"who does me a real honour; treats me like a king; and whoever is disappointed, he shall certainly be gratified." So we are assured by the testimony of revelation, that the patriarch, who staggered not through unbelief, gave, and in the most signal, the most acceptable manner, glory to God (Rom. iv. 20). Is it pleasing to Christ? Quite the reverse. It dishonours His merit; it detracts from the dignity of His righteousness; it would enervate the power of His intercession. Accordingly you may observe, there is nothing which our Lord so frequently reproved in His followers, as this spirit of unbelief. What says He to His disciples, when He came down from the mount of transfiguration? "O faithless and perverse generation!" They were perverse, because faithless. What says He to the travellers whom He overtook in their journey to Emmaus? "O fools, and slow of heart to believe!" They were fools, because slow to believe. What says He to the apostles after His resurrection? Jesus "upbraided them with their unbelief." He took no notice of their cowardly and perfidious behaviour; He inveighed against none of their other follies and infirmities; but He upbraided them with their unbelief. Not gently rebuked. No; this was a fault so unreasonable in itself, so reproachful to their Master, so pernicious to themselves, that He severely reprimanded them for it, with an air of vehemence, and with a mixture of invective.

Is it profitable to ourselves? Nothing less. It damps our love and diminishes our comfort. It subjects us to that fear which hath torment; and disqualifies us for that obedience which is filial. In a word, this distrustful and unbelieving temper weakens every principle of piety, and impoverishes the whole soul. Whence come spiritual oscitancy and remissness? whence proceed sterility and unfruitfulness in the knowledge of Christ? St Peter ascribes them all to a habitual unbelief. Such persons, he says, "have forgotten that they were purged from their former sins." In the regenerate, where it remains,

it is very detrimental; for "they that will not believe, shall not be established." In the unregenerate, where it prevails, it is absolutely destructive; and though it may not kill like an apoplexy, it wastes like a consumption. "They could not

enter in because of unbelief."

Let us, then, my dear friend, cast away this sin, which so easily besets us both. It clogs our feet; it hampers all our powers; and hinders us from running with alacrity and speed the race that is set before us. What says David? "God hath spoken in his holiness;" hath made an express and inviolable promise, that I shall be ruler of His people Israel. I will rejoice therefore; away with every alarming apprehension; I will even exult and triumph. Nay more; "I will divide Shechem, and mete out the valley of Succoth;" I will look upon the whole land as my own. I will divide it, and dispose of it, just as if it was already in my possession. Why should not you and I also say-"God hath spoken in His holiness;" hath expressly and solemnly declared, the promise of an allsufficient Saviour is to you? We will rejoice, therefore; confiding in this most faithful Word, we will bid adieu to all disquieting fears, and make our boast of this glorious Redeemer. Yes; notwithstanding all our unworthiness, Christ and His atonement, Christ and His righteousness, are ours. God hath passed His word; and, amidst all our temptations, His word is our anchor; its hold is firm, and its ground immoveable.

The Treasures of Snow.*

Now the winds cease. Having brought their load, they are dismissed from service. They have wafted an immense cargo of clouds, which empty themselves in snow. At first, a few scattered shreds come wandering down the saddened sky. This slight skirmish is succeeded by a general onset. The

From the "Meditations."

flakes, large and numerous, and thick-wavering, descend. They dim the air, and hasten the approach of night. Through all the night, in softest silence, and with a continual flow, this fleecy shower falls. In the morning, when we awake, what a surprising change appears! Is this the same world? Here is no diversity of colour! I can hardly distinguish the trees from the hills on which they grow. Which are the meadows, and which the plains? Where are the green pastures, and where the fallow lands? All things lie blended in bright confusion; so bright, that it heightens the splendour of day, and even dazzles the organs of sight. The lawn is not so fair as this snowy mantle, which invests the fields; and even the lily, was the lily to appear, would look tarnished in its presence. I can think of but one thing which excels or equals the glittering robe of winter. Is any person desirous to know my meaning? He may find it explained in that admirable hymn,* composed by the royal penitent. Is any desirous to possess. this matchless ornament? He will find it offered to his acceptance in every page of the gospel.

See! (for the eye cannot satisfy itself without viewing again and again the curious, the delicate scene)-see! how the hedges are habited, like spotless vestals! The houses are roofed with uniformity and lustre. The meadows are covered with a carpet of the finest ermine. The groves bow beneath the lovely burden; and all, all below, is one wide, immense, shining waste of white. By deep snows, and heavy rains, "God sealeth up the hand of every man." And for this purpose, adds our sacred philosopher, "that all men may know His work." He confines them within their doors, and puts a stop to their secular business; that they may consider the things which belong to their spiritual welfare; that, having a vacation from

* Can any thing be whiter than snow? Yes, saith David; 'If God be pleased to wash me from my sins in the blood of Christ, I shall be even whiter than snow' (Psa. li. 7).

THE SNOW-SHOWER.

273

their ordinary employ, they may observe the works of His power, and become acquainted with the mysteries of His

grace.

And worthy, worthy of all observation, are the works of the great Creator. They are prodigiously various, and perfectly amazing. How pliant and ductile is nature under His forming hand! At His command, the self-same substance assumes the most different shapes, and is transformed into an endless multiplicity of figures. If He ordains, the water is moulded into hail, and discharged upon the earth like a volley of shot; or it is consolidated into ice, and defends the rivers, "as it were with a breast-plate." At the bare intimation of His will, the very same element is scattered in hoar-frost, like a sprinkling of the most attenuated ashes; or is spread over the surface of the ground, in these couches of swelling and flaky down.

The snow, however it may carry the appearance of cold, affords a warm garment for the corn; screens it from nipping frosts, and cherishes its infant-growth. It will abide for a while, to exert a protecting care, and exercise a fostering influence. Then, touched by the sun, or thawed by a softening gale, the furry vesture melts into genial moisture; sinks deep into the soil, and saturates its pores with the dissolving nitre; replenishing the glebe with those principles of vegetative life, which will open into the bloom of spring, and ripen into the fruits of autumn. Beautiful emblem this, and comfortable representation of the Divine word, both in the successful and advantageous issue of its operation! "As the rain cometh. down, and the snow from heaven, and returneth not thither, but watereth the earth, and maketh it bring forth and bud, that it may give seed to the sower, and bread to the eater: so shall my word be, that goeth forth out of my mouth: it shall not return unto me void, but shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereunto I sent it" (Isa. lv. 10, 11).

Nature, at length, puts off her lucid veil. She drops it in a trickling thaw. The loosened snow rolls in sheets from the houses. Various openings spot the hills; which, even while we look, become larger, and more numerous. The trees rid themselves, by degrees, of the hoary incumbrance. Shook from the springing boughs, part falls heavy to the ground, part flies abroad in shining atoms. Our fields and gardens, lately buried beneath the drifted heaps, rise plain and distinct to view. Since we see nature once again, has she no verdant traces, no beautiful features left? They are, like real friends, very rare; and therefore the more particularly to be regarded, the more highly to be valued. Here and there the holly hangs out her glowing berries; the laurustinus spreads her graceful tufts; and both under a covert of unfading foliage. The plain, but hardy ivy, clothes the decrepit, crazy wall; nor shrinks from the friendly office, though the skies frown, and the storm roars. The laurel, firm, erect, and bold, expands its leaf of vivid green. In spite of the united, the repeated attacks of wind, and rain, and frost, it preserves an undismayed lively look; and maintains its post, while withering millions fall around. Worthy, by vanquishing the rugged force of winter, worthy to adorn the triumphant conqueror's brow. Nor must I forget the bay-tree; which scorns to be a mean pensioner on a few transient sunny gleams; or, with a servile obsequiousness, to vary its appearance, in conformity to the changing seasons: by such indications of sterling worth, and stanch resolution, reading a lecture to the poet's genius, while it weaves the chaplet for his temples. These, and a few other plants, clad with native verdure, retain their comely aspect, in the bleakest climes, and in the coldest months.

Such, and so durable, are the accomplishments of a refined understanding, and an amiable temper. The tawdry ornaments of dress, which catch the unthinking vulgar, soon become insipid and despicable. The rubied lip, and the rosy