if he finds his companion obliged to go to bed with a headache, let him look for a wife somewhere else, unless he is fond of paying doctor's bills."

A WOMAN'S TRUE LIFE.

To most women how rarely occurs the opportunity of accomplishing great things, and making great conquests, as the on-looking world estimates greatness! But in every relation of life, and in almost every day's and hour's experience, there are laid in her pathway little crosses to take up and bear, little lessons to learn of patience and forbearance, little sacrifices which may seem as nothing to the looker-on, but which, from peculiarity of temperament, may in reality be costly ones; little victories over nameless developments of selfishness,-which perhaps only God and conscience pronounced selfishness; the culture of

many a little hope, and feeling, and principle; the suppression of many desires, repinings, or exactions, which make the feeble woman sometimes greater and stronger in the eyes of Him who looks into the soul's innermost recesses, than the mighty man who takes a city.

To the most of women, the great warfare of this probationary life must be a warfare known best by its results-the enemies they would vanquish meet them in the little hidden nooks of every-day life, and the victories they gain in the warfare are recorded not on the scroll of earthly fame, but by watching angels in God's book on high.

Then how greatly important is each day's result in this discipline of domestic life, if here it is we are to achieve holy victories, and then to receive the plaudit, "Well done!" or at the last to find inscribed upon our course, "Defeat, failure, irretrievable loss."

"OUT of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh," of whatever that heart may happen to be full. Rogers relates, in his " Table-Talk," that "Fox often talked for half an hour after taking up the candle to go to bed." This circumstance reminded me of an anecdote of Whitefield, the best and most characteristic, as it struck me, that I have ever met with, though it has never, I believe, found its way into print. Some twenty-five years ago, I

met with Mrs. W, of Bangor, then more than fourscore, the daughter of the Rev. Mr. Parsons, the first pastor of the First Presbyterian Church in Newburyport, U.S. That venerable church was a vine of Whitefield's own planting; it had separated from the old Arminian society under the powerful effects of his preaching; its first pastor (Mr. Parsons) was selected by him. Under its pulpit all that was mortal of him still reposes, and

on the right of it stands the beautiful monument erected to him by the grateful afection of Mr. William Bartlett.

I

I was not without hopes, in this interview with the daughter of his old friend, of getting some gleanings, even from a field so thoroughly reaped and raked as that of the reminiscences of Whitefield. asked her if she could recollect any noteworthy word or deed of the good man which had not been published. "No, sir, they have all been told and printed, over and over." The conversation afterwards turned on his last hours and death, which took place at her father's house, on the 30th of September, 1770; when she related, while unconscious apparently of any special interest attaching to it, the following incident. I prefix a few earlier circumstances from Coffin's "History of Newbury," to complete the

narrative.

Whitefield had preached every day in Boston, from the 17th to the 20th. On the 21st he went to Portsmouth, where he preached daily from the 23rd to the 29th. On Saturday, the 29th, he preached nearly two hours at Exeter, in the open air. In the afternoon he rode to Newburyport, where he had engaged to preach the next morning. My strong impression is that Mrs. W. told me he preached in her father's church on Saturday evening. If my recollection is right in this respect, this was one sermon in addition to those mentioned in his printed memoirs.

While he was at supper, many people crowded about the door of

the house, and even pressed into and filled the hall, anxious to hear a word of direction and comfort from that voice which had so profoundly stirred their souls with the sense of sin and the need of Christ. Whitefield, who was in a very exhausted and suffering state, said to one of the ministers with him, "Brother, you must speak to these dear people; I cannot say a word more." He then took the candle which was offered him, and began a hasty retreat toward his bed-room. When he had got about half-way up the hall stairs, the thought of thus rushing away from that anxious crowd was too much for him, and he turned partly around to say a few words (they were to be his last) of the soul and the Saviour; and those words flowed on till the candle which he held in his hand burned away, and went out in its socket. He then went to bed.

Early the next morning he was seized with one of his terrible asthmatic paroxysms, rushed to the window and threw it up to get a breath of fresh air, and in a short time (about six o'clock) expired.. Was not this "finishing his course with joy, and the ministry which he had received of the Lord Jesus, to testify the Gospel of the grace of God?" "Blessed is that servant whom his Lord, when he cometh, shall find so doing. Whether he cometh at even, or at midnight, or at cock-crowing, or in the morning, blessed is that servant." M.

HENGSTENBERG. ONE would not think, to see Hengstenberg, that he bore any likeness

to Popes or to Torquemadas,-a resemblance his enemies charge upon him. He is of a rather small, slight form, not decidedly of under size, but thin, and delicately moulded. So far from a dogmatic and belligerent air, he has the aspect of a man of refined, gentle feelings, and of a calm, candid judgment. He does not look soured nor frowning. There is about the eyes and the mouth the expression as of a man grieved and inwardly sorrowful, ready to weep rather than smile. His appearance is that of a man much younger than his years and his labours would make him. He looks as though he was nearing, but had not yet reached, the manly climacteric of the seven times seven years. His head is not large, nor specially striking. His hair is yet a soft brown, and his cheeks have a ruddy bloom. His lips stand out from the teeth, so that the mouth looks full and slightly bulging. He wears spectacles, and the eyes have an introverted look; he seems to be looking at things without seeing them. The right eye appears to be injured, which may occasion one-sided and sinister views.

In the lecture-room his habits are quite singular. He is closely confined to his notes, bringing his eyes close down to the soiled yellow "Heft," which was written on both sides of the page, with a margin of rather more than half the width of the page, left, as is frequent, for additional notes and references. He directed not so much as a glance to the students, but raised his eyes at regular intervals, and canting

his head toward the left, gazed intently at the cobwebs on the topmost panes of a window. His voice is thin and soft, lacking in masculine tone, and very badly modulated. There is such a tendency to the high key, with the measured recurrence of the circumflex and rising inflection, that the effect was hardly distinguishable from whining.

The gestures were quite extraordinary. His cathedra is an armchair, with legs of a height rendering a foot-stool indispensable; and there was a broad-leafed desk before him, on which his papers were laid. While he is in full blast of lecturing, with his attention engrossed in his subject, and his head almost touching his papers, he has a habit of rising from his seat, slipping down and working up in an unaccountable way, twisting around by a half jerk and a half lifting of the body at the same time, by a spring with the hands on the arms of the chair, till he is fairly on his feet, and bending over the desk; and then he suddenly drops back upon the seat. Sometimes his head was thus thrown completely over the front side of the desk. At first we were apprehensive some awful pain was griping him. But he seemed utterly unconscious and self-forgetful, and the students did not appear sensible of any strange contortions.

When he became excited, there was, perhaps, a more violent twisting of the body, and a more energetic spring forward. But the same thing was repeated, and in the same manner, when he was only naming chapter and verse of Scripture to which he had occasion to refer. In

thirty minutes the lecturer went through this gymnastic performance of getting on to his feet and back to his seat thirty-two times, according to the count of a curious and amazed observer. There could be no question about his self-abstraction.

Hengstenberg has the shyness of a recluse, though he mingles more than his brethren in the courtly circles. He is attentive and winning in his relations with his students, and attaches them strongly to him.

JOHN BUNYAN.

By nature and grace, John Bunyan was fitted to be a theologian, if extraordinary genius, a profoundly emotional nature, large and deep experience, and eminent piety, are important requisites. He was not disciplined in the schools, and of course lacked one great qualification for a theological writer; but he was trained under influences calculated, through Divine grace, to develope his powers, and secure him a great amount of mental culture. And his intellect and heart

kept pace together, and walked hand in hand through the realm of revelation. It was from his moral and emotional nature that his intellect received its most powerful impulse and its severest discipline, while his native good sense and quick intellectual insight served to keep in check any tendency of his feelings toward fanaticism. By the providence and Spirit of God he was brought into circumstances which intensely roused his soul,

and trained its powers. We cannot doubt that he was the subject of a large measure of Divine influ

ence.

He is often spoken of as illiterate. He was so in his youth, and if we look only at his acquaintance with letters, he was so always. But if ever there was a student, Bunyan was one, not of scholastic lore, but of the most profound truths which can engage even an angel's soul. Upon these Divine truths-" the wisdom of God"-his attention was fixed for a series of years with an almost fearful intensity of interest, of which few readers of the Bible have any conception. He formed the acquaintance of but few authors. Especially important in this connexion was his familiarity with one work of a kindred spirit, Luther's "Commentary on the Galatians," and probably also Luther's "TableTalk," which had already appeared in English. "I must," is his language, "let fall before all men, I do prefer this book of Martin Luther upon the Galatians (except the Holy Bible) above all the books that ever I have seen, as most fit for a wounded conscience."

We think we can also see traces in Bunyan's writings of his acquaintance with the pithy and profound observations, especially upon the law and the Gospel, which occur in Luther's "Table-Talk." The great German has said, "I did not learn my divinity at once, but was constrained by my temptations to search deeper and deeper; for no man without trials and temptations can attain a true understanding of the Holy Scriptures." And

in the two works just named, Bunyan had some of the results of the profound experience, in connexion with true scholarship, of a great soul which had struggled out of darkness into the knowledge of Christ.

Bunyan's somewhat familiar acquaintance with Dr. Owen, the Oxford Chancellor, the "mighty

armour-bearer," as he calls him, may have had its influence upon his theological views, although the great divine was not ashamed to be a hearer of the Baptist, as we learn from his reply to Charles II., who rallied him upon his frequenting the tinker's conventicle: "I would give up all my learning if I could preach like that tinker."

She

ELIZABETH HANNAH RAINE, the beloved child whose life and last hours are here sketched, was the eldest daughter of F. Raine, Esq., of Little Hutton, Yorkshire. was born in March, 1851, and died in September, 1857. In her brief life there was but little time allowed to acquire religious knowledge, and exemplify its influence upon her character. In infancy her interest in listening to religious hymns and stories was remarkable, and as she advanced in age her thirst for the knowledge imparted by these exercises became insatiable. Play to her had no attractions when put in competition with her books; and if she could have prevailed upon any one, even by persuasion and tears, to sit down and read to her, she would never have complained of weariness, but, if possible, would have retained them the whole day; and such was her attention to the subject that she appeared literally to devour it. An idea may be formed of her intense interest in these subjects from the fact that before she was three years old, or before she could read, she was able to repeat thirty-two hymns, besides many religious stories; and so strongly had her taste for these exercises become developed, that her parents feared that her health and mental powers might suffer from her ardent interest in them, but they found it difficult to restrain her.

It became evident that she profited by these instructions. Her mind expanded, her heart opened under the influence of sacred truth, and impressions were made of a very favourable character. The cardinal truths of religion, such as the depravity of her nature, her guilt, man's redemption by Christ's death, and her forgiveness through his blood, were well understood and appreciated by her. This was evident from a conversation she had with her mamma the last Sabbath she was at home. They had been reading together an account of the repentance and conversion of a wicked captain by means of his cabin-boy, when she talked much about the cruelty and wickedness of the captain, and the kindness and prayerfulness of the little boy; when her mamma said to her, Lillie, my dear, I hope you do not forget to pray for yourself; you know children have very wicked hearts, and you ought to pray for a new heart." She replied, with great thoughtfulness, "Mamma, I do pray, I often pray; " and then, after a moment's pause, with great seriousness, she said, "But I do not know how it is, mamma; after I have done, I feel such an inclination to sin!" remarkable expression for one so young shows that the Holy Spirit was her Teacher, and that she knew, and felt, and lamented that she was a sinner. Her experience

This