8, 9. Rom. iii. 20-28. "If Abraham were justified by works he hath whereof to glory, but not before God." Rom. iv. 2; ix. 9; xi. 6.

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We find a striking instance in St. Paul himself, of the truth of this doctrine, which he so strongly inculcates. By the sovereign grace of God he was turned from the work in which he once boasted. In the full career of his zeal, on his way to Damascus, he was suddenly arrested. For without measure he had persecuted the church of Christ and wasted it." But when the scales fell from his eyes; when he saw Jesus, the only Saviour, and heard that he was a chosen vessel appointed to save him, he could say— "I thank Christ Jesus our Lord, who hath enabled me, for that he counted me faithful, putting me into the ministry; who was before a blasphemer, and a persecutor, and injurious; but I obtained mercy, because I did it ignorantly in unbelief."

All who act in opposition to the work of God are, as St. Paul was, ignorant and unbelieving. We are no sooner brought to the knowledge of the Saviour than we feel within ourselves a strong desire to do something to his glory-something to confirm ourselves in his service.

Before this divine revelation to St. Paul, he was a proud, self-righteous Pharisee, not only trusting in his work of wasting and making havoc of the church, but glorying in it. How great then was the change which brought him low at the feet of that very Jesus whom he persecuted! His knowledge of such unmerited favour caused him to leave on record a full and genuine confession of his own unworthiness. "This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save

sinners, of whom I am chief. Howbeit, for this cause I obtained mercy, that in me first Jesus Christ might shew forth all long-suffering, for a pattern to them which should hereafter believe on him to life ever

lasting." 1 Tim. i. 12-16. And again, "I am the least of the apostles, that am not meet to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God. But by the grace of God I am what I am and his grace which was bestowed upon me was not in vain, but I laboured more abundantly than they all; yet not I, but the grace of God which was with me." 1 Cor. xv. 9, 10. This grace became the apostle's sole dependance: "The grace of our Lord was exceeding abundant, with faith and love, which is in Christ Jesus."

It is the same with every servant of God. Their faith worketh by love. They would gladly spend and be spent in the service of so dear a Master. They neither work for life, nor for reward: being saved by grace they are sure of their future inheritance, which they well know that no work of theirs could have earned, nor price of theirs could have purchased in part or in whole. "It cost more to redeem a soul, therefore they must let that alone for ever."

They love God, because he first loved them, and gave himself for them. Having laid hold on this anchor of their soul, sure and stedfast, their anxious cry is no longer, "What shall I do to be saved?" But, What can I do to glorify my God? How can I prove myself his willing, loving, obedient servant?

St. Paul tells of his labours, his trials, his persecutions and privations, not as the means of his salvation. He glories in none of these, though if any might glory in the flesh, he, more than others, had

dear. We are tremblingly susceptible and clearsighted to trifles which escape the notice of indifferent observers.

In the present case, however, it needed not the regard which was entertained for the young clergyman by the occupiers of Mr. Grey's pew to render his errors apparent. It was grievous, even to the most uninterested listener, to hear a fine voice, so effective in private, rendered useless by want of management: like some sweet and harmonious instrument in the hands of one who understood not how to draw forth its melody. Those who were at a little distance from the pulpit lost at least half of every sentence, from the way in which the sound was dropped at the end; and thus the discourse was without connexion, and unintelligible to them. Even when close to the preacher, it was difficult to follow him without a painful straining of the attention.

In the next pew to that filled by Mr. Grey's family was an old gentleman in spectacles, whose fine head, the silver hair that fell on his shoulders, and the benevolent expression that beamed in every feature, gave him a peculiarly venerable and attractive appearance. Anna Grey had been struck by the earnest devotion of his manner; she had experienced that delightfully cheering and stimulating influence always produced by the consciousness that a sincere worshipper is near-that our humble breathings are ascending, and mingling with the effectual fervent prayer which availeth much with Him who has promised to be where two or three are gathered together. She had marked, too, with secret pleasure the benignant looks directed towards the young clergyman by the interesting stranger, and saw him,

when the text was given out, place his open Bible on his knees, and assuming an attitude of earnest attention, remain with his eyes rivetted on the preacher.

But gradually the look of intelligent interest faded away from his countenance. After some time it was plain that his endeavours to follow the discourse were unavailing; his eyes sank to the page before him, and his mind was apparently soon occupied with its contents. Just as this became evident to the acutely sensitive perception of poor Anna, her quick glance was arrested by two little boys who were seated not far from the old gentleman. The monotonous and ungraceful action of Horace Fleetmore had caught the fancy of these little fellows, and seemed to afford them unbounded amusement, as well as an irresistible subject for mimicry. Under any other circumstances, the conduct of two ill-behaved children could not have caused the annoyance she felt; but as it was, her cheeks tingled with vexation at their ridiculous, though really not much exaggerated imitation of the young man's peculiarities. It was a relief when service was over. and Mrs. Grey returned home in their carriage, while Charles offered his arm to his sister, and they proceeded together on foot and in silence.

Mr.

The sun shone brightly while they were going to church, but since then as great a change had taken place in the atmosphere without as in their feelings within. Dark clouds had gathered over head in threatening masses, and heavy drops began to fall. At last the rain came down with such violence, that the brother and sister were glad to take refuge under a covered archway that presented itself very oppor

tunely. Their example was followed by others, and soon their place of retreat was nearly full.

Perhaps there are few more amusing opportunities of observing character than an archway filled with persons seeking shelter during a shower of rain. The different ranks, ages, and sexes of the motley group whom the same object has thus thrown together—the fidgetty impatience of some at being detained in their progress-the quiet resignation of others here a morose-looking individual wrapped up in sullen reserve-there a good-natured countenance, peering round with sympathising curiosity on his companions in misfortune; the benevolence that prompts one to assist in wiping a dripping cloak, or help to furl a refractory umbrella, or perform some other little act of kindness towards his neighbour; the selfishness that causes another to shrink away from the contact with damp garments, and eye askance each new intruder upon the already crowded

space.

All these little amusing varieties in the human family would have interested Anna Grey at any other time; but now her mind was too painfully engaged to allow her to attend to the groups about her. She was roused, however, from her reverie by an observation made by some one near, and turning round, perceived the same venerable old gentleman in spectacles, who had attracted her attention in church. He had come in like the others to take shelter from the rain, accompanied by a friend, and both were now standing behind the brother and sister, engaged in conversation.

No one, at all events, can accuse our young preacher of bestowing too much pains on his man