Gen. P.-Good morning, Squire said, excited his compassion. The Squire W.-I am not well, General; I have a great deal of pain in my bones; I get no sleep o' nights, and am pretty miserable. This rheumatism has got fast hold of me. Gen. P. (Looking at his neighbour with an air of sober earnestness.)— You must be mistaken, Squire W. You have no pain in your bones. It's all a mistake. I don't believe a word of it. Squire W.-What do you mean, General? I don't understand you. I tell you I have pain in my bones, that keeps me awake all night, and I don't know what to do for it. If you felt as I do, you would think you had pain, I guess. They met one morning on the line of their farms, when this colloquy occurred: Gen. P.-O no, Squire. It's a mistake of yours. You have no pain whatever. It cannot be that you have. Squire W.-I don't understand you, General. How do you know I have no pain? Gen. P.-Know? I know it, Squire W., from your own principles. God is infinitely good. Of course he would not inflict pain upon a creature. Besides, he is no respecter of persons, and it can't be that he would subject you to suffering, and spare me. Yet I have no pain in my bones. I am perfectly well. I sleep well o'nights, and have no rheumatism. I am sure of it, neighbour W.; and this couldn't be if you were in the condition you speak of. Surely God wouldn't treat one of his creatures better than another. He wouldn't keep me in perfect health, and leave you limping and groaning with pain. Oh, no; it's all a mistake. It's a mere fancy, and you have no pain in your bones whatever. It is as clear as the doctrine of universal salvation, and rests on the same proof, that you are as free from pain as I am, and sleep as well o' nights. Yes, my friend, you must give up this fancy of yours about pain, and rheumatism, and sleepless nights, or else admit there is such a thing as suffering under the government of God. And if he inflicts it in this world upon some, and spares others, it is in vain to argue, from his goodness and impartiality, that he will not do the same in the world to come. And he was speechless. A SMALL DISCIPLE. THERE are such. We have seen them. If our readers never saw one, we are glad. We will give a brief description of one, hoping they may be profited by the picture. 1. He has small acquaintance with the Bible. If the actual worth of that book could have been an incitement to a large acquaintance with it, or the earnest injunction of its Author to study it had prevailed, there would have been knowledge of it. But they have both failed. The Scriptures are a territory into which he has taken only now and then a hasty ramble. Long and diligent journeying there, to know what might be known, has never been practised. Hence a very small circle of ideas would embrace all his knowledge of the lively oracles. 2. He is very sparing in his attendance upon Christian privileges. -Custom, and perhaps other mo tives, make him acquainted with the sanctuary on the Sabbath, but he is seldom discernible on other occasions. This neglect helps to keep him small. If he only had the heart to turn into all the fat pastures that are open to him, he might find ample food, and increase in spiritual stature. 3. His prayers are small.-The whole heart and soul is not in them, only a part of it. And when but a small part of the soul is engaged, the prayers themselves cannot be otherwise than small. They do not go largely forth, expanding and increasing, as they must from a heart all on fire with love and zeal. They are fettered and cramped, and are dwarfish. There is nothing of the giant about them. 4. His faith is small.-A grain of mustard-seed is too large an object for the comparison. If his faith filled but that small measure, Zion would not be long in learning that man's spiritual strength. But he has only dim visions of eternal things. Instead of soaring upward, as on eagle's wings, he grovels and creeps. If you were to place him beside some of the men of strong faith that may be found in Zion, you would be surprised at the contrast. 5. He is very small also in his charities.-They are drops, small drops, and not very near together either. We have heard one commended who gave all she had, which is a large donation; and of others who had given themselves; and of others who have done what they could. All this is large and noble; but this disciple was never found in and murmuring a welcome! How she bounds forward! She is over the bar! She is gliding now in smooth water, is passing into port, and is preparing to moor and to drop her anchor for the last time! While she does so, there comes a shout from the assembled spectators-the crowds that witness and welcome her approach-loud as thunder, musical 66 as the sea! Gladness and greeting Biography. MARTHA LAYCOCK. she was about twenty-three. At this time she married, and removed to Dukinfield, and returned to the Independent chapel, Staleybridge, in which she continued to worship as long as health would permit. THE subject of the following Memoir she was baptized, and became a was born at Linthwaite, near Hud-member of the Christian church, dersfield, Yorkshire. At a very early and continued in fellowship until age she began to attend the Sundayschool in connection with the chapel at The religious instruction she here received, together with the example and prayers of a pious father, and the perusal of religious books, seemed to impress her mind with a deep sense of the importance of Divine things. She continued to attend the Sundayschool at until the family removed to Staleybridgein Lancashire, where she united herself with the Sunday-school in connection with the Independent chapel, Melbournestreet, until the family removed to Ashton-under-Lyne. Here she began to attend the Sunday-school in connection with the Particular Baptist church, then assembling in the gasworks, but now in a very commodious chapel in Welbeck-street. During the ten years that she attended this school, she received several presents from her teachers and friends. About the latter end of 1851, she gave birth to a daughter, who lived only a few days. After this event, she never regained her former health and strength. Early in the year 1852 she became much weaker, and had all the symptoms of consumption. The best medical advice was immediately sought, but it was only to learn that there was very little hope of her recovery. During the early part of her illness, she often wished that she was able to attend to her work, and imagined that she was a burden to her friends. This seemed to make her case more hopeless still, and she continued in this state of mind for several weeks. About the middle of April she went to Yorkshire, to try if her native air When about fifteen years of age, would do her any good; but after |