would his passengers await his arrival-in vain would his wife and little ones expect his return; he would never more return; probably drift out to sea, and be lost in the immensity of old ocean.

The above engraving is an emblem of Faith and Works united. The Christian has a "calling," or occupation, in which he makes progress so long as faith and works are united. They are to him as a propelling power, urging him forward in his pathway to immortality. He exerts a holy influence wherever he goes, and leaves a brilliant track behind him. It is seen that a man of God has been there. But let him lay in one of his oars; let it be said of him, "He hath left off to do good," and his progress in the divine life will at once be checked. Let him lay aside "faith," and the effect I will be the same. He may, indeed, go round and round, like a mill-horse, in a circle of dry performances, but he will never reach the Christian's home. In vain will his friends, who have gone before him, expect his arrival; he will never see the King in His beauty. The current of sin will bear him outward, and downward, and land him eventually in the gulf of the lost.

Some there are who have "faith," yet who are destitute of "good works." "The devils believe," but they neither love nor obeydevils they continue. Deists again, men who believe in the being and unity of God, but reject the Bible as an inspired book, have faith. But are their works perfect (good) before God? will their faith save them? All antinomians are of this class.

Some, on the other hand, strive to abound in "works," who yet are destitute of "faith." Cain, who brought his offering, and slew his brother Abel, was of this class. The Pharisees, who paid tithes of all they possessed, and who cried out, "Crucify Him! crucify Him!" were also of this number. The professors of "good works" in our own day, who have no true faith in Christ, are of this number; for all offerings whatsoever, that are not perfumed with the odour of Christ's sacrifice, they are an abomination to the Lord. In Abraham we see faith and works admirably combined. "He believed God, and it was counted to him for righteousness," "and he was justified by works, when he had offered Isaac his son upon the altar." "Thus faith wrought with his works, and by works was faith made perfect."

In fine, where there is a scriptural "faith," that faith which is the evidence or conviction of unseen realities, there will be "works" corresponding thereto, as surely as there is life while the soul is in the body.

On the other hand, where there is no true faith, there can be no works," acceptable to God, no more than there can be life when the soul has left the body. "For as the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without works is dead also.

"With a furious man thou shall not go."-PROV. xxii. 24. "The simple pass on and are punished."-PROV. xxii. 3.

Behold the rash, impetuous charioteer.
Who, reckless, urges on his wild career;
Dangers and darkness thick around him grow,
High cliffs above, and yawning gulfs below;
Yet much at ease. In neither fear nor pain,
He smacks his whip, and freely gives the rein;
Rocks vast, precipitous, he dashes by,
But frightful chasms now before him lie;
Down, down the dreadful precipice he flics,
And, dashed to pieces, for his rashness dies.

Thus wilful youth to passion gives the reins,
And lengthen'd grief, for pleasures short, obtains;
By passion drawn, before he's well aware,

He sinks o'erwhelm'd in misery and dispair.

THE youth above is seen driving furiously along paths replete with danger. The road, if road it may be called, becomes more and more hazardous. He labours not to curb the fiery steed, whose speed increases every moment. Instead of restraining them, he cracks his whip, and loosely gives the rein. He appears to be wholly unconscious of his imminent peril. Abrupt cliffs hang over his head, deep, and awful ravines open on each side of the path. tion becomes still more dangerous; right a-head a frightful gulf pre

His situa

sents itself to his eyes, now beginning to open. With the rapidity of lightning he approaches the dreadful brink; on the coursers fly. Now he sees his danger, and strives to check them. It is in vain they have had the rein too long; their blood is up. With a fearful bound, over the precipice they go; horses and driver are dashed to atoms against the rocks, and are seen no more.

;

Ancient philosophers used to compare human passion to wild horses, and the reason of man to the driver, or coachman, whose business it was to control and guide them at his pleasure. Alas! that many men have more command over their horses than they have over themselves. This is a melancholy truth. Their proud chargers are taught to stand still, to gallop, to trot, and to perform, in short, all kinds of evolutions with perfect ease; while the passions run away with their rightful owners; they will not submit to be guided by reason. It is of far more importance that a man should learn to govern his passions than his horses. Our passions, like fire and water, are excellent servants, but bad masters. Horses, to be useful, must be governable; but to be governable, they must be broke in betimes, and thoroughly. So with the passions, otherwise their power will increase over that of reason, and in the end lead to

ruin.

Philosophy may do much in enabling us to govern the passions; religion, however, can do more. It is said of Socrates, who had a wretched scold for a wife, that one day, when she was scolding him at a great rate, he bore it very patiently, controlling himself by reason. His unruffled composure enraged her still more, and she threw a bowl of dirty water in his face. Then he spoke. "It is quite natural," said he, smiling, "when the thunder has spent its fury, and the lightning its fires, that the teeming shower should descend."

But religion is more easily obtained than philosophy, and it is far more powerful. It imparts a gracious, influential principle that enables whosover submits to it, to govern his passions, and even to love his enemies, and thus to conquer them.

Many have conquered kingdoms, who could not conquer themselves. Thus Alexander, who, being a slave to his passions, slew Clytus, his most intimate friend. And, far better than the laurels that have been woven for the conquerors of ancient and modern times, the Almighty himself has prepared a diadem of glory for the self conquered, bearing in letters of heavenly light this inscription: "He that ruleth his own spirit is better than he that taketh a city.”

"Wherefore do ye spend money for that which is not bread? and your labour for that which satisfieth not?"-ISA. lv. 2.

VAIN PURSUITS.

The truant urchin has forsook the school,
To learn betimes how best to play the fool;
O'er hedge and brake, beneath a burning sun,
With breathless haste, he perseveres to run;
His folly's cause is pictured to the eye:
The object what?-A painted butterfly.

At length outspent, he grasps the trembling thing,
And with the grasp, destroys the painted wing;
Chagrined he views, for of that beauteous form,
Nothing remains, except a homely worm.

So larger children leave important deeds,
And after trifles oft the truant speeds;
And if by toil he gains the gaudy prize,

Alas! 'tis changed-it fades away, and dies.

THE foolish boy, leaving the useful and delightful pleasures of study, runs after a pretty butterfly that has attracted his attention. On he runs, through brake and brier, over hedges and ditches, up hill and down dale; the sun, at the same time, pours down its burning rays upon his uncovered head. See how he sweats, and puffs, and toils! 'Tis all in vain-just as he comes up with the prize, away it flies far above his reach. Still he follows on; now it has settled upon a favourite flower. He is sure of it now; he puts forth his hand. Lo! it is gone. Still he pursues-on and on he runs after the glittering insect.