The woman who would elect a fool for her lord, should study the aphorisms of the inspired moralist. In them may be viewed the characteristics of such preference, ere the effects appear in her own wounded feelings, and her children's injured interests. "As he that bindeth a stone in a sling, so is he that giveth honour to a fool." "His mouth is his destruction, and his lips are the snare of his soul." "He will be meddling." "It is sport to him to do mischief." "He despiseth his father's instruction." "He rageth and is confident." "His eyes

are in the ends of the earth, He spendeth up treasure"-finally, the case is hopeless ;-" Though thou shouldst bray a fool in a mortar, yet will not his foolishness depart from him!"

But what if the young disciple who wears the gentle yoke of Christ, give her affections to one who in reality owns not her master, but is bound by Satan, the world, and the carnal mind. Will mental superiority, polished manners, and amiable dispositions adjust the unequal yoke, and remove its disadvantages? No! anomalous habits, diverging aims, and discordant counsels will mock the

vain attempt. The house will be divided against itself, and shaken to the foundation with the counter workings of Christ and Belial, light and darkness, faith and unbelief.

The gusts of human passion, irregular, impetuous and vivid, are like the luminous clouds charged with electric fire; their brightness is lurid, their denseness impenetrable, their discharge sudden and destructive. The natural but sanctified affections are calm, peaceful and appropriate. They are not fitful and eccentric, though often unexpected and opening with welcome surprise; as when the lonely star, permanent in its station and orbit, breaks through the parting clouds, which seemed to threaten its perpetual exclusion. Such was the love of Isaac and Rebecca: prepared in the counsels of Heaven; but obscured until providence shed its unexpected light on nuptials fraught with the blessings of the covenant, extending to all ages and nations of men.

CHAPTER III.

ON PERSONAL PIETY.

SECTION I.

THE human heart yearns after supernatural friendship. "Lead me to the rock that is higher than I." This is the voice of the deepest instincts of immortal man. The cares and the pleasures of life may encrust the spirit, may check or conceal the workings of this affection, but the craving is still there.

This quenchless desire is strongly expressed in early years, and amid the simpler forms of society. The child reveals it in bis love of the marvellous. Tales of fairy wonder, the power, the skill, the beneficence of the good genii thrill his infant heart with delight. But the story ends; the friendly

F

enchanter disappears: and he sighs as he gazes on a plain rough world, filled only with objects of sense; where those around him appear to recognise no guide superior to their own wisdom, no aid beyond their own power. The heathen stretches out his longing arms for the unknown good; but, alas! he embraces an idol! If he pour treasures of gold and silver, at the feet of the senseless stock, or adorn it with the rarest gems of the East, this is the least costly part of his offering. He gives to the "Vanity," what Jehovah stoops to ask,-the supreme desire and dependance of the human heart.

It is solemnly interesting to linger on the margin of the past, and, taking fast hold of the cross of Christ, to bend forward and look down into the deep waters of classical antiquity, to see how Greece and Rome appeared without a God. Here and there the light of some Philosopher or Sage is reflected as a star in the mirror of a dark lake. It is bright and clear, but cold and isolated. The allpervading light, the penetrating warmth, the fructifying power of the sun of Righteousness was yet unknown. A consciously communing spirit; a

powerful yet beneficent agency, operating in man, and by him; one with himself, yet infinitely greater; this was the great need of the human spirit, felt though not understood.

Meanwhile a voice sounded from the lofty porch of Gentile learning. In clear accents it proclaimed

"Man, know thyself." The thoughtful disciple listened and obeyed. With calm dignity he looked into the depths of his own spirit; there he beheld traces of divinity, though with tarnished glory. The conscious sovereign exclaimed, "Revere thyself." The venerated voice of conscience became to him, law, judge and rewarder. He named virtue the supreme good; and, severely self-sustained, pursued it with a singleness of purpose that shamed the inconsistent attributes of the gods of his fathers.

The dictates of revealed religion, re-echo the precept Know thyself." But the process of selfinspection becomes awfully searching. The bias of the will, the exercise of the understanding, the movement of the affections,-all must be tried by a test compared with which the best-selected rules