ceived in my body the lightning's bolt, which had else destroyed the traveller; the acorns which I have matured from year to year have been carried far and wide, and groves of forest oaks can claim me as their parent. I have lived for the eagle which has perched on my top; for the humming bird that has paused and refreshed its giddy wing, ere it danced away again like a blossom of the air; for the insect that has found a home within the folds of my bark; and when I can stand no longer, I shall fall by the hand of man, and I shall go to strengthen the ship which makes him lord of the ocean; and to his dwelling to warm his hearth and cheer his home-I live not to myself.

On yonder mountain side comes down the silver brook, in the distance resembling the ribbon of silver, running and leaping as it dashes joyously and fearlessly down. Ask the leaper what it is doing. "I was born," sings the brook, "high up the mountain, but there I could do no good; and so I am hurrying down, running where I can, and leaping where I must, but hastening down to water the sweet valley; where the thirsty cattle may drink, where the lark may sing on my margin, where I may drive the mill for the accommodation of man, and then widen into the great river, and bear up his steam-boats and shipping, and finally plunge into the ocean, to rise again in vapour, and perhaps come back again in the cloud to my own native mountain, and live my short life over again. Not a drop of water comes down my channel, in whose bright face you may not read, "None of us liveth to himself!"

Speak now to that solitary star that hangs in the far verge of heaven, and ask the bright sparkler what it is doing there! Its voice comes down the path of light, and cries, "I am a mighty world; I was stationed here at the creation; I was among the morning stars that sang together, and among the sons

of God that shouted for joy at the creation of the I was there

earth; aye,

"When the radiant morn of creation broke,
And the world in the smile of God awoke ;

And the empty realms of darkness and death
Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath;
And the orbs of beauty and spheres of flame
· From the void abyss by myriads came,
In the joy of youth, as they darted away
Through the widening wastes of space to play,
Their silver voices in chorus rung,

And this was the song the bright ones sung."

Here among the morning stars I hold my place, and help to keep other worlds balance and in their orbits. I have oceans and mountains, and I support myriads of immortal beings on my bosom; and when I have done this, I send my bright beams down to earth, and the sailor takes hold of the helm and fixes his eye on me, and finds his home across the ocean. Of all the countless hosts of my sister stars which walk forth in the great space of creation, not one-not one lives or shines for herself!"

And thus God has written upon the flower that sweetens the air, upon the breeze that rocks that flower on its stem, upon the rain-drops that swell the mighty river, upon the dew-drop that refreshes the smallest sprig of moss that rears its head in the desert, upon the ocean that tosses its spray in useful industry, not in idle sport, upon every pencilled shell that sleeps in the caverns of the deep, as well as upon the mighty sun which warms and cheers the millions of creatures that live in his light-upon all has He written. "None of us liveth to himself!"

And if you would read this lesson in characters yet more distinct and striking, you will go to the garden of Gethsemane and hear the Redeemer in prayer,

while the angel of God strengthens Him. You will read it on Calvary. The Cross of Christ is the highest embodiment of that noble truth; for the Son of Man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister; and to give his life a ransom for many.

A. W.

THE CURSE UPON THE LAND.

66

BETWEEN the present and former state of the country, as well as of the cities of Judea, there is a great and melancholy difference. "The prophetic malediction," says Dr. Keith, was addressed to the mountains and the hills, to the rivers and the valleys, and the beauty of them all has been blighted. The plain of Esdraelon, naturally most fertile, bounded by Hermon, Carmel and Tabor, and so extensive as to cover about 300 square miles, is a solitude almost entirely deserted.

"From the centre of the neighbouring elevations (around Jerusalem), is seen a wild, rugged and mountainous desert; no herds depasturing on the summits, no forest clothing the acclivities, no waters flowing through the valleys, but one rude scene of savage, melancholy waste, in the midst of which the ancient glory of Judea bows her head in widowed desolation : The land mourns, and has become a desolate wilderness. "The earth," says Volney, the infidel, utterly unconscious of the nature of his testimony, "produces briers and wormwood." "The whole district of Tiberias," says Burckhardt, "is covered with a thorny shrub." "If we compare," says Rabbi Joseph Schwarz, "the present with the former flourishing condition of this holy land, it would appear to us, as though all the powers of nature join unanimously in the complaint of Zion, 'How have we been destroyed ?'

Of a large portion of the former natural productions, we find no more any trace, and those yet remaining are in a miserable condition." To this testimony of a Jew to the present desolation of his country, it is but proper to add what follows, in the truth of which we also concur. "Still we cannot avoid recognising, judging from these feeble remains, the ancient and blessed Palestine, as much as the magnificent ruins of a destroyed fort give us proof of its former strength." Yes, there are spots, over which even yet linger a gleam of its former loveliness, as if all that had befallen it had been unable—

"Wholly to do away, I ween,

The marks of that which once hath been."

These, however, are the exception. Silence, sadness, sterility and desolateness are the rule.

"As I travelled," says Mr. Lowthian, a plain and homely, but shrewd English farmer, "from Jaffa to Jerusalem, over some as fine soil as could be found anywhere, I did not see so much as one single blade of grass, though I looked for it as one would search for a diamond. This seemed to me strange, for I knew that in England grass will grow where nothing else will; but here, neither among the fine stubble fields, nor even along the roadside, where no plough comes, was to be found so much as what might, with strict propriety, be called a blade of grass. Upon my arrival in Jerusalem, and perceiving that all the milk that was brought into the city in one day, for about twentyfour thousand inhabitants, did not exceed ten or twelve quarts, and that even that small quantity was only goat's milk, well-watered, and when I could find no honey but a small piece, I could not but exclaim to myself, How completely have God's judgments been executed on this devoted land!”

While the sins of the Jews have been the procuring

cause of "these long desolations," inquiries have been occasionally started as to their natural or instrumental cause. Dr. Robinson suggests the probability of a change of climate. Mr. Lowthian, and I see that Dr. Kitto, a great authority in such matters, seems to adopt his views, contends that it is to be found in a withholding of the LATTER RAIN.

There is at present but one season of rain in Palestine, commencing in November, and ending in March, or early in April. The common opinion hitherto has been that this period included both the early and the latter rain; the early falling in November, and following month or months, and the latter in March. Mr. Lowthian contends that this was the period, not of both rains, but of the early rain only; that the latter rain fell at a different and a distinct period, and that this period was some time during the six months of

summer.

"The former rain," he says, "which I call the winter rain, is so uncertain, that it sometimes does not come before January, in consequence of which, water becomes so scarce and dear, that the inhabitants are put to great inconvenience and loss; and as neither planting nor sowing can be proceeded with until the rain makes the earth soft, the harvest is thrown back; for it is mostly in March or April that the crop is gathered in. After that, the latter rain used to come, by which it is more than probable a second crop was produced; but this latter rain is now entirely withheld, and none is ever expected to fall during summer. On this account, the best part of the year is lost, and no vegetable can grow or keep alive, but those plants whose roots penetrate deep into the earth. It is well known to farmers, that if grass seed was carried from England and sown in that land, the very first summer would kill the whole of it. To such a well-known fact as this I appeal, as a corroboration of my view respecting the withholding of the latter rain. God has, as it