THE PAST AND THE FUTURE.

THE close of an old year, and the dawn of a new one, is a sort of halting period in life,-a time when we are led to turn our thoughts backward on the past, and to let our imagination wander into the future. The retrospect may be valuable, and the anticipa tion of what may yet be ours not injurious, if both are conducted wisely; but the Divine precept, given us in the Psalmist's prayer, is, "So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom."

We naturally look back upon the past: in one sense it is irrecoverable, but the memory of it remains, and may be both a warning and encouragement. We think of the employment of our time, —of the use of the means of doing good placed at our disposal,of our sins and negligences, our weaknesses and our ignorances, our backsliding and rebellion against God's will,-and these things humble us, and lead us, let us hope, to pray for pardon for His sake, who alone can cleanse us from all our secret faults, and warn us to avoid the same errors and omissions in the future. And there is happiness, too, in the past which we delight to recall,-traces of harmless and real enjoyment,-peaceful hours of communion with God,— happy converse with dear friends,-plans of usefulness, and little purposes of good accomplished,-health preserved, and strength renewed, and daily Providences of mercy, which have surrounded our path, and made our days pass pleasantly. May not these be laid up as arguments for future trustfulness to Divine direction, a reason why we should take no anxious thought for the morrow,the uncertain future of our days on earth?

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But, in some respects, it is not good for us to dwell upon the past, but rather wise to follow the example of St. Paul, and to adopt his suggestion of "forgetting those things that are behind." For some are disposed to examine the past with so morbid and gloomy a spirit that it unnerves them for active present exertion. They would re-model their past lives if it were possible, avoiding (if they could go over again the by-gone years) the follies and mistakes by which they have been marred, and making different uses of the opportunities they have enjoyed: but because this is not now possible, giving up the attempt altogether. Or, when the elasticity of youth is past, with its restless desire for activity, its impulsive energy, its unwearied ardour (all of which are moderated as years roll on),--or when the bodily strength is weakened, and the mind loses its powers of long-sustained application;-if we look back, vainly regretting that now we have not similar powers to wield as we had formerly, then do we lose sight of that changed sphere of usefulness

which it may be God's purpose we should fill, and neglect the present means we possess of employing our talents in his service.

Or, perhaps, sorrow may have been our portion; trials that seemed heavier than we could bear may have come upon us. Dearly-loved objects, cherished tenderly in our hearts may have been removed; hopes, good and harmless, long fostered may have been blighted;-worldly misfortunes, resulting in no want of care, or no imprudence or extravagance of our own, may have been our lot;—or in our own bodies pain and weakness may have left their sad impress:-but if thus God has tried us, it was not intended that we should for ever afterwards walk in heaviness ;-let us not double our trials past by revivifying them when they are dead and gone, by giving them a new existence in our thoughts, but rather let us forget these things, and bless God that they belong to the dead past. Nay, even sins which have humbled us, and have caused us bitterness of spirit, and tears of penitence, may be also so put away, lest they should hinder our future progress; for God Himself has said, "Thy sins and thine iniquities will I remember no more ;" and if He can forget as well as forgive the sins of the penitent believer in Christ, why should he go mourning any longer for them?

Rather than thus dwell morbidly on recollections of time gone from us for ever,-of opportunities lost or not improved as they might have been,-of sorrows which have fulfilled their purpose,— let us forget those things that are behind, and stretch forward to those things which are before, even as the runner in the race would not linger to see how far he had gone, and how many impediments he had stumbled over in his way, but would press forward till he reached the goal where the prize awaited him. So let it be our ambition to win "the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus,"-that highest ambition which can be set before us; not despising or neglecting anything by which the present life can be rendered profitable, the acquisition of knowledge, of a good report among our fellow men, of a competency, and of means to distribute for the good of others, but ever setting before our hearts" the recompense of the reward" as our great end and purpose.

This will be the strongest incentive to future exertion. We shall feel, as the poet has sung, that

"Not enjoyment and not sorrow

Is our destined end or way;
But to act that each to-morrow,
Find us farther than to-day.
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant,
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, act in the living Present,
Heart within and God o'erhead !"

And in a new year may we not strengthen the resolution that, in whatever future God allows us in time, it shall be our endeavour "to go on to perfection," trying to run the race set before us, and to overcome the difficulties of the way, that we may eventually be victors in the strife. Labour for Christ-in the Sunday school, or in any other way-devotion to Christ in the heart; battling with all that is unholy there, and trampling it down by the aid of his sanctifying Spirit,—these are purposes worthy of our best energies, and sure of a great reward. Other objects may be lawful in themselves, useful for this life, beneficial to our fellow men; this, while it gives the greatest happiness in the present, takes away from the future its uncertainty, and assures us of a real eternity, wherein the same work may be continued and completed with the increased energies which we shall then possess. Patient perseverance in welldoing, a steady purpose of living for Christ, and a constant habit of fixing our eyes upon the prize of the high calling of God in Himthese make us superior to the changing influences of Time, which we can employ as means whereby to attain the great ends we have in view, even as the same poet we have already quoted, has said

"We have not wings, we cannot soar:

But we have feet to scale and climb
By slow degrees, by more and more,
The cloudy summits of our time.

"Nor deem the irrevocable Past

As wholly wasted, wholly vain,

If rising on its wrecks at last,
To something nobler we attain."

W. S.

INWARD PEACE.

A FEW days ago, while my thoughts were led to dwell more especially upon this subject, two death-bed scenes, which I shall never forget, recurred vividly to my mind. The sufferers were both women of humble station; the one I knew but little of, until the hand of God laid her on the sick-bed, from which she never rose; for, although my duties should have taken me often to her cottage, I used to avoid it, whenever I could frame the slightest excuse for so doing. The poor creature had, at some time during her life, undergone a severe illness, which left her so disfigured as to render

her countenance absolutely repulsive. Perhaps the impression she made on me was all the stronger from the fact of my never having seen her before this calamity occurred. One day, two or three years ago, on reaching her door, I nerved myself to enter, expecting, as usual, to encounter her glaring gaze; instead of her, however, the husband made his appearance, and, in a subdued tone of voice invited me to enter, adding that his poor wife was very ill. I expressed sympathy, and asked if I could in any way assist them : the man said she wanted for nothing, but would I walk up and see her. No choice being left me, I followed him in silence, though not without a certain amount of nervous fear, which was, however, dispelled the moment its object came in view, for illness had softened every feature. The mysterious messenger was at hand, but she knew he brought a message of peace, and her soul seemed tranquilly awaiting its summons. Her husband immediately left us, greatly moved. She appeared, at first, too weak to do more than sign a welcome, so we neither of us spoke for some minutes, and then I, advancing, took her cold hand, and whispered a few unmeaning words, scarcely conscious of what I said. She, too, began to speak, not in answer to me, but as though to give utterance to her thoughts. "Peace, peace, all is peace; not of myself, but Jesus gives it me; what should I do without my blessed Saviour?" He was, indeed, present, and I was dumb before Him. Words died on my lips, and I soon left her in silence, as I came, but no longer in terror. The following day I returned, and found her quite unconscious. The next morning I again attempted to see her, but the spirit had fled, and I wished not to look on the clay.

The other woman I knew very well; she had a pleasant face and cheerful manner, excepting when any trouble came upon her, for then she was always much cast down. About this time last year I returned home, after an absence of several weeks. On visiting her cottage, shortly after my arrival, I was encountered by a young girl, who begged me to go up directly, as her granny was dangerously ill, and had been fretting for me. I instantly obeyed, and found Mrs. in the last stage of a rapid decline. She was fearfully changed, and her usually mild eyes wandered restlessly about. She screamed out on seeing me "They say I'm dying, but that can't be true, for see how strong I am!" and she raised herself in bed for a moment, but fell back again directly. I quietly said, "Whether God calls you now, or years hence, you still must, at some time, leave this world. Are you afraid to die?"

"Afraid! no; why should I be? I've been a reg'lar church-goer, and I've done no bad sins; if I ever get about again, I will alter in

some respects. But I've been as good as any of my neighbours;

no one can say a word agin' me."

Alas! hers was no real peace. I was much distressed for her, and tried to point out the only means of salvation, telling her that our own righteousness is but as filthy rags in the sight of God. She became at first extremely frightened, but a gleam of hope succeeded, as St. Paul's answer to the jailor at Philippi sounded in her ear. I spent a long time with her, and constantly repeated my visit, until an uncontrollable circumstance kept me away for several days; when I next went, she was dead. All I could learn from the little girl was, that her grandmother seemed "more reconciled to die at the last." The Searcher of hearts alone knows if she had found that peace which the world cannot give.

It was never intended we should have such vague notions on some subjects as many suppose. A few days ago, I heard a young boy express much regret on being told the cause of the rainbow. He had always looked upon it with awe, as a miracle, and was disappointed on hearing it explained as the natural result of the division of bright rays of light by the crystal drops of falling rain. In vain his father tried to fix his thoughts on God's covenant with Noah, of which it was intended constantly to remind us; the mystery was gone, and with it all interest. Perhaps this is the case with some among my readers; they like to consider that peace "which passeth all understanding" as a mysterious gift, its cause untraceable. I wish not for one moment to impute less purity to its hallowed nature, while I desire to picture it as a blessed reality. Those who possess this priceless treasure need not my pen to describe it, but others there are, like those of Laodicea, lukewarm Christians; to such among Sunday school teachers I now especially address myself.

It is true that a peculiar mystery does surround the children of God, an indescribable something, felt by all who come much in contact with them, and always distasteful to the children of this world, yet it is no mystery to themselves, but their source of joy. In whatever sphere they move, it is still the same; whatever duties they fulfil, it does not leave them. It is no treasure hid, but a light continually shining forth, which often, by disclosing the surrounding dark stains of sin, causes dismay and hatred; while it ever and anon, with the blessing of God, also directs by its rays some lost straggler back to the beaten path. It adorns, like a halo of glory, the life of each lowly follower of Jesus; not always visible, but always there; sometimes dimmed by pride, vanity, anger, and other sinful feelings, but never wholly obliterated, any more than the sun would be by black clouds passing over its dise; and why? Because