A Goodly Heritage

THE REV. ROBERT M‘CHEYNE went about his public work with awful reverence. So evident was this that I remember, says his biographer, a countryman in my parish observed to me,—“Before he opened his lips, as he came along the passage, there was something about him that sorely affected me.” In the vestry there never was any idle conversation; all was preparation of the heart in approaching God, and a short prayer preceded his entering the pulpit. After announcing the subject of his discourse, he used, generally, to show the position it occupied in the context, and then proceeded to bring out the doctrines of the text after the manner of our old divines. This done, he divided his subject, and herein he was eminently skilful. “The heads of his sermons,” said a friend, “were not the milestones that tell how near you are to your journey’s end, but they were nails which fixed and fastened all he said. Divisions are often dry, but not so his divisions,—they were so textual and so feeling, and th

  That has been called the day of days, as indeed it was and is to the Church of Christ. That first Easter Day was "the day in his life which he made his own beyond all others. Not his birthday; for that meant his entrance on a life of sorrows. Not his ascension day; for that was the closing scene of a triumph already achieved. Not his transfiguration-day; for that was a momentary flash of glory in a career of pain. Not the day of his crucifixion; that was a great day for a ruined world, but for him it marked the lowest stage of humiliation and woe. The day of days in the life of Christ was the day of his resurrection." And to the first disciples especially, and to the believing Church still:

  TERROR AT THE APPROACH OF THE JUDGE. "Enter into the rock, and hide thee in the dust, fleeing before Jehovah's terror, and the splendor of his majesty." The soul living in falsehood as its element shrinks away from the coming truth which must annihilate it. Men's fears represent to them at last their follies and their sins. "Like bats and vermin hurrying from the sudden light. Our sordid vices far from God would take their flight." The eyes that were not cast down in prayer, the mien of profane impudence that laughed at Heaven, are now shriveled, prone in the dust now before the lonely sublimity of the eternal Holiness. Those who made naught of God must learn that naught can exist which does not exist in God. E Johnson

  In a little Perthshire town there was a minister of the Gospel whose name filled the district round like ointment poured forth. A Highland drover had occasionally to pass through this town. On one occasion he tarried over the Sabbath day and went to the church. He could not make much of a continuous English discourse. But at the end he heard the minister give out for singing a part of the 34th Psalm in the Scotch Version, of which the last verse is— Ill shall the wicked slay; laid waste Shall be who hate the just. The Lord redeems His servants’ souls; None perish that Him trust. He understood the last line, and he waited for the minister in the vestry. “Sir,” he said, “you read from the Psalm Book, ‘None perish that Him trust.’ Is that true?” The man’s heart was opened. Often afterwards as he pursued his business and passed through the little town he went to see the minister. Locking hand in hand, the one or the other broke the silence by just saying, “None perish that Him trust.” Wh

  God will provide Himself a lamb, my son.’ He does not know definitely what he expects; he is ready to slay Isaac, but his faith is not quenched, though the end seems so inevitable and near. Faith was never more sharply tested, and never more triumphantly stood the test. The divine solution of the riddle was kept back till the last moment, as it usually is. The place is slowly reached, the hill slowly climbed, the altar built, the unresisting Isaac bound {with what deep thoughts in each, who can tell?}, the steady hand holding the glittering knife lifted-a moment more and it will be red with heart’s blood, and not till then does God speak. It is ever so. The trial has ‘its perfect work.’ Faith is led to the edge of the precipice, one step farther and all is over. Then God speaks, all but just too late, and yet ‘right early.’ The willingness to make the sacrifice is tested to the utmost, and being proved, the sacrifice is not required. Abraham had said to Isaac, ‘God will provide a lam

  If any man shall add unto these things. Revelation 22:18, 19 H. Bonar, D. D. I.  THE PERFECTION OF GOD'S WORD. Man may not intermeddle with it, either to add or to take away. Can man improve the works of God? — the mountains, rivers, flowers? — the blue sky, the stars, the sun? Even so is the Word of God too perfect for him to touch. II.  THE HONOUR GOD PUTS ON IT. He has magnified it, even above His works; so that he who disparages the Word of God is more guilty than he who disparages the works of God. It is the fullest expression of His mind, the completest revelation of His character. III.  OUR RESPONSIBILITIES IN REGARD TO IT. It is not given us for mere speculation or gratification; but for something far higher. We are responsible for the way we treat it, study it, profit by it. Its perfection makes our responsibility very great, and appeals to our consciences most powerfully. IV.  THE SIN OF TAMPERING WITH IT. Every low thought about the Bible is sin. Every attempt to touch

 REV. THOMAS HOG’S MARVELLOUS RESTORATION TO HEALTH. THE REV. THOMAS HOG was minister of Kiltearn, Ross, and was a remarkable man. He had much of the prophetic spirit, and the interpositions of the providence of God on his behalf, were very remarkable. An instance of this kind, which is authenticated, occurred about the year 1676, when he was apprehended for attending private conventicles. When put to trial, he joyfully submitted to a prison, rather than bind himself from preaching, and was therefore sent to the Bass Rock. The air of the place, and the close confinement, however, soon affected his health, which brought him into peculiar and great danger. In this situation, a physician was called from Edinburgh, who gave it as his opinion that, unless he was liberated, there was no hope of his recovery, and advised him to supplicate the Council for liberation for a short space of time, that means might be used for the recovering of his health. Mr. Hog hesitated to address them, for reas

 JOHN KNOX’S VOCATION. THE castle of St. Andrews being held by the Reformers after Archbishop Beaton’s death, Knox, for safety, repaired thither with his pupils from Langniddrie and Ormiston, and taught in a chapel, the ruins of which, is still called Knox’s kirk. The stated preacher at the castle was one John Rough, who was a few years younger than Knox. This man, feeling himself overwhelmed by the responsibility which the leadership of the Protestant cause had upon him, urged Knox to share his work; but Knox declining at first, he preached a sermon on the right of a congregation to elect a minister, and the responsibility by one, if he refused the call; and, addressing Knox, said—“Brother, you shall not be offended, although I speak unto you that which I have in charge, even from all those who are here present, which is this: In the name of God, and of His Son, Jesus Christ, and in the name of all that presently call you by my mouth, I charge you that you refuse not the holy vocation

THE author of “Rab and his Friends,” in a letter says—For the “heroic” old man of Haddington, my father [Rev. Dr. John Brown, Broughton Church, Edinburgh] had a peculiar reverence—as, indeed, we all have, as well we may. He was our king, the founder of our dynasty; we dated from him, and he was “hedged” accordingly by a certain sacredness or “divinity.” I well remember with what surprise and pride I found myself asked by a blacksmith’s wife, in a remote hamlet among the hop-gardens of Kent, if I was “the son of the Self-Interpreting Bible.” I possess as an heirloom the New Testament which my father fondly regarded as the one his grandfather when a herd laddie got from the Professor who heard him ask for it, and promised it if he could read a verse. He had now acquired so much of Greek as encouraged him to hope that he might at length be prepared to reap the richest of all rewards which classical learning could confer on him, the capacity of reading in the original tongue the blessed Ne

  The Grapes of Eschol by  Ellen M. Huntington Gates Among the tribes, the weary tribes, we wander; The way is long, complainings fill the air; With God so near, we fear the kings of Edom, By smitten rocks we yield us to despair. The seas gape wide and make for us a pathway, We hear the cry of Pharaoh's drowning host, But mists roll up, there's discord and confusion, And far away is Canaan's peaceful coast. Then do we see that walking close beside us, With steady step, and eyes that onward look, Are those who went before us to that country, And brought us grapes from Eschol's wondrous brook; Their faces shine, their lips are always singing, The winds of Canaan have their foreheads fanned, Alike to them are sunrise and sunsetting, Their feet make haste, they have beheld the land! O thanks and thanks, a thousand times repeated! We know your names, ye valiant, faithful few; Your lowest words are sweet as Heavenly music, Ye searched the land out better than ye knew. When th

. WHEN the Rev. Dr. Thomas Guthrie took up his abode in Edinburgh as a minister, he was determined to visit all the people in his parish, no matter whether they attended his church or not. This enabled him to understand the social condition of the city, and it frequently brought him into contact with rather strange characters. His courage, both moral and physical, was always equal to any emergency, and, by his wisdom, he made many enemies fast friends. While engaged in visiting the poor, he came one day to the door of an Irish Roman Catholic, who was determined that the Doctor should not enter his house. “You must not come in here,” said he; “you are not called nor wanted.” “My friend,” said the Doctor, “I’m going round my parish to become acquainted with the people, and have called on you only as a parishioner.” “It don’t matter,” said Paddy. “You shan’t come in here;” and lifting the poker, he said, “If ye come in here, I’ll knock ye down.” Most men would have retired or tried to rea

THE REV. JAMES FRASER, of Alness, was a Christian minister of more than ordinary piety and unction. He was much esteemed, and exercised an influence for good far beyond his parish. He had, however, a thorn in the flesh in the person of his wife, who was a cold, unheeding, worldly woman. Never did her godly husband sit down to a comfortable meal in his own house, and often would he have fainted from sheer want of needful sustenance but for the considerate kindness of some of his parishioners. She was too insensate to try to hide her treatment of him, and well was it for him on one account, that she was. His friends thus knew of his ill-treatment, and were moved to do what they could for his comfort. A godly acquaintance arranged with him to leave a supply of food in a certain place, beside his usual walk, of which he might avail himself when starved at home. Even light and fire in his study were denied to him on the long, cold, and wintry nights; and as his study was his only place of r

 JENNY GEDDES AND HER STOOL. AN order was given by the King to introduce a new Service Book into the churches of Scotland, and this was to be done on the 23rd of July, 1637. On that day a great concourse of people, including the Lord Chancellor and the Archbishop of St. Andrews, along with several members of the Privy Council, the Judges of the Supreme Court, the Magistrates of the City, and a great multitude of the citizens, assembled in the church of St. Giles, then called the “Great Church,” to witness the ceremony. In the morning the usual prayers had been read from the old Book of Common Order. The Dean of Edinburgh, in his surplice, was to read the new service, and the Bishop of Edinburgh was to preach. As soon as the Dean took his place in the reading-desk, and opened the obnoxious volume, a murmur arose in the congregation, and on his proceeding to announce the collect for the day, an old woman, named Janet Geddes, who kept a greengrocer’s stall in the High Street, is said to h

 “IF YE KENNED HOW I LOVE HIM.” A POOR idiot, who was supported by his parish in the Highlands of Scotland, passed his time in wandering from house to house. He was silent and peaceable, and won the pity of all kind hearts. He had little power to converse with his fellow-men, but seemed often in loving communion with Him who, while He is the High and Holy One, condescends to men of low estate. Yeddie, as he was called, was in the habit of whispering to himself as he trudged along the highway or performed the simple tasks which any neighbour felt at liberty to demand of him. Once, when a merry boy heard him pleading earnestly in prayer, he asked, “What ghost or goblin are you begging favours of now, Yeddie?” “Neither the one nor the tither, laddie,” he replied; “I was just having a few words with Him that neither yoursel’ nor I can see, and yet with Him that sees the baith of us!” One day Yeddie presented himself in his coarse dress and hob-nailed shoes before the minister, and, making