growing old ;" and it has been even so he has lived to see that eye lacking its lustre, filmed over with the dimness of age; he has seen the strong man brought low, tottering along with the weakness of a child. He has known the wise man, who was an oracle of wisdom, sink into second childishness; men, who were rich, oppressed in the day of their calamity by those whom, once, they would have "disdained to have set with the dogs of their flock."

These are humbling things; for when riches, and power, and pride, and wisdom, are prostrated in the dust, what is there on this side the grave to glory in? Yet even these things are not enough of themselves to bend our stiff necks, and melt our hard hearts: unless sanctified by God's grace, they do not, they will not, they cannot bring us like chastened children to the footstool of our heavenly Father. Though I have seen these things, they have not kept me from error; I have fostered the folly that I have derided; and practised the pride which I have condemned. How many vain desires enter into our hearts! How many foolish and mischievous projects do we engage in some of these pass away, like the snowy pyramid of the schoolboy, when melted by the sun, and others, like the card house of the child, which a breath destroys.

We sometimes thank God for our success, but we know not how much we owe the Father of mercies for our disappointments. We ought to kiss the rod that he uses to subdue our pride, and reconcile us to himself, whether it be peril or pain, loss or cross, plague, pestilence, or famine.

The most overwhelming affliction is a mercy, if it bring us back to the Father of mercies; the keenest scourge is kindness, if it convince us of sin; losses are gains, when they assist us in obtaining durable riches; and the greatest affliction the greatest mercy, if, through Divine grace, it be made the means of saving our souls.

There are seasons when Old Humphrey could put his hand before his face and weep like a child, at the retrospect of his past years. Monuments of his folly are in abundance, but the vestiges of his wisdom, where are they? If your retrospect be at all of the same kind, let us unite in the prayer, "Teach me to trust in thee, O Lord, with all my heart, and not to lean to my own understanding; enable me to acknowledge thee in all my ways, and do thou direct my paths."

ON ANTICIPATION.

Ir was with a poor pen that I noted down what occurred to me on the subject of retrospection. I have now mended it; but whether, on that account, my thoughts will be better worth your acceptance is a question.

I wish that I could talk with you instead of writing to you. Seated, as I now am, in my old arm chair, I could be very eloquent; but when eloquent thoughts have to pass from the head to the hand, and to be dribbled through the slender barrel of a goose-quill, they often become very homely.

If it be a profitable thing to take a review of the past, it will not be unprofitable to take a glance at the future. Retrospection and anticipation may be both turned to a good account. These are long words, and I have been casting about to find shorter, with the same meaning, for I hold it to be rather a proof of folly than wisdom to use a long word when a short one can be

found to answer the purpose as well.

As, however, I have not succeeded, you must even be content with the terms I have chosen.

It often happens, that when, in a lively mood, I dip my pen into my inkstand, a solemn thought presents itself. You may have observed before now the shadow of a great cloud come over the earth on a windy, sunshiny day. At first it spreads over part of a field, and then runs on before you, almost as fast as the eye can follow it, stretching along the meadows, and up the distant hill, till the whole prospect, a minute before gilded with the sunbeam, becomes shaIdowed and overcast. In like manner, a degree of responsibility comes over my buoyant spirit, and I say to myself, "Now think, for a moment, that what you are about to write, thousands will read, and you are accountable for the impression you will make on their minds. What will an idle tale, or an old man's small talk, do for them? Give them something that will do them good; serious, solemn, and impressive."

In these seasons, and the present is one of them, mirth seems but a mockery. To indulge in it would be like feeding the hungry with husks, or giving a stone instead of bread. At this moment, pigmy as I am, I long for the strength of a giant; ignorant as I am, I yearn for the wisdom

of a Solomon, that I may say and do something worth saying and doing for my fellow-sinners. What ciphers we are! Truly, man in his best estate is altogether vanity! Is it not marvellous that God should ever use such unworthy instruments in bringing about his merciful designs?

Solemnized by these reflections, let me ask you what are your anticipations? Even if you are young, the question is important; but if you have lived as many years as are graven on the brow of Old Humphrey, it is one that may well thrill through your hearts. Whatever you and I may have anticipated in bygone days, we must now have reaped the advantage of experience; we must now see the hollowness, the utter worthlessness of many things that our hearts once coveted. Surely the past should suffice to have followed the fleeting will-o'-the-wisps that have continually deceived us. We ought no longer to cheat ourselves by blowing bubbles which, while they glitter with glowing colours, burst into empty air. By this time we ought to be very moderate in our worldly desires, and to find, with honest John Bunyan, that

"Fulness to such a burden is

That go on pilgrimage;
Here little, and hereafter bliss,

Is best from age to age."