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THE GOTHIC PILE.

we pray for the removal of these soul-deceiving delusions !

I love to walk in the gloomy cloister, and to muse on the Gothic pile ; for it tells me what a frail worm I am. The bald-headed monks, and mitred abbots, where are they? and where shall I shortly be? The glowing paintings, the sparkling jewels, the gorgeous apparel, the silver censer, the perfumed incense, and the mingled voices of youth and age are gone; but their very

absence teaches me to cling to things that are eternal, and to value more highly the simple and superlative excellence of the gospel of Jesus Christ. It tells me to seek treasures in heaven; it moves my heart to magnify the Lord, and my spirit to rejoice in God my Saviour; and in him alone.

THE BROKEN THREAD.

Ir is a bad sign when age is too proud to learn a useful lesson from childhood. If in my walks and friendly cottage calls, I can do any good to others, I am thankful; but the amount of my services is very small. Often, however, does it occur, that when I do no good to others, I get good to myself.

This morning, a little child, at a house where I called, came weeping to her mother in great grief. She had been sitting very quietly for some time on a little stool, sewing a piece of clean rag for practice. When I inquired the cause of her trouble, it was a broken thread; the

poor

little girl seemed overwhelmed with the conviction that all her work was at an end.

“Did you think, love, I could not fasten it on again ?” asked the mother, wiping away the streaming tears. “ Yes,” sobbed the child. “O! but I can though in a minute," said the mother. "See, love, see !"

Dear little child, thought I to myself, thy grief

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THE BROKEN THREAD.

and thy simplicity are just like mine. How often and how long have I sat weeping and sobbing with, as it were, a broken thread in my hand, not considering how easy it would be to my heavenly Father to fasten all the broken threads, and to heal all the broken hearts of his children !

WANT OF FORBEARANCE,

For shame! for shame! hasty, impatient, and, petulant Christian! Was David the song of the drunkards? Was Elisha the derision of children? Was Paul called a madman? And must you hold up your head forsooth, and feel indignation on account of a trifling injury? Do you profess to be a follower of your meek and lowly Lord and Master, and fly off in a tangent because a slight indignity has been put upon you? Go and ponder the words, “With all lowliness and meekness, with long-suffering, forbearing one another in love," Eph. iv. 2.

Was righteous Abel slain? Was Daniel cast into the lions'den? Were those, of whom the world was not worthy, sawn asunder? Was Stephen stoned to death; and the Lord of life and glory taunted, buffeted, spat upon, scourged, and crucified; and cannot you bear with an offending brother, without giving way to anger, hatred, malice, and uncharitableness ? For shame! for shame! Open your Bible, and let the following

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WANT OF FORBEARANCE.

text be the subject of your

meditations : “If ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you ; but if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses,” Matt. vi. 14, 15.

Should it happen, reader, that you have a hasty spirit within your bosom, think not that my remarks are directed against your infirmity. No, no, not a word of it. The truth is, that my temper has been too easily ruffled, and every syllable I have uttered has been directed against the hot head and angry heart of Old Humphrey.

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