May I take my reader with me into the world of imagination, whither I wandered? May I show him, as in a map, its continents, oceans, and varied climes? May I trace for him some of the streams of Thought, as they now glanced brightly in the sunshine, or silently disappeared in the shade-as they leaped down impetuously in the cataract, or lingered in admiration by some tranquil scene? The voice of many waters brought the one burden, "What will they say of us? What will they say of us?"

I know well that, for the Christian, it is a very small thing to be judged of man's judgment. It is not thence he derives his motives, principles, or aims. His impulse is the constraining love of Christ. His teacher is the Spirit. His end is the glory of God. But we might be saved full often from inconsistency, by considering in what light our conduct appears to others, and how it is influencing them, as it inevitably must, either for evil or for good-what is the part we are acting in life, and when it is done, "What will men say of us?"

My meditations were, at first, of a very general character. I looked down on life, as from an eminence. I glanced at the varied positions we all fill as sons, brothers, husbands, fathers; or, as daughters, sisters, wives, mothers. And I thought, "When we are gone, and our place knoweth us no more, what verdict will our friends and neighbours pronounce upon us? How will they think we discharged the duties to which we were called? What estimate

will they make of us and our career? What will they say of us?"

But the field was too wide in its range for effective scrutiny, and I therefore limited myself to one little corner of it. Selecting the highest calling to which a child of dust can be summoned-that office which engages all my own affection, the Christian ministry -I determined to confine myself to it. Here, I knew, I should find enough for interesting investigation.

None are more talked about than the Ministers of the Word. We are as a city set on an hill that cannot be hid. We are before our people continually. Every word, every act, almost every look, is noted. Now, is it not well to consider, in what aspect do we present ourselves to them? Is the Gospel honoured or dishonoured by our walk and conversation? What effect has our presence upon men? What impression do we leave when we go away? How do our families appear in the sight of the parish? Are they drawbacks on our usefulness, or helpers of our joy?

"The detail of family religion," writes Bridges* "is also a component part of our Ministry; inculcating principles of parental restraint and dutiful subjection—of constant instruction and superintendence of precept illustrated by example-and of the daily exercise of Christian self-denial, holiness, cheerfulness, and love. Now, (as men are influenced much more by what they see, than by what they hear) if the parsonage does not show the pattern as well as the doctrine, exhortations from thence will only excite the ridicule of the ungodly, and confirm them in their habits of sin. How

* "The Christian Ministry; with an Inquiry into the Causes of its Inefficiency." Fifth Edition, Chapter ix. London: 1839.

different must be our parochial influence, where the several members of our families appear as servants of God, or the children of this world! Often has a worldly stamp upon the domestic economy utterly paralyzed the power of a faithful Ministration, even with the seal of personal consistency. It is therefore of great moment to repress all expensiveness of habits, studied attention to ornament, and every mark of the course of this world's' pleasure or vanity—not only or chiefly upon the ground of pecuniary inconvenience, but from their injurious impressions upon our people.”

Many eyes are directed to us-anxious ones from the people of Christ, inquisitive ones from the people of this world—and their eyes enter within the penetralia of our homes. What thoughts are awakened by such observations? Men will talk of us and ours. Will they glorify God in us or not? "What will they say of us?"

We have ministered in the courts of the Lord's

house, and now the service is over. The pealing organ is hushed. The footfalls of the last lingering worshipper, rendered slow by seriousness, sorrow, or age, have died into silence. There is a solitude, where there had been a multitude. The heavy gates at last are closed by the sexton's hand. And now for the minister's account. We have preached-oh! what have we preached, how have we preached. Were we as men in earnest? Did our message, in all its dread solemnity, in all its unspeakable importance, fill our hearts? Was our greeting to our people "Morituri vos salutant," so that we spake to them as dying men to dying men? Did we endeavour to save souls, "pulling them out of the fire”—showing sinners that we saw their danger, and sought only to deliver them? Was Christ the Alpha and Omega of our

message? Did we delight to describe the breadth, and length, and depth, and height of His love? What we said will not be unnoticed. When in their homes, or in their country walk, men speak of the discourse to which they have listened; will they confess that we have preached, not ourselves, but Christ Jesus the Lord? Will they credit us for sincerity, whatever be our personal deficiencies? Will they admit that we have been rightly dividing the Word of truth? Will they feel that our doctrines are fashioning our lives, and our lives practically illustrating our doctrines? "What will they say of us?"

We have been visiting among our people. Perhaps we have been received into the mansions of the opulent, or by that striking contrast, which so often comes before the clergyman-we have climbed up into the garrets of the poor. We have sate at the marriage-board, or we have fixedly gazed on the marble features of the Dead. In one house, we have found an infant just brought into the world. In another, we have witnessed the parting of a spirit that has winged its way into Eternity. Among all we have moved in our office of ministration, rejoicing with them that rejoiced, and weeping with them that wept. Many words have proceeded out of our lips. Many counsels have been given. Many wishes have been breathed. Many prayers have been offered. But the visits are severally over; and our people are reviewing them now. They dwell upon many things that have fallen from us. They tell of comfort received, or of disappointment experienced. They speak of the Christian ministry, and of its blessing to poor

mortal man. They tell of good ministers, and of bad ministers; and as they proceed to talk of their present experiences, "What will they say of us?"

We have dined in our parish. Among the guests were some who were strangers to us. They have come to our town, or rural district, for a few days; and in a few days will go away. But Memory will linger with them, when in their own homes. They will, without reserve, speak of the clergyman they met in such a place, and the estimate they formed of him, personally and officially. And when they come thus to declare their impressions, and to give the testimony of unprejudiced strangers to others, who themselves are to us strangers, "What will they say of us?"

We have left home, and have travelled; and this is the age of travel. We have stepped on the jetty from the steam-boat, or on the platform from the railway carriage. It is not long ere those, who are continuing their journey, will freely converse about God's messenger, with whom they have associated. They will discuss the matter, and the manner, of our speech. They will go over the items to which we chiefly recurred. They will speak of our demeanour and behaviour, our words and our ways. What savour of godliness, or of worldliness, shall we have left behind? Will our fellow-travellers be benefited by us? With our departure they can speak with unrestrained freedom; and, as they do, can they bring a good report or an evil. "What will they say of

us?"

We have exchanged our field of labour. No longer