Mrs. Jenkins' eyes as she read this note from the once-covetous and crusty bachelor, and she almost wished it was not too late to find him also a suitable and affectionate help-meet.

We will not follow John into the meadow with Phebe, and try to hear what he said, and what she answered; it is enough for us that the conversation ended in both getting leave to go the next evening to her parents, who lived in the next village, about two miles

away. We must just follow them there, but only to see the good old couple giving both their consent and their blessing to the proposed marriage of their daughter with so good and industrious a man as John Thomp son. Farmer Jenkins had taken care that Phebe should not go without a kind letter from her mistress, saying, that sorry as she should be to part with her, yet that for John's sake, and for her own happiness, she could not say no; and she also told them of Farmer Richardson's kindness.

A few weeks went on, and at last it was arranged that on the second week of June John and Phebeshould be married, and a real, right-down, good, farm-servants' marriage, Farmer Richardson, with Farmer and Mrs. Jenkins, determined it should be. There were no carriages with prancing horses and white favours, no grand company and rich dresses; but there was a sweet old village church, and a good, kind clergyman, two kind-hearted and rejoicing masters, and one merry, active mistress. There was a good old couple in bran-new country dresses, a loving brother, with two as loving sisters; then a crowd of labourers and villagers, all full of joy at John and Phebe's happy wedding; and, last of all, there were the bride and bridegroom, both spruce and neat, looking just as happy as young folks ought to look, on what ought to be one of the most joyous days of life. The little church looked quite full; and steady as they all were while the beautiful service was being read which made two into one, the moment the clergyman had given the blessing and shut his book, there came from the belfry such a clang and such a peal, merry and harmonious as four sound bells and one cracked one could make, that the people inside the church hastened out at the porch, to be in time to welcome the newly-married couple with a hearty cheer. Farmer Richardson and Mrs. Jenkins signed the book as witnesses, and then John and Phebe Thompson came into the churchyard, man and wife; and many were the hearty shakes they got as they passed along, followed by the parents of Phebe and the brother and sisters of John.

Away went the entire party to one of Farmer Richardson's barns, in which was spread a rare old English dinner, for the men and women-servants of both farms. At the upper end of the table sat the two farmers and Mrs. Jenkins, with John and Phebe just below them; and just as they were beginning to make an attack on the good things before them, in walked Mr.Southwood, who came to give them his good wishes, and to tell them how happy he had been to join them together in holy matrimony. I need not repeat what he said, after he had seen them all enjoy the dinner provided for them; but he spoke of the blessings which God bestowed on those who sought his counsel and favour in everything they did. Addressing himself to the men and women before him, he said: "See the value of good characters and faithful services. Look at John and Phebe Thompson, and see what pleasure their master and mistress now take in sharing with them the joys of this happy day!" And then he told those who were married how

kind and forbearing each ought to be to the other, and how they should not only help each other on in life, working for one another, and doing all they could to make home-life happy and comfortable, but that they should all try to help each other on to heaven. "For," said he, "one day death must part the happiest as well as the most wretched. Believe and trust in Him, then, who so loved you all as to give himself for your salvation, that after you have lived happily on earth together, you may dwell together with Christ in joy for ever."

The whole day was spent merrily and wisely, and I am happy to say it was the beginning of a year of great happiness to the humble bride and bridegroom, and which did not end in their repenting of the marriage, as ill-natured Ben Simmonds foretold. John Thompson's brother also was all the more comfortable, as their evenings were spent all together; and while Phebe worked, the two brothers either read aloud or tried to improve themselves by writing, and getting on in arithmetic, or some other simple yet useful learning.

Farmer Richardson, as he got older, found the comfort of having such a trustworthy servant as John Thompson, who took more pleasure than ever in looking after his kind master's interests, as he saw that he got infirm and unable to see about things himself.

John Thompson had no thought but that he should live and die a farmer's servant: he had enough, and therewith he was content; and he was therefore much surprised by his old master coming one day to the cottage, and gravely telling him and Phebe, who had got one infant on her lap, and a little lad playing beside John's knee," that he was going to turn them out of the cottage. I couldn't manage to get rid of your father, John, but you must go, my man," said the farmer, with a grave face.

John's face grew crimson, and Phebe's turned pale, and then Mr. Richardson's began to smile, as he said, " Well, but John, if you go, your brother can stay, for I want you and Phebe to take care of a mill I've bought on the common. Many a time you've watched the sails going round, and I now want you to watch the inside of the mill, and get as much flour as you can from the stones. To do this you must live at the miller's house, and so I've bought all Job Orton's furniture as well; and next Monday you and Phebe must clear out of this cot. Job's old man George will help you, John, to keep the mill going and the flour coming."

John and Phebe hardly knew what to say or do, but the tears came, and smiles, too, in the eyes and on the faces of all three; and all that the two happy people could do was to thank their master over and over again warmly and heartily for his kindness. John's brother was put in his place at the head of the men, and thanks to the good training by parents, the good example of his brother, and the blessing of God on both, he pleased Farmer Richardson, and kept all things going on well.-Every-day Life.

A PRAYING WIFE.

A LADY who was accustomed to visit some cottages near her own house, was once praying for some poor women with whom she sometimes met to read the Scriptures, and while thus engaged, A. F-, from Woodland Head, came in, and was so astonished, that she afterwards inquired what the lady had been doing. This led to some conversation with the lady herself, to whom she acknowledged her ignorance, telling her there was no preaching in their neighbourhood and they knew nothing. She was told she ought to pray to the Lord to send his Gospel to them through some of his servants. This occurred not long before it was actually sent to within about a mile of her cottage, and the Lord had prepared her heart to receive it. Among the many converts at that place there was none who more commended the Gospel by exhibiting its transforming power in her whole conduct; the result of a deep experience of it in her own soul.

She was baptized, with several others, in the autumn of 1840, when George, her husband, was present without exhibiting any sign of disapprobation. But on their way home he became very angry, and assailed her with bitter words. Anne remained silent during the outburst of his passion, but like Hannah of old, she "spake in her heart," and out of the abundance of her grief "poured out her soul to the Lord." 1 Sam. i. 15, 16. She was not faithless, but believing, and boldly asked the Lord to convert him within a week. Perhaps she remembered the word, “Is anything too hard for the Lord?" Gen. xviii. 14. At all events it was the prayer of faith, and the Lord heard and answered it. On the following day George was still morose and angry, and although his work lay not far from his cottage, he took his dinner with him to the field. It was a time of temptation, and when about noon his anger had reached its height, he said to himself, "I will go home and tear her to pieces." But his wife's prayer had been heard in heaven, and the answer was about to be granted. He went home and told her his purpose was to kill her. She wept, not on her own account, as she told him, but because of the hardness of his heart. Strange to relate, the lion was in an instant changed into a lamb. George, too, began to weep, and asked if such a vile sinner as he was could be saved. The result may be anticipated. This was the period of his spiritual birth. If such a change as that of which he was now the subject had been foretold twenty-four hours previously, many would have replied, "If the Lord would make windows in heaven might this thing be!" 2 Kings vii. 2. But the Lord in the operations of His grace mocks our feeble calculations, and acts according to His own sovereign will and purpose, "putting down the mighty from their seats, and exalting them of low degree." Luke i. 59.

When on my way to their cottage on the following morning, I heard George's voice calling to me from a neighbouring field, and heard from his own lips how wonderfully the Lord had dealt with him. His whole future life proved the reality of the change so sud

denly wrought in his soul. He was afflicted with an asthmatic complaint which often laid him aside from work for weeks together, and he was never well enough to earn full wages. His poverty was on this account very deep, and I have scarcely ever known a case which more demanded sympathy; but on no occasion did I ever hear from his lips or those of his dear wife a word of murmuring or complaint. I saw him about three years ago, at the close of a day in which he had been trying to help in the harvest field. His bodily weakness was great, but his heart was full, and all he could do was to hold one of my hands in his and say, "Dear Mr. Gdear Mr. G- ," while his eyes streamed with tears. His earthly course was at this time nearly finished, and early in the following year, 1855, he peacefully departed to be with Him whom his soul loved.

Much might be said of his dear wife, as of one who loved the Lord above many. The sphere of her testimony was very limited, but she did what she could, and sought to adorn the Gospel in all things. She was deeply anxious for the spiritual welfare of her children, and they were the constant subject of her prayers. In spite of deep poverty it was many months ere she consented to send her eldest daughter to reside with some relations in London (who promised to care for her), lest by too much haste she might act contrary to the Lord's will, and her child thereby suffer loss. On one occasion I was most unexpectedly presented with a sovereign for the use of this dear family, and it reached them at a very interesting time. When on my way to their cottage I was told that Anne was in great trouble. Her two boys, on account of their parent's poverty, had hitherto been instructed at the parish school gratuitously, but she had now been told that this favour could not be continued unless they were sent to the Church Sunday-school. This was a sore trial of her faith, as they had hitherto been instructed on the Lord's day by some brethren who met for worship in the cottage, and she was very unwilling to remove them, but she determined not to consent until she had seen me. On my coming to see her just at this time and hearing her tale of sorrow, I asked her if she could not trust the Lord for fourpence a week? She replied, "I know I ought to, but poverty is a great temptation." On my again asking what she would say if she knew I had money enough with me to pay for their schooling for more than twelve months, she added, "Then must praise the Lord, and shame the devil."

(I feel sure she did not mean to use this expression in an irreverent sense. She felt she had been tempted to doubt the Lord's goodness on this occasion, and perhaps remembered James iv. 7.)

When she once applied for the gift money annually distributed to the poor of her parish, it was at first refused by the magistrate on the ground of her being able to support the preaching on which she attended. On her saying she paid nothing, it was asked, "What! no preacher's horse-hire?" "No, sir; it is all free cost." "What do they preach then?" "They don't preach at all, sir." "Not preach

at all! What do they do, then?" "They explain the word of God, sir."- Gribble's Recollections.

DANCING.

I ENTER upon the consideration of the question you have so kindly and honestly propounded with the greatest pleasure. And while I highly esteem the confidence exhibited in any opinion I may venture to give, I must be allowed to treat the subject in ignorance of the circumstances which may have raised the question, and which are solely known to yourself. I shall have, therefore, to consider the subject in an abstract point of view, if you understand what I mean, so that it will be simply a matter of reasoning as to whether it be right for any Christian whatever to frequent dancing parties. It will be for yourself and your own conscience to ascertain whether the case applies to you as an individual and a Christian. I have prayed that I might advance nothing but what is consistent wth truth and Christian principle, and which may, with God's blessing, lead you to see the matter aright. You may not be aware that the act you speak of involves a great deal more than the act itself, and that one wrong first step may lead to innumerable inconsistencies and difficulties, which would plunge you in subsequent repentant sorrow. You may plead in justification of the indulgence-and I perfectly admit the justness of the remarkthat the old and the young stand in different positions from each other; that that which might appear out of character and ridiculous in one, would not assume the same light in another. The young have feelings in which the aged can have no share; and to make the one entirely to harmonize with the other, would rob life of half its loveliness and charm. There must of necessity be a certain amount of elasticity in youth which will find vent for itself through some channel or other. Their hopes are light, their feelings are young and fresh, and they are annoyed that circumstances and restraints of any kind should place a check upon the full play of their constitutional tendencies and their youthful emotions.

But they must not forget that they are just in the very condition in which it is dangerous to be free. Inexperienced as they are, they would rush into the first snare that lay temptingly at their feet; and, perhaps, soon would the dark silent tomb engulf their bodies, and another world receive their unprepared souls. Such is the history of thousands of the world's votaries: and it would be sad indeed if the young Christian's life were modelled after theirs. If in youth he started in the same career with them-if his pleasures and theirs were the same-if they dance and he dances-if they pipe and he sings-is it not natural to conclude that, unless God's power of grace interferes, the professing Christian's end must be theirs? "Ye cannot serve two masters." Our hearts must be God's or the world's. This is

strictly Bible truth. "If any man love the

world, the love of the Father is not in him." This may seem a hard saying, but it is true;