grudged not our noble, lovely child, but rather do delight that such a seed should blossom and bear in the kindly and kindred Paradise of my God. And why should not I speak of thee, my Edward! seeing it was in the season of thy sickness and death the Lord did reveal in me the knowledge and hope and desire of His Son from heaven? Glorious exchange! He took

my son to His own more fatherly bosom, and revealed in my bosom the sure expectation and faith of His own eternal Son! Dear season of my life! ever to be remembered, when I knew the sweetness and fruitfulness of such joy and sorrow.

The following is an extract from a letter to Mrs. Irving, when on his solitary journey homeward, over the moors, on foot, dated Annan, 18th October, 1825:

Here I waded the Yarrow at the foot of the loch, under the crescent moon, where, finding a convenient rock beneath some overhanging branches which moaned and sighed in the breeze, I sat me down, while the wind, sweeping, brought the waters of the loch to my feet; and I paid my devotions to the Lord in His own ample and magnificent temple; and sweet meditations were afforded me of thee, our babe, and our departed boy. My soul was filled with sweetness. "I did not ask for a sign," as Colonel Blackadder says; but when I looked up to the moon, as I came out from the ecclesia of the rock, she looked as never a moon had looked before in my eye,—as if she had been washed in dew, which, speedily clearing off, she looked so bright and beautiful; and, on the summit of the oppo

site hill, a little bright star gleamed upon me, like the bright, bright eye of our darling. O, how I wished you had been with me to partake the sweet solacement of that moment!*

GERMS

OF

IMMORTALITY.

REV. DR. JOHN CUMMING, LONDON. CHRISTIANITY alone looks with sympathy on infants, loves them more than angels, provides for their future state, and plants in the sorrowing hearts of those who have lost them bright hopes of restored union and communion in glory. Christianity takes the infant close to her mother-bosom, spreads over it the warm wing of love, sprinkles on its bright brow waters from that river whose streams make glad the city of our God, and gives utterance to the deep sympathies of her heart in these words,-"Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of heaven." Babes are not too insignificant in her thoughts. Her Incarnate One controls the exalted hierarch beside the throne, and also stoops to teach and bless an orphan child. Never did He who spake as never man spake breathe a more beautiful or touching thought, or bequeath to mourning mothers bereaved of their infants a more precious legacy, than when He rebuked the stern frowns which His disciples cast on the mothers that crowded round Him with their babes, and took

The Life of Edward Irving. By Mrs. Oliphant. London: Hurst & Blackett.

up the unconscious infants in His arms, and blessed them, and said, "Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of heaven." Whosoever may undervalue these germs of immortality--these folded buds of promise-these tenants of earth in training for heaven-the Son of God does not. He spreads over them the shield of His power, and covers them with the feathers of His wing. He saw immortality beam from their countenancesin their bosoms His ear heard the beatings of a life that can never die—and capacities which all the treasures of time and earth cannot fill, disclosed themselves to the eye of Him to whom the most secret structure of mind and body is thoroughly unveiled. It is relation to eternity that makes the feeblest strong, and the smallest great.*

66

THE BLACKSMITH AND HIS WIFE AT WEE DAVIE'S" COFFIN.

REV. DR. NORMAN MACLEOD, Glasgow.

THE little black coffin was brought to the smith's the night before the funeral. When the house was quiet, Davie was laid in it gently by his father. Jeanie stood by and assumed the duty of arranging with care the white garments in which her boy was dressed, wrapping them round him, and adjusting the head as if to sleep in her own bosom. She brushed once more

*

Infant Salvation; or, All Saved that Die in Infancy. By John Cumming, D.D., London.

the golden ringlets, and put the little hands in their right place, and opened out the frills in the cap, and removed every particle of sawdust which soiled the shroud. When all was finished, though she seemed anxious to prolong the work, the lid was put on the coffin, but so as to leave the face uncovered. Botl were as silent as their child. But ere they retired to rest for the night, they instinctively went to take another look. As they gazed in silence, side by side, the smith felt his hand gently seized by his wife. She played at first nervously with the fingers, until finding her own hand held by her husband, she looked into his face with an unutterable expression, and meeting his eyes so full of unobtrusive sorrow, she leant her head on his shoulder and said, "Willie, this is my last look o' him on this side the grave. But, Willie dear, you and me maun see him again, and mind ye, no to pairt; na, I canna thole that! We ken whaur he is, and we maun gang till him. Noo promise me—vow alang wi' me here, that as we love him and ane anither, we'll attend mair to what's guid than we hae dune, that— O Willie forgie me, for it's no my pairt to speak, but I canna help it enoo, and just, my bonnie man, just agree wi' me- -that we'll gie our hearts noo and for ever to our ain Saviour, and the Saviour o' our wee Davie!" These words were uttered without ever lifting her head from her husband's shoulder, and in low, broken accents, half choked with an inward struggle, but without a tear. She was encouraged to say thisfor she had a timid awe for her husband-by the pres

sure ever and anon returned to hers from his hand. The smith spoke not, but bent his head over his wife, who felt his tears falling on her neck, as he whispered, "Amen, Jeanie! so help me, God!" A silence ensued, during which Jeanie got, as she said, "a gude greet," for the first time, which took a weight off her heart. She then quietly kissed her child and turned away. Thornburn took the hand of his boy and said, "Farewell, Davie, and when you and me meet again, we'll baith, I tak' it, be a bit different frae what we are this nicht! He then put the lid on mechanically, turned one or two of the screws, and then sat down at the fireside to chat about the arrangements of the funeral as on a matter of business.

After that, for the first time, William asked his wife to kneel down, and he would pray before they retired to rest. Poor fellow! he was sincere as ever man was; and never after till the day of his death did he omit this "exercise," which once a day was universal in every family whose head was a member of the church; and I have known it continued by the widow when her head was taken away. But on this, the first night, when the smith tried to utter aloud the thoughts of his heart, he could only say "Our Father-!" There he stopped. Something seemed to seize him, and to stop his utterance. Had he only known how much was in these words, he possibly might have said more. As it was, the thoughts of the father on earth so mingled, he knew not why, with those of the Father in heaven, that he could not speak. But he continued on his