OUR FUTURE KNOWLEDGE. Knowledge is an element of dignity, and a source of happiness. It was a feature in the primeval man; it will bear a prominent part in the condition of the glorified. "Here we know in part; then shall we know even as also we are known. Here we see through a glass darkly; but then face to face." Man's knowledge in Paradise as to freedom from error was perfect. Sin has perverted the judgment, enfeebled the reason, dimmed the perception, and blinded man with error. When man ceased to know God, it is not surprising that he should become deplorably ignorant of his works. In departing from God he departed from the fountain of truth. Evil has enslaved his nature; his affections are polluted; his conscience is defiled. The knowledge to be attained in the heavenly state will far exceed man's knowledge in Eden; how much more will it transcend that which the fallen man possesses! The capacity for knowledge will be enlarged. It is now limited by the structure of the brain, and the mind's connection with the body. Beyond a certain point our knowledge can never pass. Too great a tension of thought injures the nervous system, and induces insanity or death. Physical necessities and secular occupations render it impossible for the capacity of knowledge to be here cultivated to the utmost. Time, judgment, memory, are wasted upon subordinate though inevitable employments. Few can habitually cultivate their intellects, and even their time and attention are often diverted from the pursuit. Our judgments are erring, our memories defective. Sin has impaired all our faculties. Some tribes of men are so reduced that their capacity for knowledge is not raised far above the brute. The average capacity of the race is low. Only a few minds are capable of considerable grasp. Great knowledge is rare. Much that has been acquired has to be unlearned. Many opinions, taken up in the search for truth, are eventually proved erroneous. One half of the world's teachers has advanced dogmas which the other half has employed itself in refuting. The process of acquiring knowledge is slow and tedious. We overtake all the branches of a question step by step, a little more rapidly than the child, but still by slow degrees, as the faculties are strengthened by exercise. When this knowledge has been acquired a portion of it only is retained, and much of that not long. It is rarely at our disposal at the moment we want it. Every man is conscious of possessing thoughts and information which he cannot readily recall. Many have forgotten more than others learned; and always far more is forgotten than retained. It stimulated our intellectual life for the time, and was not without its influence on our habits, but as an available treasure it has passed away. This is all a proof of the feebleness and narrowness of our faculties. It must be an element of our future condition that our knowledge, as far as it extends, will be free from error; that none of the moral influences and infirmities, which now becloud our judgments and dim our perceptions, will there exist; that the true, the beautiful, and the good, will never be mistaken. Our capacity of knowledge will not be enfeebled by the body. The spirit will put forth its energies without impediment. No exercise of the glorified intellect will be trammelled. The soarings of a Milton, and the abstractions of a Newton, will be as the lispings of infancy to the comprehensiveness and power of heavenly minds. When the body is raised from the sepulchre, it will be conformed to the habitudes of the world of spirits,-an appropriate vehicle for the spirit in its activity, not a prison to restrict its powers,—a means of new and exalted improvement, not a burden and a snare. No disease or decay will assail it there. Its necessities will not divert from higher and nobler pursuits, nor will low and earthly tastes allure from supernal joys. Knowledge, when attained in heaven, will not be lost or impaired. It will remain our everlasting portion. It will be the steppingstone to further progress. The capacity will strengthen with the exercise, and the mind be ever enlarging its treasures. In the present state, however great the capacity, the range of knowledge is limited. We are acquainted with only two classes of objects, matter and mind. All that we know of them is the manner they affect ourselves and others. There may be other orders of existence with which other beings are acquainted, which await our discovery in heaven. Even of these two orders our information is very small. The avenues of knowledge are few. Other beings may possess additional faculties for which the present life affords no sphere. These may acquaint us with new and more wonderful operations of the Almighty than are now within our range. What know we of spirit, either our own or others'? What know we of orders of spiritual existence other than our own? What know we of the mode by which spirits have intercourse with each other, or the order, laws, and economy of their society? On all such subjects we stand only on the verge of knowledge, we acquire only the alphabet. What know we of matter and the orders of life which abound in the universe? Our information is limited to this globe. We know many of the tribes which inhabit the earth, we know a little of the earth's crust. But we meet at every step profound mysteries. We cannot understand any of the great principles at work in nature, and to which we assign so imposing a nomenclature. The principle of gravitation, the law of chemical affinity, the growth of vege table and animal life, the union of body and soul, every blade of grass, every stone, every drop of water, teaches the philosopher the profoundness of his ignorance. Questions may be asked on the most insignificant object, which the accumulated wisdom of the race would fail to solve. What know we of the past history of our globe, or of man upon it, or the geological epochs which preceded his arrival on the scene? If we knew far more than we do of the earth, we should still remain ignorant of all beyond and above it. Yon sun and moon, yon planets and stars, what questions arise respecting them! Their distances, uses, inhabitants, economies, and the overwhelming secrets of the circumambient universe; where every star is the centre of a group of worlds, and from the most distant nebulæ visible through our largest telescope to the most distant region visible from it, the creation is found still expanding in magnitude and glory, every part tremulous with life, and the whole presenting new and ever varying exhibitions of God's wonder-working power and beneficence. We are at liberty to suppose that in the future life, the range of our knowledge will be unlimited, that since angels, who will be our companions, are acquainted with the operations of Jehovah in many parts of his vast dominions, have watched the birth and progress of time, and have borne his high behests into all worlds at his pleasure, a wider field will be opened to ourselves than is now within the reach of imagination. Perhaps a rapidity of perception and inference, amounting almost to intuition, may then await us. What is now the result of laborious obser. vation may be discernible at a glance. The intricate mechanism of animal and vegetable life may become self-transparent and selfexplaining, as a machine complex to a child appears simple to a man. Intercourse with other minds may be rapid and easy. The successive links of a long train of reasoning which now requires elaboration and expansion to produce conviction, may then be appreciable in a moment. Other generations will tell us the history of our own world in those successive eras of which we have heard, but of which information has been lost; and all that is important in the planet's history it will be ours to know. Other worlds will disclose to us their secrets. Other orders of inhabitants may be found in different parts of Jehovah's empire as much above ourselves as we are above the animal tribes, and revealing new aspects of the divine character and government. Sight is now limited by the structure of the eye, and our movements are restricted by the mechanism of the frame; but for ought we know, the laws of gravitation, and the structure of the body, may then no longer impede our movements, but the presence of the spirit may be removed quick as desire and thought to any portion of the universe. The extent of our knowledge of God's revealed mercy will be indefinitely increased. It will awaken far deeper interest than now. It will present its glories in more immediate relation to our happiness. It will be connected with that revelation of the divine character which specially affects our world, and is the glory of the heaven to which we are raised. Our range will be indefinitely widened. Mysteries which oppress us at every step in the bible,-mysteries connected with the first apostacy, the gradual revelation, and the protracted triumph of christianity, mysteries connected with the dispensations of Providence to the individual believer to families, and to nations,-all the difficulties which have staggered our faith, and distressed our hearts, will then be removed. The path of God in this lower world will appear a path of light and glory, every step worthy of himself, and glorifying his purity and love. Then shall we know more of the magnitude of his mercy, the misery from which we have been rescued, the extent of the Redeemer's sacrifice, the infinitude of his love. This knowledge of his works and his redeeming mercy will only be a fragment of a deeper and more glorious knowledge that we shall have of God himself. We shall dwell in his presence. We shall enjoy his everlasting friendship and smile. We shall look upon the pure and ever blessed One. He, the fountain of purity, of wisdom, of goodness, will be the everlasting field of the human intellect, and his smile the everlasting portion of the human heart. "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." In his works they will never experience complete satisfaction; they will attain the consummation of their blessedness in himself. To know and enjoy God will be their unutterable felicity for ever. They will "delight themselves in God." If the almighty can fill them with knowledge, admiration, and happiness, by the wonders of his creation, and the disclosures of redeeming mercy, how much more exalted felicity can he furnish them by a revelation of himself. The intellect will find satisfaction in the illimitable, and the heart will repose on the bosom of the infinite. Bristol. N. H. THY WILL BE DONE. One prayer I have-all prayers in one,- Thy will, my God, Thy will be done, All-wise, Almighty, and All-good! Thy ways, unknown or understood, Tales and Sketches. "ONLY BELIEVE." Mist, rain, and darkness were without; warmth, brightness, and luxurious comfort reigned within; when Helen Lester gently drew the curtains in her uncle's drawing-room. Laughingly on her dark hair and slight figure fell the ever-restless fire-light; gracefully on the wall behind her rose the changeful shadows. Everywhere beamed tokens of a refinement that was lofty without extravagance; and, as well in the adornments of the walls as in the books which had been scattered upon the tables, or in the music which lay beside the harp, even a stranger might have marked tokens of devotion in the highest possible sense to the beautiful and the true. But not of these thought Helen, as she moved with noiseless steps across that spacious room; for on a couch beside the hearth there slept one in whose behalf she had but now striven to plead with heaven, one whom she loved with all the passion by which it is possible for woman to be influenced in her regard for woman. Sisters they were not, yet all the devotion of sisterhood belonged to their affection for each other, and it was with no common light in her unresting eyes that the watcher cast herself upon the floor to wait her friend's awakening. It was long before the fair brown lashes were uplifted from the sleep-flushed cheek, but when at last the eyes had met the gaze so fondly fixed upon them, a smile broke over all the face, and a sweet voice said, "Helen, my own Helen!" "Dear Edith! are you better?" Another smile came, quickly followed by a pleasant little nod, and then the strong arm propped the drooping form; and wheeling a small table to the hearth, applied itself at ence to the duties of the evening meal. "Have you written to papa, Helen ?" asked Edith presently. It was Helen's turn to smile. "Yes, I have written." "I am almost sorry. He will come home immediately. Did you tell him what Dr. G. said this morning?" "Not all. I did not say that, that,"Helen's voice trembled, and something on her cheek gleamed in the dancing fire-light. "That there was little hope, after this relapse, of permanent restoration ?" asked Edith quietly. "I am glad you omitted that. anxious. Papa will be so But Helen you must not feel sad about me.” Helen had turned away to hide her face. "I am quite willing (but for papa and you, I should say very joyful), to enter into the rest that lies beyond the river of death. Trust me, there is no terror in my soul at the thought of the last foe. The gate of heaven must be bright and fair, and such is death to me." "Oh, Edith, Edith," exclaimed Helen, as she cast herself once more upon the ground, and bent with an emotion that convulsed her frame over the little couch, "you are so good, so fit for heaven." "No, no, not good," interrupted Edith quickly, “nor fit for heaven, except as a sinner ransomed by Christ's death." "Ah, that is part of the goodness! You think so little of yourself!" cried Helen, kissing her. "So little? Helen, dear, you do not know me. Ah, if I only saw myself as Christ's pure eyes behold me! Do not say these things, dear, they give me pain." "Well, then, I will only tell you why I grieve so much. It is not for my uncle,-he is a christian, and has already proved that he can bear sorrow nobly; and the parting is not for long. It is not for you, for you will be a million times the better for the changes that will bring dark shadows here, and make this world a desert. It is not for your pensioners, for God will raise up help, and they will not want friends if he care for them. It is not even for him whose purest earthly hopes are blighted from this hour, for in the place where they neither marry, nor are given in marriage, a higher union and a nobler joy await you. No, it is for myself alone I grieve; and that not because I dread a life of solitude when all is over,"-the tears flowed again;-"but because when you are gone, I know that I shall never, never, never see you more." Edith was silent for a moment, with her arms round Helen's neck. Then she said, gently, "Not so, dear friend and sister, unless you will have it so." that I wish to part with you for ever. I am willing to be saved, I have always been willing. There is nothing I desire more than to follow you, Edith, but there is no hope for me." "Why not ?" "Because I am shut out-I am not good." "Neither am I," said Edith. "And then I have tried a hundred times to do right, and to begin a new life, and all that, but I always end by being worse than ever." "Very likely," said Edith, gently. "And so I have given up in despair. I cannot make myself good, if I try ever so much." "Indeed, indeed, you cannot." "And therefore I abandon hope, and we must part for ever." As Helen spoke, she rested her hot brow upon a chair which stood beside her, and drawing away her hands from Edith's loving clasp, covered her face and sobbed, with passion that was, for the moment, terrible. Edith looked on, and tears of sympathy came thick and fast. At length she spoke again. "You have been trying to be 'good,' dear Helen; is that the first thing the book bids you do?" "I do not know," said her friend, still weeping;" it says, 'Be ye holy.'" "But can you obey that injunction ?" "No, never; that is why I despair," exclaimed Helen, with a settled gloom upon her brow. "Well, then, if you are not, and cannot be, righteous, you must be the opposite." "A sinner?" said Helen. "Yes, I am." "Then as a sinner, you cannot deserve heaven." "Edith, you torture me." "Not willingly, dearest; but the surgeon must probe the wound if he would hope by God's blessing to be the instrument of its cure. If you do not deserve heaven, you deserve,-" "Hell, and that for ever," cried the unhappy girl, with a fresh burst of grief. "I have resisted, and hated, and despised the God who made me; even now, I am bitter against him. He, knowing all I feel, must hate me in return. He cannot pardon me." 'For my "Yes, Helen, he can and will; ways are not your ways, nor my thoughts your thoughts, saith the Lord.' God, in the sublime beauty of his character, in the unbounded wealth of his generosity, has himself opened heaven's gate, and prays you now to enter. When he sent down his son to die on Calvary, it was that a way back to the arms of the Great Father might be opened up for you, so that none but you should have power to keep your soul from his eternal joy. And now, in the page which he has written, he speaks these words of hope-"Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved." Helen looked up, and for a moment the cloud seemed about to rise from off her vision; then she sank back towards despair, exclaiming, "But you have yourself said that I do not deserve heaven!" "True; and it is precisely because you do not deserve heaven that Christ offers to. you now the pardon he has bought. Those who deserve the joy that is untold can do without a Saviour; but you and I are just the souls to whom his sacrifice offers the only ray of hope that crosses our dark night, the only path that guides to holiness and God. Only believe,-" "Let me "Stay!" exclaimed Helen. think of this. A new light seems to break. Lend me your Bible, Edith. Oh, God,"— she looked up reverently as she spoke,"teach me to read thy Word! Let thy own Spirit guide my soul to truth! Yes, I have only to believe! God help me!" Edith was very still. Not even for life itself would she willingly have disturbed the musing of the soul that sought for Jesus, and seemed about to find him. In such an hour we can but wait and pray. And rarely indeed has cry from mortal lips. a power so great and true as the sublime petition of the ransomed soul for the yet unforgiven ones around. Helen and Edith Lester were distant cousins, united by the orphanhood of the former in the close bonds of which we have already spoken. To Edith, under the guidance of a mother whose last years were the noblest of her life, advancing girlhood brought the blossom and the fruit of genuine piety. To Helen, whose childhood had been utterly destitute of religious training, the year which saw her leave a fashionable boarding-school to take up her permanent abode in the dwelling of her guardian, brought such contempt for all the high and holy, as only the study of loftiest christian character could have removed. Five years passed by, and the |