had deserved that terrible punishment, and he bore it in your stead. Could you then endure that a model of the instrument of his torture should be made for you to wear as an ornament ? Though it were of gold and diamonds, would you not recoil from the idea of such an ornament with unmingled horror? Well, dearest, the Lord Jesus Christ, besides being my God, became my Brother, my Friend, and on the cross endured a cruel death of pain and shame because my sin had incurred the wrath of God; because there was no other way in which I could be saved but by His dying in my place; enduring the extreme of bodily suffering, and that mental agony that wrung from Him the bitter cry, 'My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken me?' The cross was the accursed tree to which they nailed Him; and shall I wear a cross as an ornament? Surely one look, in this light, on the most splendidly jewelled cross ever fashioned would for ever make the wearing such an ornament simply impossible.

"So I feel sure, now, dear friend, that I have given you my reasons for objecting to wear your present, you will not be offended, but will kindly change it for me for a locket without the cross.

"It is only fair that I should add, that I know the cross is often worn rather as a memento of the Saviour, than as an ornament. This, though by no means so revolting to the feelings, seems to me most objectionable, as inevitably the cross, like all other material symbols and mementos, leads the soul away from the crucified-comes between the sinner and the Saviour. For proof, look at the Church of Rome, and the Romish party in the Church of England.

"No, dear Mary; let you and me see that we are otherwise marked as Christ's; taking up our cross (not of gold or silver and precious stones) daily, and following Him; bearing the cross He appoints to each, in His strength and after His example. Till the blessed time shall come when we shall see His face, and His name shall be on our foreheads.""

You tell us that the setting sun
May be the last we number;
And ere the morrow is begun
We with the dead may slumber.
Shall gloomy certainties bear sway
While we a hope may borrow?
No, if we meet with death to-day,
We'll welcome life to-morrow.

"As for me, I will behold Thy face in righteousness: I shall be satisfied when I awake with Thy likeness."

E

The Prisoner of Hope.

ARTH is a prison-house of care,

And blest are those to whom are given
The wings of faith, to upward bear

The pure enfranchised soul to heaven.
Bright the release from sin and gloom
To lasting life beyond the tomb.

Death, dreary death, where is thy sting?
And where, dark grave, thy victory?
Thy shrouding vaults but sunshine bring,
And thou but sett'st the spirit free.
As earth recedes before our eyes
God's holy plains of promise rise.

Then let thy sleeping soul awake,
And gird its mighty armour on;
And think who suffered for thy sake
That such a goal might yet be won.
The Sacred Book this blessing gives:
"Know-know that thy Redeemer lives."

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