who go everywhere preaching the word; the teachers who spend and are spent in our week-day and Sunday schools, the Dorcas, who makes garments for the poor; the landed proprietor or the private citizen, who visits from house to house, and who endeavours to elevate in intelligence and moral worth the poor and depressed around him. And although less popular, by no means unimportant, are the bitter herbs, the antidotes and tonics, which also find a place; for there is need for myrrh and aloes as well as roses and lilies. We may not like the sharp reprover, the stern and uncompromising reformer, so well as the mild and bright-beaming philanthropist, and yet that reprover may be the truest benefactor: and there would be little scope for the philanthropist, if he had not as his pioneer the energetic reformer. It is sad ignorance of the requirements of human nature to disparage men who fulfilled so great a function as Latimer and Knox, as Cartwright and Melville, as Clarkson and the Haldanes,-men who in their loyalty to truth forfeited much present popularity, and who kept up the church's tone by the comforts they renounced and the sacrifices they endured, in striving against error and sin. GOD'S DISCIPLINE, AN ATMOSPHERE. THE adaptation of God's moral providence to our moral condition may be judged of from the adaptation of his material providence to our material condition. Take, for instance, the nice and delicate adjustment we observe in our own planet of our particular atmosphere to our structure as a race. Were the earth as large as Saturn we would fall on the ground, scarcely able to crawl under the superincumbent column of an atmosphere so dense that breathing itself would become an exercise of the most exquisite pain. Were it as small as Mercury we would be unable to keep ourselves on our feet, and would find ourselves sailing through the air at each puff of wind with the same volatility as thistle tufts. The same adaptation may be traced down to the humblest scale of life. "An earth greater or smaller, denser or rarer, than the one on which we live," says Mr. Whewell with great beauty, "would require a change in the structure and strength in the footstalks of all the little flowers that hang their heads under our hedges. There is something curious in thus considering the whole mass from pole to pole, and from circumference to centre, as employed in keeping a snowdrop in the position most suited to the promotion of its vegetable health." A very striking experiment has lately been tried which serves to illustrate with great nicety this important truth. A branch of a growing plant was amputated, and a glass tube was placed upon the stump, and the sap was pushed to no less a height than twenty-one feet in the tube. It so happened that precisely this amount of propulsive power is necessary to supply the upper portion of the plant with the vital fluid. In proportion, however, as the attraction of gravitation was increased by the expansion of the earth, would the sap move up more sluggishly: whereas if the earth was reduced to the size of the moon, the sap would be thrown upwards in a series of jets so forcible as soon to break through the delicate texture of the upper cuticles, and to expel from the body of the plant the fluid without which it would be impossible for it to exist. If such is the wisdom of our Creator and God in adapting to our wants a physical atmosphere thus suited to our physical development, may we not believe that there is also around us a moral atmosphere which serves in like manner to develop as well as to sustain our spiritual system? Can we not find in this illustration an explanation of why it is that we are thus borne down under so heavy a weight of care, and sorrow, and labour? It may seem to us strange that we should thus be oppressed with so deep a load of infirmities,-that grief should so constantly oppress us, and ill health wear us down, and the burden of the flesh depress and weary the spirit,—but may we not learn from observing the physical world that it is the very atmosphere that apparently weighs us down that thus supplies the spring of our spiritual growth when we learn that EARTHly care is indeed a HEAVENLY DISCIPLINE, we may sit down in quiet and say, "It is the Lord, let him speak, and let his servants obey." VARIETIES. ASPIRATIONS. A youth, with flashing eye and haughty mien, gazed upon the battle scene. He listened not to the groans of the dying, but, catching the sound of victory, he held his sword above his head, and said "May mine be a career of military glory-may my name be inscribed on history's page, among those who have conquered; and with no 'shroud' or 'useless coffin,' but with 'a martial cloak' around me, may I at last lie down in the soldier's grave!" "The glory of the warrior shines dimly when compared with the statesman's," said a young aspirant. "Let me be versed in the affairs of state-let me revel in the halls of nations, and be my voice heard when lords shall listen." A student, with pale brow and sunken cheek, raised his eye, glowing with ambition's fire, and said, "Though the hill of science is steep and ragged, and thorns and briers are in the way-though pain and weariness he shall find who ascends it, yet I can endure the toil with ease, yea, with pleasure, so I but stand at last in the Temple of Fame." A maiden, with flushed cheek and sparkling eye, stood before her mirror, and murmured-"They call me beautiful; but I scorn the beauty that lieth only in the features. Let me excel in intellectual power-let me be among those who have investigated the fields of thought-let my eye speak a soul pure and noble, and let me be to all a model of true greatness." A humble cottager, attired in simple white, raised her eyes to heaven, and whispered "Father, whate'er of earthly good Thy sovereign will denies, Give me a calm, a thankful heart, The blessings of thy grace impart, Years had passed. The youth who asked for warlike honours had lived threeseore years and ten. Fame had blown for him her martial trump; and echo, catching the sound, bore it with swiftest wing through the whole earth. But now his form was bent beneath the weight of yearsage had snowed his locks with the almond tree's bloom; and weary of life, he laid him down to die. "In early life," he said, "I asked to have my name inscribed on the page of history, and thought, could it be granted, that I should die in peace. Oh, had I asked to see my name written in the book of life, then should I have rested in peace when the days of my pilgrimage had passed away." Youth had long faded from the brow of him who sought to be a statesman. Consumption's fire burned on his check, and he was fast passing away, as he said:"In life's gay morn, when hope was bright, I asked to sit in the hall of state, and speak when learned men listened. Often have those halls echoed my voice, and my willing ear has caught the whispered praise. But it avails naught now. Oh! had I asked to learn the laws of Him who governs all, and at His feet to be taught the way of life, I now should enter that unknown abode with joy." The pale-browed student raised his hand, palsied by age, and said :-"Through patient toil I reached the temple on the hill. 'Twas well to ask this boon; but far better, had I asked also, that, while ascending science's rugged hill, I might not forget Mount Zion; for then at last might I have reached that temple not made with hands." Time, too, had breathed on the beautiful maiden. The roseate hue had fled from her cheek, and her eye, now dim and lustreless, was closed in death. "I have been," she said, “in the field of strife when the contest was mind with mind, and have borne the palm of victory. I asked for this; but had I sought also the power that cometh from above, I might have borne a palm of greater worth, and worn upon my head a crown of glory bright." Fast gathered the dew of death on the brow of the cottager, and the light of life burned dimly, as she said:"Father, in early youth I asked that thy grace might guide me over the changing sea of life. Though dark have been the clouds, and thick the tempest, yet thou hast safely piloted my bark over its raging waves; and now I thank thee, that after so long a storm, thou bringest me gently into port." BUONAPARTE'S WOUNDS. "Napoleon showed me the marks of two wounds—one a very deep cicatrice above the left knee, which, he said, he had received in his first campaign in Italy, and it was of so serious a nature, that the surgeons were in doubt whether it might not be ultimately necessary to amputate. He observed, that when he was wounded, it was always kept a secret, in order not to discourage the soldiers. The other was on the toe, and had been received at Eckmuhl. 'At the siege of Acre,' continued he, 'a shell, thrown by Sidney Smith, fell at my feet. Two soldiers who were close by, seized and closely embraced me, one in front, and the other on one side, and made a rampart of their bodies for me against the effect of the shell, which exploded and overwhelmed us with sand. We sank into the hole formed by its bursting one of them was wounded. I made them both officers. One has since lost a leg at Moscow, and commanded at Vincennes when I left Paris. When he was summoned by the Russians, he replied, that as soon as they sent him back the leg that he lost at Moscow, he would surrender the fortress. Many times in my life, continues he, 'have I been saved by soldiers and officers throwing themselves before me when I was in imminent danger. At Arcola, when I was advancing, Colonel Meuran, my aidede-camp, threw himself before me, covered me with his body and received the wound which was destined for me. He fell at my feet, the blood spirted up in my face. He gave his life to preserve mine. Never yet, I believe, has there |