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Jan. 16. An adoring state of mind, which some, in old times, supposed to be the highest love. It is, certainly, a sweet state of soul,— full of gratitude, love, contentment, humility, and decided happiness,- a sort of quit-rent one pays to the Author of all our blessings. It is the duty we pay to Heaven on our goods. He who avoids the duty is a smuggler, and risks all his merchandise. There are many smugglers now-a-days, and many forfeitures. costs some all they possess; and some lose their health, and others their lives, by running their goods through Immanuel's land without paying the duties. Sinners do not or will not understand, and wonder at the severity of God's government towards them. Professors are often in trouble for their neglect. God will have his revenues, or resume his property. "She did not know that I gave her corn, and wine, and oil, and multiplied her silver and gold, which they prepared for Baal."- Hosea 2: 8. Ah! Baal received the revenues that belonged to God, just as the world and Satan receive them now! What does the Lord resolve upon? Therefore will I return and take away my CORN in the time thereof, and my WINE in the season thereof, and will recover my wOOL and my FLAX given to cover her nakedness.”. Hosea 2: 9. Remarkable language! Those who think God cares little for this world, because of its insignificance, are greatly mistaken. Sooner or later they will find this out, to their sorrow. Think of this, O my soul, and be much in doxologies! Amen. In order to this, let me hold fast to CONTENTMENT; it is a buoyant, light-hearted, yet profound emotion - more of a habit of mind than an emotion, perhaps; but it is as full of sweet sensibility to one's happy condition, as of rest and quietness of mind. A contented mind may be likened to a stanch ship, which, though tossed among the waves, is

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buoyant and unhurt. Discontent is like a leak — it sinks the ship, the poor heart, till all the waves go over it, and it sinks down, down into the abyss of misery. It is economy to pump out discontent as speedily as possible, but better economy never to let it in.

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Ahab called Elijah "a troubler of Israel," falsely; but discontent is a real soul-troubler. It brings troubles, frequently, "not singly, but in battalions." It grieves the Holy Spirit. It arrests the kind designs of Providence. It tempts the soul to plan for itself,- to say, I know better than Providence seems to know what is best for me. content would not allow the soul of one to hearken to that piece of good advice,- "The man who thinks he can manage his affairs himself better than Providence seems to be managing them has as much lost his wits as his faith; he might as well take upon himself to govern the world!"but no; he would carve for himself, and cut his fingers! — and so he entered "Disappointment's school, amidst the wreck of Is, and the wreck of WAS, things incomplete, and purposes betrayed; with sad fears, swayed by sorrow and plenitude of ill." And what is this, O my soul, but the history of thousands in epitome?

Discontent vitiates PRAYER. Its requests are often granted in anger, and no good comes of them. "Give me children, or I die," cried discontented Rachel. Her request was granted, but it cost her life. "O that Ishmael might live before thee!" prayed Abraham. The boy lived, grew to be a man; but Abraham had little comfort from Ishmael. He became a man of strife. His hand was against every man, and every man's hand was against him.

There was weeping in the tents of Israel, and murmuring. They were discontented with the manna, the heavenly manna, and longed for flesh, and looked back towards

Eg pt. Quails came in plenty, and with them the plague; while the flesh was but between their teeth, the plague was upon their bodies; -alas! and that encampment was called "the place of graves," for there were many buried there. Numbers 10.

He who compared a contented heart to a watch hit upon a good simile; for, whether one runs, or walks, or rides, or is jostled about ever so much, the main-spring keeps its place, and every wheel, and the motion remains regular and perfect. I have often realized this. So did St. Paul: "I have learned in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content." A profitable education that! To have this the habitual state of one's mind is worth a world of wealth, for real happiness. To be pleased when everything goes as one would have it, anybody may attain unto that. But, when things are contrary, to be content is grace, is holiness. The former is a fortuitous state of mind; the latter is permanent, and independent of events. The one is accidental, or a happen-by-chance state, as a face naturally pale and unhealthy may redden into blushes and healthy color; but the habitually contented are made constitutionally so, so to speak, by divine grace, like a fair face and healthy, naturally. To be fair and ruddy is the habit of the face; to be contented and happy, the habit of the mind. Aristotle, in his Rhetoric, makes a similar distinction, somewhat, where he speaks of color from passion and color from complexion ; an idea I have once seen enlarged upon ingeniously by another old author.

Friday morning, 17th. A boisterous time last night, and a coughing congregation, which one calls "The English Christmas Psalmody." Christmas! it lasts nearly all the year in England! Such coughing, in America, would lead to the suspicion that the whole congregation had entered

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into a profound, ay, "a galloping consumption." present it sounds often like a perfect tempest. Many take no pains whatever to suppress it, but with open mouth sound it forth like a trumpet. One cannot be all the time begging silence, or chiding,—so now for it; the pulpit, or the pews, which shall be loudest? at the expense of strength, grace, elocution, and comfort, and the natural in speaking and gesture, with "a hubbub of words" and empty sounds, and, finally, a right-down hard time!

One hardly knows what is best, whether to insist, chide, beg or yield, and be content that a few only should hear, or to rise bravely above it, as last night, at any sacrifice. Mr. Parson, at York, adopts as easy a course as any, and perhaps the best, under the circumstances,- refuses to raise his voice above it, but pauses at short and regular intervals, and allows them time to blow off, and then "start off for the next station," railway fashion,— which might do very well, if the stations are not too close together. It is difficult, in the fervor of extemporaneous speaking, to command one's self so, especially, too, when the sermon must be short, and one is anxious to make a deep and telling impression, such as may be felt in the prayer-meeting afterwards. Besides, one has not always interesting matter at hand, such as with a low voice might lure to silence where people have such a strong propensity to cough. A little piece of good poetry, or some pleasant, touching anecdote, is an excellent sedative, but one has it not at hand always.

However, we had a good prayer-meeting; heard no more of the coughing,- a noise of another kind, a match for a thunder-storm-good old-fashioned Yorkshire Methodism in its glory. Poor sinners crying for mercy, as if they were dropping into hell, and believers telling them there was no reason why they should go there, if they would but lay hold

upon Christ by faith, while others were pleading with God for help as if they saw them half-immersed in its flames. Jude's advice received a stirring illustration,-" Others save with fear, pulling them out of the fire." The saved of the Lord were many.

Saturday morning, 18th. Last night, on the necessity of holiness, a disinclination to sin, a glorious privilegethe safeguard of a holy heart. Madame Guyon tells us that, after she had attained this inward crucifixion to the world, and entire purity, she found upon all the glory a defence, Is. 4: 5; that, when anything selfish or sinful came up before her pure soul, it was instantly rejected, and a curtain, as if by some ever-present but invisible hand, was drawn before it, and her spirit remained unsullied. Paul may have hinted at this: "Unto the pure all things are pure."

Want of inclination to sin, and an abhorrence of it a distinct and unequivocal mark of entire sanctification, distinct from the experience of most justified persons. It is different to abstain from sin, not from want of inclination, but from fear of conscience and other consequences, and worst of all from lack of opportunity. A thief would steal if he had a chance, but he fears detection; another would indulge in strong drink, but he has not the means, or disease forbids him the appetite is strong enough. A third would enjoy a certain dish, but it disagrees with him, and he dreads the penalty, and abstains; but it is a great selfdenial, and costs him uneasiness. A fourth is a profligate, but to indulge would be to risk the loss of an expected legacy, or the hand of a coveted heiress. Ask that man who dived into deep water last summer whether he did not wish to take breath down there. "Yes, but it was inconvenient to do so," would be his reply.