being protected by a little edge and roof. Such was the simple remembrance; but nature had added her pathos, for under the shelter by the writing, a caterpillar had fastened itself, and passed into its death-like state of chrysalis; and having ultimately assumed its final state, it had winged its way from the spot, and had left its corpse-like relics behind. How old and how beautiful is this figure of the Resurrection! Surely it can never appear before our eyes without touching the thoughts."

From his correspondence with intimate Christian friends a single passage may be cited, to indicate the manner in which he viewed personal affliction in their or in his own experience:

"And you, too, dear Jenny-(Mrs. Faraday's sister)—are away in a manner; for though it is not distance which separates you, yet it has pleased God in His dealings to bring weakness of body over you, and so to lessen your power to enjoy those privileges which are granted to us, to keep alive in our hearts the knowledge and love of the Lord Jesus Christ. But we know that these His dealings with His people who are found waiting upon Him, are all mercy, and are needful to rule their rebellious hearts to the obedience of Him, and to see in Him everything which is necessary for our rest. How anxious, to be sure, we are to do something! Often it takes the form of going to His house, or of joining in His worship, or of working in the labour of love in the profession-things that His people, constrained by His love, will be always found observing; but when it pleases God to take from us these privileges, leaving us His Word, which is all-sufficient, how often shall we find, by the workings and thoughts of our hearts, that in these things we were trying to do something on our own account! And so we may be encouraged to hope that He is thus shewing us what is within ourselves, that He may turn us again unto Christ, and to Him alone. Now, my dear Jenny, I hope I have not written anything to make you dull. I have no such thought. I am rather hoping to cheer both you and myself by the thought of Divine goodness and mercy, which make salvation not of any worth or work of ours, or any goodness or strength or fitness that we have, but alone of His sovereign grace and mercy."

A passing reflection in a letter addressed to a titled lady of the highest talent, who proposed to become his scientific disciple, reminds us once more of his youthful estimate of the high moral feelings of men of science, and of the rude shock which unsettled this conviction, when his early friend, Sir H. Davy, yielding to a petulant jealousy, endeavoured, happily in vain, to prevent his election as a Fellow of the Royal Society of London, being the only member who voted against him. Instances of the same description crop up in the intercourse of scientific men with humiliating frequency. Only a few months ago, immediately before the breaking-out of the war, we read that the celebrated Leverrier, the astronomer, who shared with our own Adams the distinction of having discovered the new planet Neptune, had been dismissed from his position at the head of the Observatory of Paris, on account of his jealousy of his subordinates!

"I should be glad to think," (so wrote Faraday in 1844.) "that high mental powers insured something like a high moral sense, but have often been grieved to see the contrary; as also, on the other hand, my spirit has been cheered by observing, in some lowly and uninstructed creature, such a healthful, and honourable, and dignified mind, as made one in love with human nature. When that which is good, mentally and morally, meet in one being, that that being is more fitted to work out and manifest the glory of God in the creation, I fully admit."

The latter remark was probably called forth by some allusion of his lady correspondent to the qualities which met in his own character. His native modesty and generosity must have preserved Faraday from the petty jealousies and envies which he was grieved to witness amongst some of his contemporaries, and from the bitter effects of which even he himself was not altogether exempted; but it can as little be doubted that he owed that true dignity of character which elevated him above the vulgar prejudices and animosities of men of inferior gifts and lower attainments, to the lofty Christian principle which was his crown and glory. Well might Miss Edgeworth, in a letter to the philosopher, express her "admiration for talents and inventive genius directed to the best purposes, free from the petty envy and jealousy which too often cloud the lustre of genius, and poison the happiness of the possessor."

His modesty as a philosopher was only equalled by his Christian humility. His memory was failing, and his working power was wellnigh gone, when, at the age of seventy-two, he thus expressed his unabated affection and gratitude to his friends, and his own sense of unworthiness:

"It is true my memory is much gone, nearly all gone; and the power of recollection is nearly lost as to precision. But then all about me are very kind. My worldly friends remember the times past, and do not want me to give up my post or pay, yet willingly remit the work; and then He who rules over all is kinder than all; and though I sometimes tremble when I have occasion, in doctrine or judgment, to use His Word, being unable to remember it, I dare not venture to put that (his Eldership) from me which He has put upon me; and I call to mind that His throne is a throne of grace, where prayer may be made for help and strength in time of need. And he makes my brethren so kind, that there is only one of the number who teazes me, and that is myself; and I often think pride and the absence of humility has much to do with that." Amongst the honours that poured thick and fast upon him from all quarters, not the least gratifying and considerate were a pension from the civil list, and a residence at Hampton Court bestowed by the Queen and Prince Albert. In the fine summer at Hampton Court (1865) he sat in his window delighting in the clouds and the holiday-people on the green. A friend from London asked him how he was. "Just waiting," he

replied. The same thing he had said in a letter to the Count of Paris, in answer to an invitation to Twickenham in the previous spring:

"I bow before Him who is Lord of all, and hope to be kept waiting patiently for His time and mode of releasing me according to His Divine Word, and the great and precious promises whereby His people are made partakers of the Divine nature."

And so he "waited," with his Christian hopes becoming brighter as his strength declined—his unselfish disposition, his radiant affection, his child-like humility and simplicity, winning the love of all around him— his science laid aside for meditation on the Word which gives light and life to the soul, yet his sympathies with the works of God awakened, now by the lightning flashes, which recalled "his delight in a beautiful storm," and anon by "the sight of a brilliant sunset,"-sometimes speaking his thoughts in the words of Gray's noble Elegy, stanzas of which lingered in his memory when many other things had faded from it. He waited, till the call came on an autumn day in 1867, when, at the age of seventy-five, the profound thinker, the acute investigator, the man whom the united science of Europe and America delighted to honour, the meek, gentle, loving-hearted Christian philosopher "passed away from this life,"-so his niece wrote," quietly and peacefully: he died in his chair, in his study; and we feel we could desire nothing better for him than what has occurred." Nothing better, indeed, than to realize his Christian hopes, and the fulfilment of the Divine promises which had been his solace and joy in the house of his pilgrimage-to realize the "blessedness" of those who die in the Lord." His scientific discoveries will perpetuate his fame in all the future ages; but more than the reputation he gained as a philosopher, and better than the honours conferred upon him by his Sovereign and his country, is the imperishable halo which will ever surround his name as a humble and devoted follower of Christ. The concluding words of his memoir, simple but most significant as they are, might well be inscribed upon the proposed monument to his memory. His standard of duty "was formed entirely on what he held to be the revelation of the will of God in the written Word, and THROUGHOUT ALL HIS LIFE HIS FAITH LED HIM TO ACT UP TO THE VERY LETTER OF IT."

'Not many wise men after the flesh, not many noble,

are called." So few, indeed, that the shallow sciolist in learning and philosophy is not unfrequently emboldened to regard religious faith and practice as the indication of a feeble mind. When the reader meets with infidel taunts of this kind in books or in society, or with timid Christians who look jealously askance upon science and its promoters as if they were akin to unbelief,-let him recall, with devout thankfulness to the Giver of all good gifts to His Church on earth, the clear and venerable 'name of Michael Faraday.

THE NEED OF TRUE CHRISTIANITY IN FRANCE.

THE unparalleled instability of the Government of France, which is receiving another illustration at the present time in the abandonment of the Empire for the Republic, gives particular force to an opinion of one of its most philosophic statesmen and historians, which we shall here reproduce, after a lapse of a number of years since it was expressed. When M. Guizot declared his conviction that nothing but the faith of the Gospel could give stability to the Government and institutions of France, he was a Minister of Louis Philippe. Since that time, the Minister has witnessed the fall of the Orleans dynasty-the rise and fall of the Republic -the rise and fall of the Second Empire-and the restoration of the Republic once more; he is now witnessing the bloodiest war of modern times, originating in the insane ambition of the ex-Emperor, from whose court M. Guizot studiously excluded himself; and we are just informed that this venerable statesman is devoting his declining days to the preparation of a history of France for the rising generation. All that he has seen and learned since the year 1848, must have deepened in his mind the conviction he expressed on another occasion, that because France is a nation without a faith, it is also without an aim. M. Guizot is a Protestant, and it was in his capacity as President of the Society for the Encouragement of Primary Education amongst the Protestants of France, that he made the following wise and seasonable declaration, the spirit of which, we earnestly hope, will pervade his forthcoming history, and permanently influence the youth and manhood of that great and suffering nation, which has been wounded and humbled in its most susceptible part-its vain love of military glory. France has repeatedly experimented upon its boasted liberty, equality, and fraternity, as the basis of its government. What a blessing to itself and Europe, were the nation, under its present terrible affliction, to fall back upon the sagacious counsel of its venerable statesman, and lay the foundation of the Government in faith, hope, and charity!

The speech from which we quote appeared in the Journal des Debats, and was bitterly assailed by the Romish organs:

M. Guizot (said the Debats) discussed that important question, that a return to the Christian religion is necessary for our country, because it is the only way to produce faith, hope, and charity;-these three things absolutely indispensable, whether for the salvation of souls, or for the order and happiness of the State. Evangelical faith alone can give fixed stability to agitated and restless minds, which are now floating on the ocean of human systems, and find nowhere a safe harbour. Christian hope is no less necessary to the men of our time, for they have tried

everything, undertaken everything, and, having met everywhere with bitter deceptions, are sunk into despondency. What must be done to give them strength and activity? Shew them the infinite hopes of eternity, which meet at once the wants of time and eternity. Finally, charity must be restored; it is charity which brings peace in the midst of conflicts provoked by diversity of opinions. It would be in vain to seek for peace in the operation of a brutal despotism, which imposes silence alike on all parties. Our modern societies cannot be long deprived of liberty. Now, by what means can we obtain peace with liberty? By no other means than by sincerely practising Christian charity, because charity respects the convictions and sentiments of every one, and employs no other weapon than that of persuasion. All these observations of M. Guizot bear the stamp of his elevated intelligence and his excellent judgment.

IMPERFECT REPENTANCE.-Dr. Hamilton tells in a graphic manner the story of Colton, as an impressive instance of one who began to return, but paused, and fell into deeper abysses of iniquity. "More than I fifty years ago," he says, "there was a clergyman at Tiverton, popular and clever, but by far too fond of field sports. One day, however, a friend suddenly expired while uttering most impious language. The awe-struck minister abjured dogs and guns, and begging his people's prayers, vowed to live henceforward for his sacred calling. For months his preaching was earnest and impressive, but at the end of that time he resumed the sporting life with fresh devotion. He had acquired a love for gaming. A presentation to another living brought him to London, and while numbers were reading with delight his 'Many Things in Few Words,' poor Colton himself was sitting far into the night among swindlers and pigeons, and then slinking home to a suburban hovel. The upshot was, that he was forced to abscond, and after leading a vagabond life, the clergyman and the author perished by his own hand at Fontainebleau."

WORSHIP OR AMUSEMENT.-The lamented Pardee, in a recent article published in the National Sunday School Teacher, enumerates fiftyone faults of the Sunday school. Fault No. 2 is "the want of a true religious tone and spirituality." This fault, if to any great extent true, is a very serious one, and must fill the mind of the thoughtful observer with sadness. So rapid has been the progress of the Sunday school movement, and so enthusiastic are those engaged in it, that there is danger of losing sight of its true aim. Amid our enthusiasm, we ought to ponder the questions, Does the Sunday school accomplish the desired object? Are the conversions through this instrumentality more numerous than when other modes of work were used? Are those who pass through the Sabbath school better observers of the Lord's day, and more earnest Christians? There is a fear in the minds of some careful observers that these questions cannot be answered in the affirmative. It will not do to put down all such fears with the cry of " old foggy," "behind the times," and all that; but the matter ought to be prayerfully considered. -Rev. A. Holloway.