can give no response to a friendly touch; larks that shall no more "Sing at heaven's gate," nor "build their nests upon the ground." Death in the vegetable world in the dead fossils; sea-weed and ferns that shall never again put forth their branches, or wave their singularly formed foliage; death in the pictures, the pictures of dead faces looking down upon us from the canvas, great and mighty men, but of the "earth earthy," are gathered to the great garner house centuries agone. Deadliest of all, here are the Egyptian dead, the mummies, swathed and bandaged corpses that once were men and women, and now lie amid a curious collection of their household goods, chairs, stools, head-rests, iron keys, bronze hinges, models of houses, a workman's apron, a palm leaf basket, hair studs, cord sandals, toilet services, mirrors, and a state wig, beautiful and lustrous as though it had left the barber's block but yesterday,-everything round it speaking of death and decay; bottles which shall hold no more liquors, cups to which no lips shall come, lamps whose light is extinguished for ever, and viands ready dressed that shall never be eaten; musical instruments that shall give forth no sound, and toys with which no childish hand shall play.

And yet it is not all dead. Turn into the libraries, and the books of the dead, many of them written in dead languages, attract the eye at every turn; in the glass cases rare volumes of the dead and gone are laid open for inspection, and solemn acts of State signed and sealed by dead hands; and letters breathing of life and love penned by skeleton fingers centuries ago. But the books are not dead; the solemn deeds and charters are still to all intents and purposes alive; here is the Magna Charta, won from the crafty Lackland nearly six hundred and fifty years ago, but still the basis of our English Constitution; it is curious to stand and look upon this parchment deed, which once upon a time was fair as the new vellum in the law stationers, but dark and dingy as it now is, has become the very corner stone of English liberty; the eyes that saw it when the ink was wet, looked differently on it to what we do now; triumphant glances met the baffled gaze of the king checkmated in his island of Runnymede. Checkmated-here is the specimen of one of the earliest printed books, the book of chess, printed by good Master Caxton; this book and its brothers have founded a mighty family and revolutionized society. Dead! these are not dead at all events, the seeds of truth-vital truth-have been broadcast by the press; the light of truth has been everywhere shed abroad, relieved of that encumbering bushel under which it lay when the monkish Scribe was the only teacher. It is well to look thankfully

at this rudely illustrated block book, and to remember what a mighty work has been wrought by the printers' art. There are manuscript portions of the Bible here, richly illuminated with saints in gold and colours in all impossible attitudes; what a blessed thing it is to know that the illuminating art is now confined to a ladylike pastime, or an antiquary's hobby-and that the illumination which lights up the darkened intellect with truth and goodness, has burst upon the world through cheaply printed Bibles.

Dead! there is nothing dead in the books; when I pass into the Reading-room and look round on the book-covered walls, it seems to me that I stand in the presence of a living host, in the Pantheon of Genius-that wit, wisdom, worth, are treasured here, not dead but living-so far as they are true and good-with a life that fears no death. That Reading-room is the most spacious and beautiful in Europe; a circular chamber, with a dome 106 feet high, and with a span exceeding that of St. Peter's at Rome; there are twenty windows and a circular light at the top 120 feet in circumference; there are two gilded galleries, one above the other, sweeping round the room, which, in its first effect upon the visitor and in all its details, is graceful and elegant; blue, white and gold are the prevailing colours; looking up into the immense concave, there is a sense of sublimity that is never produced by meretricious ornaments-grandeur and simplicity are always impressive.

There is under the first gallery, within reach of the readers, a very large collection of reference volumes. There are coloured and varnished plans freely scattered over the room, which the uninitiated reader will find most useful, as they indicate the locality of each section of books. For example, turning to the left as you enter, you find yourself in company with the topographers, writers of town and country history, historians of parishes and civil recorders of London and elsewhere; national historians, registrars, calendars and the rest follow: scores of volumes of the "Gentleman's Magazine," of the old "Penny," of the monthlies and the quarterlies, and so on; then encylopædias of all kinds, and books of miscellaneous information; then dictionaries and lexicons in all the tongues of Babel, with Bishop Wilkin's quaint old book on the "Universal Language!" After this, guide books and directories, and lists of all the dignitaries of Church and State; and lastly, butting up against the attendant's passage, where the perambulators laden with books in demand, are wheeling every day, and all day long-in heraldry, in modest modern type, stating its principles, and in bold antique emblazonry illustrating family history, and suspending, as it were, from the bough of every genealogical growth, such

gay and lively ornaments as might fancifully decorate a Christmas

tree.

Turn to the right when you enter, and you are among maps and gazetteers, then farther on, among the lives of great men, then a very army of essayists and poets, and novelists; then you are among the gardeners and the geologists, and the chemists and the doctors; among books of surgery and cookery, and domestic medicine and household recipes. Then among the lawyers; statutes and records, and state trials, and commentaries and cases, and precedents. And then among the divines-the two Butlers very close together one shewing how rational is religion; the other how superstitious and how vain religion may be made, when priestcraft only lets the light of heaven be seen through stained glass windows! Lastly, Bibles-Bibles speaking in the ancient tongues; Bibles speaking plain English-Bibles that are but the representatives of an immense storehouse of Bibles, to which the biblical student may have access, if he will.

Need I say, that the arrangements are very convenient, and exceedingly comfortable. I think it is unnecessary to expatiate on these matters. Everything is as it should be-except, and surely this a fault on the right side-that reading cards are too easily obtainable, and that advantage is sometimes taken of this by novel readers, who ought to belong to a circulating library, and young students, "coaching" themselves from "cribs" not easily obtainable elsewhere.

Honour to the British Museum! it is one of the noblest institutions of the country, and nowhere can better information be obtained, nor more instructive lessons elicited, than on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, at the Great Exhibition in Bloomsbury.

"THERE WAS A GREAT CALM." THE Ocean sleepeth. Now no violent surge Threatens disaster to the mariner;

CHRISTIAN KEN.

No loud and dissonant voice of wrathful waves
Stirs into wild alarm our yearning hearts,
Intent upon beloved ones riding o'er
The dangerous waters to a distant isle.
All gently heaves its bosom, as if thoughts

Of tranquil joy were flitting to and fro

Within the depths unseen; and, murmuring soft,
As happy dreamers do, their echo falls
Upon the listening ear welcome and loved,

Like infant slumbers by a mother watched.

ION.

THE NIGHT COMETH.

WHEN in moments of contemplation, the mind climbs some eminence of thought, and looks abroad upon the busy restless world, how saddening is the reflection, that in a few short years all will be changed; that the great stream of human life, which now surges and eddies about us, will have passed away into the vast ocean of eternity, and that we ourselves shall be resting in the silent grave! A shroud will cover the form that now is clad in kingly robes; the chill earth will encircle the head that now wears a monarch's crown. The piercing intellects that now soar above their fellows, will be stricken down by death; the light of genius that now illumines the world will fade away. The active thinker and skilful worker, will alike bow to the king of terrors; the teacher and the taught must lie together in the dust. We all admit the truth, that death comes to all, but how few of us realize the awful thought-death will come to me! It seems well-nigh impossible that our body, that now thrills with life, should lie cold in death; that our eyes, that drink in the world's beauty so eagerly, should be closed for ever; that our tongue, that now expresses so readily the deep workings of the mind, should be for ever silent; that our nature, so sentient, so capable of enjoyment, so susceptible of influence, should disappear and die; that sooner or later, we must take our last meal, speak a last word to the loved ones about us, and look for the last time upon the world and all the precious things it contains. It is hard to realize these humiliating thoughts, yet one day they will be thoughts no longer, but real, veritable, unmistakable facts. The night cometh. And in that night the hand of labour moves not; no student burns the midnight lamp; no watcher looks for the first grey streak of morning to break over the eastern hills. The night cometh, the night in which no man can work. What then is our obvious duty? Is it not to work while it is day, to labour in the Lord's harvest-field, while the sun is high in heaven, ere the evening shadows fall, and the darkness gathers round us?

Sabbath school teacher! yours is a glorious privilege. You are permitted to labour for the King of kings. Be faithful to your trust. Let the Master's eye ever see you at your post; never desert it while there is a mind to instruct, a heart to impress, a soul to be won for Christ. The night cometh, and it cometh to all. You may die, and what account will you give of your stewardship, if you have been unfaithful? Your scholars may die. The bright eye and the

ruddy cheek may be dimmed and paled by death. And what if a young heart should close life with the bitter lament," my teacher never led me to Jesus!" What must be the feelings of that teacher, who hastily summoned to the bed-side of a dying scholar, knows that for aught he has done to arrest it, that soul may be passing away into an eternity of woe! Were sorrow possible in heaven, it would wring that teacher's heart, who, though saved himself, should see some of the class he taught on earth going away into everlasting punishment, and know that he never warned them, as he might have done, of the wrath to come. But will such a teacher ever reach heaven? Will there be any unfaithful teachers there? Can he who works half-heartedly, and wrestles not in prayer, and labours not with earnestness for the salvation of his class, expect to receive that crown of life which is promised to him who is faithful unto death? Brethren, if we would wear the victor's crown, we must fight the victor's battle; if we would bring in the sheaves with rejoicing, we must sow the precious seed. Let us then work for God. With absorbing earnestness, and burning love, and resistless energy, let us put forth our whole power in the service of the Redeemer, working while it is day, for the night cometh in which no man can work.

On! for we now must wage
The warfare, life begun;
Or see life's day decline,

With life's great work undone.
Christ waits to bind a crown,

Life's last great battle won,

Round every conqueror's brow;
On then, to victory, on!

Z. Z.

PRIVILEGES OF THE CHRISTIAN.

you

CAST yourself wholly upon God's covenanted grace. Think without wavering that you are God's child, a citizen of Heaven, the temple of the Holy Ghost. If hereby you be assured as you ought to be, then shall your conscience be quieted; then shall you lament more and then that more want many things which God loveth; shall you labour to be holy both in soul and body; then shall you go about, that God's glory may shine in you in all your words and works; then shall you condemn this life, and desire to be at home with your good and sweet Father; then shall you labour to mortify all things that spot either soul or body.-John Bradford.

K