it passes. When mankind were created, the paradise around them was but the outcome of the paradise within, for these harmonized. Coeval with the spiritual and moral fall was the decadence of physical nature, which still continues to accord with the rise and fall of principles. To convey new ideas to another, we must clothe them in language which he can understand; the teacher will not use obscure terms. Truths need accommodating, humbling to our ideas ere we can apprehend them, and they take form in the mind according to the knowledges dwelling there. The scientist draws the proofs of the truth of Revelation from the world of science, the artist from that of art, the surgeon from that of medicine, the farmer from that of agriculture. Is it not marvellous that Revelation should be so given as to meet every man-from the highest to the lowest, from the wise to the simple, from the cultivated to the savage-on his own level? As interior and exterior are thus joined together in man; and, as language is related to what is exterior, inasmuch as it clothes ideas, it is possible to construct a parable or history conveying, in the garb of natural language, spiritual instruction. This is done in some degree in so-called "fairy tales." The more intelligent the writer of such parable, the more instructive will be the lesson sought to be conveyed, for materials accrue on both sides. And, if the desire to teach certain important spiritual truths be paramount, the external form or clothing of these will be handled and changed to suit them, for it is obviously of more importance that things relating to spiritual life should be clearly apprehended than those relating to natural science. If it be the endeavour of imperfect human thought to express itself in adequate language, is not this done in a pre-eminent degree by Him who alone is perfect? But how can that which is Divine adapt itself to human ideas, the Infinite reach the finite? We only understand what comes within the range of our thought; to speak to a savage of the love and wisdom of Jesus would convey to him but a feeble idea of what these are. So, too, with the lower strata of population in this country; their first conception of love must be license, of wisdom, cunning. To reach them, spiritual truths must-like Him from whom they proceed-be reft of their form and comeliness, and have no beauty that they should be desired; they must be clothed with the tattered and scanty robe of humanity proper to those whom they would reach, and-like the Apostle-must be all things to all men, that they may win souls. So, what is apprehended by the Christian as a luminous system of loving, harmonious, intelligent freedom, is perverted by the wrong-doer into discordant, dark, hateful slavery. The cloud of iniquity separates man from his Maker, and distorts every object. Seen through this, the Divine character appears harsh, exacting, unyielding. It is said that when our English Bible is translated into some of the lower forms of language, and these again re-translated, what results is "very poor Christianity indeed, but the best they will hold." So the truths of Revelation, translated into our maxims of spiritual and moral life, and these again re translated, would be found to be "very poor Christianity indeed" Yet we say, "this is religion," when it is only our conception of religion. Spiritual Selection, then, is an organized three-sided system. First, there is the Divine solar ray of Life; second, there is its reception and refraction by man; third, there is its ultimation in the world of Nature. Everything in this world enfolds human and spiritual relationships; for end and cause are together in the effect. They who are willing to see through the veil or covering of Nature the inner spiritual glories, may indeed look from Nature up to Nature's God, and rise step by step on the ladder that reaches from earth to heaven. To them how encouraging are the Divine words, "Behold, I have set before thee an open door." J. S. B. LOWLINESS. O JESUS, Saviour, Lord of all The worlds that mortals know, O Thou, the Meek! bid pride depart, O Thou, the Lowly! self-esteem Help me to love the use 'twas meant As branches bend with weight of fruit, Thus bow me down to Thee, the Root As valleys parched with sultry night Thus let me taste that perfect rest, To nought save meekness known, W. ON THE CARES OF THE WORLD. V. "A Father of the fatherless, and a Judge of the widows, is God in His holy habitation."-PSA. lxviii. 5. "Separated, not divided, they are one In the bright sphere of love, though envious Fate Bind her with sorrows to earth's dusty realm, And strive in vain to part them. Heav'n grant us grace To perfect patience. 'Tis the will of God." -ANON. We concluded a former paper1 with pleasant thoughts concerning the probable functions of tutelary spirits, and our communion with them, especially when asleep in the night. There was, to our own mind at least, something so simple, so soothing, so peaceful, and so pure in that part of our lucubrations, that the echo of it still lingered in the ear of meditation day after day, and had not quite died out when a tornado swept over us. The frightful railway accident at Shipton occurred and filled my mind with horrors. A friend was in it, and received so fearful a concussion of the brain, that it was a long time before he could be made to comprehend that six fellow-passengers in the same carriage were "all dead corpses." The slain and the wounded were counted by scores," and "mourning, lamentation, and woe" was written, as though by a destroying angel, upon the door-posts of the homes of the numerous dead. What was I now to think of tutelary angels? I had been perplexed before with the physical mysteries of magnetism and electricity; but here was a 1 P. 173. 2 Thirty-four were killed outright. question even more difficult to deal with, because the facts seem all opposed to any benignant theory which faith could set up. Is there then no loving Providence, or does it only watch over us when sound asleep in safe houses, and does it fail us in the rush of storms and the smash of trains? In my former difficulty I referred the matter to one far more learned in material science; but metaphysics have been my delight from my youth up, and I did not know where to turn for a counsellor more specially instructed. In the midst of this great perturbation I remembered the general train of reasoning contained in those admirable philosophic novels, which I read when a boy, entitled "Tremaine" and "De Vere." The present generation knows nothing of them, and the past, which is dying out, has forgotten them. The fault of the writer-Ward, I think is that his argument is too long drawn out, and that no wit can condense it, in his own method, so as to make it live in the mind of the general public. Perhaps, indeed, the very nature of the subject is itself the hindrance to easy popularity; for it must be confessed that profound truths require profound reasoning, and that a smart epigrammatic page or two cannot in every case effectually "Vindicate the ways of God to man." Thus ruminating, and half disposed to try to make even a sad catastrophe the text of a really popular argument in favour of a Divine Providence in everything, I was for the present not unwillingly recalled to a more pleasant theme, by receiving a letter in which a lady thanked me for my paper containing the Dissertation on Sleep. I knew at once what that meant. To one so well versed in a deep systematic theology, and so skilled in general learning, I knew also that I could have said nothing very new; but her longloved husband was my very dear friend; she is a widow, and where everlasting love survives, that one word "widow" is a link of sympathy more tender and yet more strong than all the logic of all the schools. It needed no words to tell me that that part of my argument which suggested a rational and divine basis for our belief in the presence and power of guardian angels was the real cause of her thanks, and I rejoiced to believe that without any conscious effort to move the sensibilities of those who never cease, and never will cease on earth, to mourn the loved and lost, my thoughts had drifted naturally into the great current of tender humanities, and once more put the stamp of reality upon the line "One touch of Nature makes the whole world kin." 66 It is too true that the stinging satire with which so many literary men whip the sorrows of smiling widows who forget their tears in a month, and look so killingly sweetly" at "the coming man" out of a halo of weeds made in the very height of fashion, is often well deserved; but there is somewhat too much of it. The sacred and enduring sorrow which befits true widowhood is not to be profaned 66 by the sneers of hack writers, nor are the profoundest cares of the heart to be made light of, because a few thoughtless women, whose hearts are vanity, and who worship the world, affect to dress them in masquerade. The very term widow" implies desolation and a void, nor is there any single expression which sets before us so vivid a picture of sadness, and a dreary life. Often, indeed, it is tempered by natural elasticity, and brightened by religious hope; but where the marriage was a union of minds, which grew more intimate with every joy, and more tender with every sorrow, a sense of loneliness drags on to the end of time, and is none the less because it does not enfeeble the conscientious activities of duty. Even men,-who are thought to be, and perhaps generally are,-less susceptible of enduring emotion than women, are not always above, or rather below, the power of that dreary sensibility which perpetuates bereavement, and underlies the more superficial enjoyments of their visible life. One such comforted by the love of his children and surrounded with every moderate blessing-said to an old and affectionate friend: "But I am alone, Jane!" It was the history of years, and the chronicle still goes on; but what words can equal those of a lady who wrote me lately describing the last moments of her husband, and the first of her great sorrow,sat quietly by his side, and was not aware, until just as he was breathing his last, that his sleep was the sleep of death. What a moment that was when I kissed the still face and spoke to dumb lips! The veil seemed to be rent, and I, as well as my beloved, entered a new world." Could anything be more pathetic? No stage effect, draped in the sentimental mourning of fine words, but a real picture, and the legend is : "I "Love in her own loneliness looking on her dead." Sympathetic imagination sets them bodily before us,—the man and his wife, and we involuntarily say, "God help her!" Thousands paint this picture every year, but the Royal Academy of the King of Terrors has no public exhibition. The widow meditates unseen, and an anguish too sharp for tears struggles against the conviction that he is gone; but at length it comes, and she consents that he who suffered so much should enter into joy before her. She is calm now, and "his body is buried in peace." Tens of thousands less gifted with expression feel the same dread revelation, and resign their dearest joy to Him who gave it and will give it them again. Indeed, if we except those barbarous conjunctions-high or lowly-which profane the name of marriage, something of this feeling is universal among women, and a peculiar care claims the weary homage of millions. The poor cottar looks upon an empty chair, and wonders how the children are to be fed now that the breadwinner is gone; but her very care for them balances immoderate grief for the dead, and she is mercifully roused to give her active mind to the necessities of living. This is the hard privilege of poverty. The wealthy may seek relief in costly distractions, or in distant climes; or, still lingering where love made home happy, they may dedicate a |