For “judgment” we must call it, notwithstanding the flippant casuistry of the scoffer the stoicism of the infidel; or the well-meant, but injudicious pleadings of the philanthropist, who, in his eagerness to remove secondary occasions of offence, seems scarcely to attach sufficient importance to the fact that God is in every cause. We think in all sincerity we can trace the rod that should be heard here. We think, too, we see prayer answered in its removal. For fifteen months the cloud has been upon us. At first no bigger than a man's hand, it had grown darker and spread wider till all faces began to gather blackness. But the God of glory has at length looked forth from behind it and brought brighter skies, filling all hearts with gratitude and gladness. A short time since, the pestilence was carrying off, in the metropolis alone, some hundreds daily. In the whole kingdom more than fourteen thousand souls had passed into eternity by a new, an awful, a mysterious disease, during the past twelve or fifteen months, and the scourge seemed to be spreading. The worldling looked on in terror-the Christian, in abasement, at so solemn a visitation. Prayer was offered, and whether it was heard or not, the plague was stayed. These are the bare facts of the case. All are free to draw from them their own conclusions.

We have drawn ours. "Verily there is a reward for the righteous-verily he is a God that judgeth in the earth.” We have no heart to question "the efficacy, philosophy, and practical tendency of prayer." We think that St. James knew better than we do, when he gave it as his inspired conviction that the effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much. We believe there is nothing unphilosophical in asking the Great Author and Giver of Life to avert from ourselves and from our country a pestilence, which, after all is said and done, completely baffles human skill, and carries off its thousands in despite of everything that science, foresight, and untiring effort can accomplish. Nor do we see the "evil tendency” of doing what God tells us to do, when he enjoins all men to pray and not to faint.

Yet some think not with us-some whose motives we cannot question, though we differ altogether from their conclusions. "The cholera," they say, "like other complaints, arises only

from natural causes." We readily grant this, but God is the Author of all natural causes. It is He who gives us "rain from heaven, and fruitful seasons;" who feeds the young lion and the raven; who numbers the hairs of our head, and watches over the falling sparrow. There is not a movement in the whole machinery of creation with which he has nothing to do. Nor does God only bless and protect his creatures by such natural causes. By the same means he corrects and punishes. The Divine judgments recorded in Scripture were mostly the result of similar "causes." Indeed, we do not see how it can be otherwise, since nothing but a personal visit from the Awful King of kings himself would amount, in the opinion of such persons, to a direct and immediate judgment from on high.

But there are certain features in this disease which render it peculiarly terrible; and notwithstanding all that has been lately ascertained regarding it, we are compelled to place our hands upon our mouths, and our mouths in the dust, confessing our utter inability to deal with it successfully, or even in many, very many, instances, to approach at all the question of its origin or pre-disposing causes. We know that we shall be referred for an answer on this point to our ill-drained, ill-ventilated districts; or to the "half-fed misery," squalor, or intemperance of their thickly-clustered population. But this will not meet the case. Throwing out of our calculation altogether, every case of cholera that has occurred in such localities and amongst such classes, we have still an awful problem to solve. Amongst our own friends and acquaintances, living in far better circumstances than ourselves, full of health and vigour, "temperate in all things,"-some of them men of high eminence as Christians-how many have fallen suddenly beneath this scourge! One or two cases would have been enough for our argument, but we can number them by tens, or taking a somewhat wider range, by hundreds. But thanks be to God, his anger is now turned away, and we are again comforted by his favor.

We can see why the well-intentioned portion of these disbelievers in a Divine judgment, are so zealous in propounding their opinions, and we give them all praise for their honesty of purpose. Our lower classes have been grossly, shamefully

cruelly neglected, as regards those points which seem to favor the spread of this pestilence. Let this, then, be one of the benefits resulting from so solemn a visitation that their dwellings be made more habitable and cleanly, and their temporal wants better attended to. But because the poor are compelled to be filthy in their persons, their habits, and their dwelling places, and the rich are too selfish, and too inactive to remedy the evil, we are surely not justified in refusing to see the finger of God in a providence so marked, and so awakening as that under which we lately suffered.

We do not, like many, profess to see the exact cause of this judgment-its purport, however, we cannot well mis-read. Humiliation and prayer under the trial, and heartfelt and practical thanksgiving, and thanksliving, on its removal, are the lessons it is intended to teach. Let us profit by them, and a "happy Christmas" will be ours.

THE WAY TO THE GIFT.

"BETTER-better"-spoken deliberately and with painful effort, were the first words uttered by poor Glosenfane; for it was no other than the former incumbent of Springclose who had so powerfully drawn forth our sympathy at the Hill Mizar. But time and crime, anxiety and sorrow, had written such strange defeatures on that well-known form and face, that had not our attention been specially directed towards him, he might have quitted the chapel without our knowledge that he had been there. Yet it was the same man, and with the same title -"the Reverend Silenus Glosenfane, clerk in holy orders."

Yes, his orders were indelible. Crime and worldliness had no power to wipe them out; for once a priest, he was a priest for ever. Had he turned dissenter, instead of debauchee, a prison, perhaps, might have reminded him of this "great fact." But as he had been merely a sensualist, and no schismatic, he could not add to the awful catalogue of retributive visitations he had groaned under, the tender mercies of imprisonment or bonds.

At a subsequent interview we gleaned some particulars of his melancholy history. On quitting Springclose he had gone to London, and somewhere in the western suburbs of that metro

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polis, had obtained occasional duty in a Puseyite place of worship. His soft plausibilities soon gained over many of the 'silly women" among his hearers. He was courted, flattered, and drawn on from one worldly concession to another, till all laws, social and divine, were at length violated, and he became a scandal and reproach among those of his acquaintance who had the least pretensions to character. His injured wife with her young family returned to the house of her mother, and having through his misconduct forfeited, of course, all means of procuring support for himself, he was induced in his extremity to resort to the most discreditable practices, haunting low taverns, and questionable scenes of recreation; and by gambling and similar practices, living as it is often called, from hand to mouth. His bodily constitution was broken up, and his mind became almost a wreck, drifting on, on, on towards perdition, with apparently no hand to hold the helm, if helm it had-for reason seemed about to give up her sway, and conscience had been long since drugged to sleep.

Yet he was still-in the very hell of his degradation-"a clerk in holy orders;" and low as he had sunk, he was not friendless. There were those among his former hearers who were infatuated enough to believe that pity rather than retribution was his due. Their sympathy, however, apparently mistaken, did for him what nothing else but the grace of God could have accomplished. Willing to believe that there was some truth in their excess of charity, Glosenfane began a course of outward reformation. As their attachment strengthened, the desire to appear virtuous grew in him, and at length some of his grosser habits were abandoned, and others considerably modified. Strange and startling as it may seem, he was advised to resume his former office, and look out again for preferment in the church. The idea was abhorrent to his feelings, and he refused; but after awhile yielded to the importunities of his friends, on their undertaking to procure for him the use of an obscure chapel in one of the lowest neighbourhoods surrounding the metropolis. It was neither consecrated nor licensed; but strange to say, his diocesan supposing possibly that he would do no credit to the church that still claimed him as her son by canonical and legal right, did not interfere to prevent his resuming his priestly

functions, and by attractive handbills, and eccentricities of doctrine and practice, he soon drew together a congregation. He found it, however, necessary to set forth his opinions in strong lights and shadows-coarse, daring, dashing, headlong statements told best with such an audience, who however mistaken they might be in their views, were not to be satisfied without something. His former preachments were nonentities; but this would not do now. He searched his Bible for novelties. It was, in fact, one entire novelty to him; and he fetched from it startling but distorted propositions that gained him amongst his hearers far more credit than he was entitled to. But strange to say, his heart was touched under this desultory course of Bible reading, and the truth gradually opened to him till he became so sensible of his fallen position, as to be altogether overwhelmed by its contemplation. It was too much for his enfeebled frame, and the frequent seizures of an alarming character which followed as a consequence, more than once threatened to overthrow the poor tabernacle. His penitence is described as deep, searching, and awfully sincere; but so rapid was the climax, that we are without much evidence of its development. Circumstances which need not here be mentioned, had brought him to our neighbourhood, and though he rallied for a little while, his poor worn-out frame yielded to the conflicting fires of remorse and penitence, and he died almost friendless amongst those who in his days of worldly prosperity had been his only associates.

These painful statements have carried me some few weeks beyond the proper period of the narrative, which I must now resume at the close of that memorable evening's worship at the Hill Mizar.

On

As soon as our fears respecting poor Glosenfane were in some degree allayed, the preacher turning again towards me, expressed considerable surprise that I did not recollect him. farther enquiry I found that I had met with him more than once before, under circumstances which will be alluded to presently at greater length.

Whilst he was proceeding with the details of his subsequent history Major Goode entered, and after a few words with the young preacher, offered me a seat in his vehicle, as our way lay