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THE PATRIARCH'S DEATH-BED.

pilgrimage since. Now his children, and their children, clustered around his dying bed, and listened to his words of parting.

There is something truly sublime in the death of an old man. It is painful to see a young person die. It is joyful to see the departure to glory of one who has well spent a long life on earth, and is now to be escorted in triumph to the skies. The patriarch was sitting up in bed when I entered. His white locks were long, and hung on his shoulders. His eye was losing its lustre, and a pallor was over his countenance that told me at a glance the impress of death was on him.

"You see I am dying," he said, as I entered the room. "And it is good for the saints of God to die," I answered. "I am the least of all saints, and not worthy to be called a disciple; but I do feel that Christ is mine."

"And you are his."

"So I hope, and so I will hope."

The children were pressing near to him to catch his words, and he turned from me to them, as if he would finish something he was saying when I came in.

"And the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob bless keep you, and be your God for ever,

you, and As he spoke, he reached out his hand towards the head of his eldest son, himself a man of grey hairs, who kneeled at the bed-side, and the hand of the old man rested on the head of the son. "The Lord bless you for your kindness to your old father. '

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"Speak not of it," said his son in the midst of his tears and sobs. "O that you might stay with us till we could all die together!"

I was struck with the thought, "All die together!" it would be sweet to live together so as to make it the wish of all to die together.

And then the rest came, one by one, and knelt down at the side of the bed, and received his benediction in the name of the Lord. All wept but the patriarch. He was calm in the midst of universal sorrow. The dignity of his character was never more seen than now, as he sat bolstered up in bed, and all in tears while he was serene and hopeful.

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"It is not hard to die," he said to me. "I could die a thousand times, if this is all."

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"It is not such a death as the Master died," I observed. "O no! that was the cross, and this is the crown. never so happy in my life as now; and I am dying."

THE PATRIARCH'S DEATHBED.

"And does the Saviour appear lovely and precious in this hour?"

"The chief among ten thousand, and altogether lovely," he said, with such distinctness and strength of tone that it sounded doubly sweet to my ears.

"And what views of heaven have you now?" I inquired. "I have thought much of the glory of God, and it seems to me to fill heaven; so that I think of little else but of Him who fills it with his presence and love."

Such words as these, and many more that I cannot recall, were spoken with great deliberation, and they served to calm the tumult of feeling in the group of mourning children. They listened with wonder, and silent tearful pleasure, to the words as they fell from his lips, and earnestly desired that he might live to speak to them often and long of the hopes that were before him. I was obliged to leave them, and reluctantly gave the aged man a parting hand.

"I will come again in the morning," I said to him as he pressed my hand, unwilling that I should leave him.

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To-morrow, I trust, I shall be in my Father's house." "And you will be at home there, I doubt not." "Perfectly at home; good-bye."

I went over early in the morning, for the state of my own family would not allow me to spend the night from home, and, as I entered the house, it was evident that the old man had fallen asleep in death. The stillness of death was on it.

His was a noble frame, and never did it look more noble than when stretched on the bed, with a thin white sheet spread over it. He lay in the arms of death as still and peaceful as an infant. Death had done its work, and his spirit had returned to Him who gave it.

Who shall weep when the righteous die?

Who shall mourn when the good depart?
When the soul of the godly away shall fly,
Who shall lay the loss to heart?

He has gone into peace; he has laid him down
To sleep till the dawn of a brighter day;
And he shall wake on that holy morn,

When sorrow and sighing shall flee away.

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THE WONDERFUL BOOK.-Many other books have perished in the lapse of ages, but the Bible still lives in the affections of an innumerable multitude who consult it as their oracle and follow it as their guide. More than three thousand years ago Moses wrote his five books and they remain unto this day. About thirty centuries since, David composed his psalms and spiritual songs, and they continue to be read and sung by millions of our race. Nearly eighty generations have passed away since Isaiah and Daniel took up the harp of prophecy and struck from it notes which are now heard in every quarter of the globe. It is eighteen hundred years since the fishermen of Galilee began to preach the gospel to their countrymen, and their writings have come down to us as a precious heritage, chasing away our griefs, rebuking our worldly mindedness, and directing our pathway to heaven. During this long period libraries have been consumed in the flames, many works of ancient authors have perished, nations have been destroyed, and vanity as well as glory has been stamped upon the literature of men; but there stands the Bible, the first parts of which were written more than three thousand years ago, and the last books eighteen centuries since; there stands the Bible, venerable for its age, the victor in a multitude of conflicts with sin, and error, and unbelief, as well as the subduer of nations to the faith of Jesus; there stands the Bible, which furnished Milton with themes for his immortal poem, which Newton read with the docility of a child and with the reverence of a saint, which Locke, Pascal, and Hale loved and revered, and

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which thousands of wise and good men have received as the revelation from God; there stands this old, this wonderful, this indestructible book, bearing upon its pages the image and superscription of the Eternal, and declaring itself to have been written by holy men of old who spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost. "It has not been given to any other book of religion, thus to triumph over national prejudices, and lodge itself securely in the heart of great communities,-varying by every conceivable diversity of language, race, manners, customs, and indeed agreeing in nothing but a veneration for the book itself. In his last illness, a few days before his death, Sir Walter Scott asked Mr. Lockhart to read to him. Mr. Lockhart inquired what book he would like. Can you ask,' said Sir Walter, 'there is but One:' and requested him to read the seventeenth chapter of the gospel of John." Yes, there is no book like the Bible. Pottenger.

CURIOUS DISCOVERY OF AN ANCIENT BIBLE.-A copy of the first complete edition of the English Bible, printed by Myles Coverdale, bearing the date 1535, was, not long ago, accidentally discovered in the false bottom of an old oak chest, at Holkham Hall, Norfolk, the seat of the Earl of Leicester. There are numerous imperfect copies of this edition of the holy scriptures in existence, two being deposited in the library of the British Museum, one in the Bodleian library at Oxford, one in the Cambridge University library; and, in fact, most of our great libraries and public institutions, as well as many private individuals, possess the volume. The above book is the most valuable specimen of Myles Coverdale's labours hitherto brought to light, being in every respect perfect, whereas all the other volumes enumerated are deficient of many leaves, both at the beginning and the end. During the religious persecutions in the reign of Queen Mary, the proof of the possession of the Bible subjected the parties to the consequences of an accusation of heresy, most of the impression were buried, which accounts for the deficiency, the humidity of the soil having destroyed a considerable portion of the leaves. Some idea may be formed of the estimation in which this bibliographical treasure is held, from the circumstance of a London bookseller having offered to purchase it for the sum of £500.

WORSHIP OF THE VIRGIN MARY.-Wooden images of the Virgin Mary, dressed up, are common in popish countries. Our Lady of Loretto is known to fame on account of the great homage and the rich presents made to her. Gold, pearls, diamonds, and other costly ornaments adorned her ladyship when she was visited by the revolutionists, in 1848; she used to have changes of clothes for working days, holidays, and Sundays; and about fifty superb dresses. Part of the useful occupation of the priests was to perform the office of ladies' maids, by dressing and undressing her. These figures are worshipped by the poor deluded people, who cry, "Help me! Mother

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of God, hear me." There are also litanies addressed to "the Queen of Angels,""the Mother of Divine grace,' ""the Refuge of sinners," &c. In a work entitled, "The Glories of Mary," by St. Alphonsus Lignori, printed in Dublin as late as 1845, we are told that "While St. Gertrude was one day fervently saying the words, 'Turn thy eyes of mercy towards us,' she saw the holy Virgin pointing to the eyes of the Son, whom she held in her arms; the Virgin then said, 'These are my most merciful eyes, which I can incline in favour of all who invoke me.' A certain sinner, who wept before an image of Mary, beseeching her to obtain from God the pardon of his sins, was given to understand that the blessed Virgin turned to the infant whom she held in her arms and said to him, 'Son, shall these tears be lost?' Jesus answered that he pardoned the sinner." Only think of the blessed Virgin Mary-for all generations shall call her blessed-one of the most humble and pious of women, being made use of by these men to thrust the Son of God from his seat as the only Mediator between God and man!

SALVATION IS MY GREAT CONCERN; I am the creature of a day; my body is of the dust, and returning to the dust again; I am in jeopardy every hour. Here I have no abiding city; as a tenant at will, I may be dismissed at a minute's warning; but I have an immortal soul, a soul that must be happy or miserable to eternity, -a soul that must join angels in glory or fiends in darkness! How weighty then is the concern of salvation! and how important every moment that shortens the span allotted me below! When I look within myself, how far from salvation doth my state appear! A sinner I, vile and abominable: in nature, at enmity with God; in practice, a transgressor-times beyond number; under guilt which I cannot remove; under corruption I cannot subdue; under wrath I cannot avert,-and such wrath as is for ever wrath to come. When I look to God, what can I expect? Holy in his nature, and therefore infinitely removed from sin; just, and therefore bound to punish it; unchangeable, and therefore punishing eternally; omnipo tent, there can be no resistance; omniscient, and therefore no escape from his notice,-who shall deliver me? "Behold me," saith the Saviour, I am he that bringeth salvation,-salvation to the uttermost, mighty to save: atoning blood shall sprinkle the throne of justice my Spirit shall guide thy steps, and almighty power strengthen thee. My salvation is sure,-I bring it to thee in my word,-I seal it to thee with my blood, and will accomplish it in thee by my Spirit for ever." Do so, O my Lord! If thou wilt save, none can destroy. Haweis.

NEGLECT OF SALVATION.-It is not merely if we commit great sins, not if we are murderers, adulterers, thieves, infidels, atheists, scoffers. It is if we merely neglect this salvation-if we do not embrace it if we suffer it to pass unimproved. Neglect is enough

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