"TICK, tick, tick," went the old clock, that stood in a poor man's cottage. All was still and silent within, save its own tick, and the occasional chirrup of the cricket on the hearth. Without, the night was wintry and chill. The winds, like evil spirits, moaned among the trees. Now, they swept with demon fury through the churchyard, across the plain, and over the water. Then, subdued for awhile, they seemed lulled to repose, as if gathering up afresh their exhausted energies, for a new and more furious onslaught. In that cottage, where the old clock went tick, tick, tick, everything wore an unpromising aspect. There it stood in the kitchen almost alone, the only piece of furniture there, save two or three broken chairs, a table, one or two saucepans, and a teapot, with a broken handle, and a broken spout, which, nevertheless, answered its purpose well, making the lady of the house--for lady she was— a true queen-" the cup that cheers but not inebriates." A look of disquiet crept over that old time-piece. bright and sunny countenance fell, and its brow was overcast.

Its usually

"Why should I tick, tick, tick," said the old clock," so regularly and so faithfully here? Here in the company of broken chairs, and saucepans, what use is it for me to tick, tick, tick? Besides, it is night, it is absurd to tick now; I have believed this for a long while. I will tick, tick, tick no longer; at least, I have almost determined that I will not. It would be worth while to tick, tick, tick, in some splendid mansion, or, even in a great house of business-but here, in this poor, lone cottage, I may as well preserve an eternal silence, as night and day, winter and summer, keep up an unceasing and everlasting tick, tick, tick."

having degraded these heaven-born relationships in his own person-reeled, pig. like, insidee-a thing which he had done a thousand times. Wearied and worn, heavy with over-much sorrow, the poor wife had fallen into a deep slumber. God be pitiful to her! For a little season she has forgotton her woes; she will soon awake, and find her old companionmisery, grim and gaunt-looking upon her with his piercing, cruel eye, putting his mouth close to hers, and breathing his poisonous, pestilential breath upon her. The first sight that she looks upon, as she returns from the regions of slumber, whither she is gone for a little season, will be that evil spirit, misery. God be pitiful to her! thing! A drunkard's wife! Ah, me! If there be anything on earth I pity, 'tis the drunkard's wife. I think of her merry, girlish days; I think of her glad heart, when the sunny gleams of hope used to shine upon her; when love first whispered into her ear the golden promise of her one day being the mistress of her own house-the wife-the mother. True, she is mistress now, wife now, mother now. She saw these visions draped with glory rising before her in her girlish days. She saw not the demonshadow of drunkenness lurking behind them each. It was there. She saw not the demon spirit of the drunkard taking

Poor

these golden crowns, that were, she thought, to be the glory of her life, and with his black hands dashing them down to the earth, and trampling them beneath his black feet.

Let us hope for the best. A change may come over this darkened scene.

At this moment, a hand rested on the latch of the cottage door. The master

He was a thoughtful man once, I must tell you. He was a promising man once a good husband once a good father once. He was a regular attendant at God's house once. He was the minister's right hand once. He stood high in the church once. But he fell, and great was his fall, and in his fall he tool: others down to misery, tears, and shame. He did not fall alone. Men never do.

"Tick, tick, tick," still went the clock. The drunkard tried not to listen. It was vain; the tick was so loud, the tick was so distinct, the tick was so regular, the tick was so unceasing. Tick-nothing but tick, tick-and after that, tick, tick, tick again. The old clock seemed to say: "It is my business to tick, tick, tick, and tick I will; that is what I was made for. If everything thus answered its end, it would be well-whether that thing be a man or a clock."

66

Tick," said the drunkard, who now sat up in a thoughtful mood, "that means a moment gone. Tick again, that means another moment gone. Life's made up of moments. Tick again. Dear me, how quickly the moments fly! Tick again. Why, it seems, as if each tick were the knell of my departed hours. Tick again. There was a whisper of futurity."

Each tick told him of the past. Each tick spoke of to-morrow. An eternity

past! An eternity to come! The drunkard grew more and more thoughtful. What had he done in the past? What for the future? He groaned.

"Tick, tick, tick," went the old clock. The drunkard thought of the past-of what he once was-of his awful backslidings-of what he might now have been-of his children's neglected education, and the beggary to which he had brought them. He thought, too, of her, poor thing! whom, in her girlish days, he had wooed and won, and sworn to love and cherish. A blighted life was hers,

and he had blighted it. She had remained true to him, true to her babes, true to her vows. She was not indeed what she was. Her cheeks were pale and wan now; her eye was grown dim now; she was thin and weak now; she looked white and marble-like sometimes. He shuddered to think so, but the thought flashed before him, that he had seen the imprint of death upon her countenance. Was she ill? He had never asked himself this before. Would she leave him, and sleep peacefully in the grave, where he could not disturb her rest? He had often disturbed it here. It would serve him right if she did. He wept-wept for the first time-wept to think that he had embittered an angel's days-the days of a sweet, loving, and once joyous angeland that angel, his wife. She never upbraided him. She never let him see her weep. Still he knew she wept.

"Tick, tick, tick," went the clock. It spoke of to-morrow-of the future-of hope.

Can I be a new man ?" asked the drunkard. "Tick, tick, tick," said the old clock. That tick was hopeful in its tone.

"I have moments unspent," thought the drunkard. "I have yet a portion of life at my command; I will improve that."

He started up; he was a new man. The time came for the old clock to take account of its past murmurings. It had murmured, and murmured because the scene of its abode was so obscure, and the people so poor and few.

66

Out of the way though my home may be," said the clock, "I will no more complain. Had I ceased to tick, tick, tick that night, when the drunkard reeled into the house, he might have gone on in madness. I spoke to him of the past, of the present, of the future- of two eternities. I did not speak in vain."

"Moreover, early in the morning, the farm-boy comes to ask me what the time is. Had I stopped to tick then, he might have overslept himself-have gone late to work-got blamed for it-lost his situation, perhaps."

announce to them when it is breakfasttime, when dinner-time, when supper is ready, and when the hour arrives for rest. I see that, in my lone sphere, it is of great importance to tick, tick, tick with the utmost regularity, and tick, tick, tick I will to the end of my days, even if it be in this cottage."

I rather think that there is a lesson or two from this ancient time-piece for not a few, old and young, to learn. The tick, tick, tick of discontent is heard falling from many a lip.

"If I lived in a large sphere," says one, "there would be something to call out my energies-something worth living for; but to tick, tick, tick like an old clock in an outlandish cottage is very depressing."

The idea is, that we cannot be useful for Christ in obscure situations. We must needs have a prominent position, and be surrounded by multitudes of men.

This is a mistake, and a great one. The servant maid can do much for Christ in a village family. If the tick, tick, tick of a consistent profession be ever heard in the house, results must follow. If the clockwork of religious life be in good order, and those who look at it always see that it keeps correct time, depend upon it that great issues will ensue. In the sphere in which God has placed us, be it the lowliest and the most obscure, let us not stand still. We know not the tremendous, the glorious results of the everlasting tick, tick, tick of a holy life, even in a cottage. Wherever we are, let us live for Christ; let us work for Christ.

The last words of wisdom we heard from the old clock were these: "I see in my lone sphere that it is of great importance to tick, tick, tick with the utmost regularity, and tick, tick, tick I will to the end of my days, even if it be in this cottage."

Notes: Critical, Explanatory, and Practical, on the Book of Psalms. By ALBERT BARNES. In Three Volumes. Vol. I. London: Edward Knight.

"THESE Notes on the Book of Psalms," says Mr. Barnes, "complete my labours in endeavouring to explain and illustrate the Sacred Scriptures. At my time of life-with the partial failure of vision, with which I have been afflicted for more than twelve years; with the other cares and burdens resting on me; and with the moral certainty that the infirmities of age, if I am spared, must soon come upon me-I could hope to accomplish no more, and I shall attempt no more." These notes, he further tells us, were commenced more than twelve years ago, and for several years previously he had been making preparation for them. Those who are familiar with Mr. Barnes's other Commentaries will need but little description of this first volume of his commentary on the Psalms, and, we venture to add, but little commendation of it. For whatever defects may be chargeable against Mr. Barnes's numerous works, their value is great. And there is no living man who has been honoured to do so much as he to promote a sound knowledge of Holy Scripture, wherever the English tongue is spoken.

In Memoriam: Rev. Arthur Tidman, D.D. Containing Funeral Address by Rev. T. BINNEY, and Funeral Sermons by Rev. JOHN KENNEDY, M.A., and Rev. JOSEPH MULLENS, D.D. London: John Snow & Co.

MANY will doubtless possess themselves of this memorial of the late honoured Secretary of the London Missionary Society. There is no prospect of any other biography of him being given to the world, than that which is contained in these funeral ser

mons.

The Atonement. By the Rev. ARCHIBALD A. HODGE, D.D. Edited by WILLIAM H. GOOLD, D.D. London and Edinburgh: T. NELSON & SONS.

66

THIS is an able and valuable work, but we differ much from Dr. Hodge's type of Calvanism. What he regards as essential principles of the Calvinistic system" we do not. We stand by the theory of Dr. John Brown, which he controverts"In the sense of the great body of Calvinists, that Christ died to remove legal obstacles in the way of human salvation by making perfect satisfaction for sin, I hold that He died for all men." And we think that in the Scottish controversy, in which Dr. Brown and Dr. Wardlaw took a leading part, the weight of Scriptural

argument was in favour of their view of a universal atonement as defined in the words just quoted. We think, likewise, that in controverting Maurice, Bushnell, and Robertson, those who hold a universal atonement have a great advantage over those who say that Christ died only for the elect. There is much, however, very much, in Dr. Hodge's work to which we add our most cordial amen.

The Beggars (Les Gueux); or, the Founders of the Dutch Republic. A Tale. By J. B. DE LIEFDE. London: Hodder and Stoughton.

But

THE reader who begins this book will need no persuasion to finish it. From the first page to the last it is full of interest. Of all stories of mortal wrong-doing on the one hand, and of nobleness on the other, that which tells of the long struggle between Philip of Spain and William the Silent, is one of the most painful and the most stirring. Thanks to the industry and eloquence of Motley, English readers are now in full possession of it. many will not read so large a book, and a book requiring, notwithstanding its intense interest, much time and patient attention. For such Mr. De Liefde has written this tale of "The Beggars' -those patriotic guerilla bands which took so prominent a part in the great struggle. And he has succeeded in imparting clear, strong, and accurate impressions of the historical events to which his tale refers.

History of the Inquisition, in every country where its tribunals have been established, from the twelfth century to the present time. By WILLIAM HARRIS RULE, D.D. London: Wesleyan Conference Office. NOTHING Could be more seasonable than this admirable volume. For while we are zealously maintaining the right of Roman Catholics to civil equality, we must not forget the true character of the great anti-Christian apostacy. And in nothing is its true character more anti-Chistian than in its systematic persecution of those who dare to differ from it. While all Churches that have lost the spirit of Christ are given to persecute, as Dr. Rule says, no Church on earth except the Church of Rome has ever had a separate Institution for the inquest and punishment of heresy, with a peculiar code of laws and appointed courts, judges, and officers. And we cannot read a page of the history of this Institution without feeling that it is instinct with the spirit of hell. Anything more diabolical than the Inquisition the human mind cannot imagine. It is the child of Rome, a most loved and cherished child-a child which

unchangeable Rome can never disown. And by the child we know the parent. It is true, to use Dr. Rule's words, that "two great forces have now grown up together for the overthrow of the Inquisition. One is civil freedom-the other is nationality. The ascendancy of the former, promoted as it is, and guided as it ever must be, by true and living Christianity, incapacitates men from lending themselves to be accomplices in a perpetual outrage on human nature. The rapid revival of the latter leads to the repudiation of an ecclesiastical system that has for ages trampled upon all social rights. The intrusion of a foreign jurisdiction rapidly becomes impossible." But no thanks to the Church of Rome that the Inquisition does not celebrate its autos to-day as of old. We commend Dr. Rule's volume most heartily. To say

that it is pleasant reading would be a paradox. But so far as the style is concerned it is. And painful as is the subject, the volume will not be read with the interest with which one enters a chamber of horrors." The story is a very sad one, but it is well for us to know it. Six large Coloured Engravings, on such subjects as the "Queen's Visit to a Highland Cottage," "The Irish Flower Girl," "The Gleaner," "The WelcomeHome," &c., with an appropriate text of Scripture appended to each. London: Religious Tract Society.

THESE are remarkably good considering their low price, 3d. each, and will no doubt find a ready sale as cottage ornaments. The time was, and not long ago, when such pictures would have cost shillings, not pence.

The Way of Life: or, Words to the Thoughtful and Anxious about Forgiveness, and the way to obtain it. By SAMUEL MCALL, President of Hackney Theological Seminary. London: The Book Society.

AN admirable little twopenny book, which ministers would do well to have always beside them for the instruction of inquirers. It is an allegory, but its meaning is ever to seek.

The Sceptic's Credulity; or, the Logic of Atheism. By SAMUEL MCALL, Principal of Hackney Theological Seminary. London: The Book Society.

THE Book Society has done well to republish for sixpence this admirable little book. Whether we regard the "logic" or the spirit of the book, we should have great confidence in putting it into the hands of all persons who need to have

THIS book is the third of a series which has already come under our notice, by the authoress of "The Wide Wide World," and her sister. In a course of familiar conversations, they bring the results of modern travel and research, so far as these bear on the Bible narrative, within easy reach of the young and the unlearned. This volume comprises the principal events in the early part of our Lord's life, and is well written. It is illustrated by numerous coloured and plain engravings.

The Prodigal Son. By the Rev. W.
MORLEY PUNSHON, M.A.
James Clarke and Co.

London:

THIS little volume of Four Discourses on the parable of the Prodigal Son, conceived and composed in Mr. Punshon's characteristic style, will be valued by the author's friends as a memorial of him, now that the Atlantic rolls between them.

The Parables Explained and Applied. By the Rev. FRANCIS BOURDILLON, M.A. London: The Religious Tract Society. THERE is no lack of good books on the parables of our Lord, but we know of no good reason why they should not continue to multiply. These expositions contain nothing remarkable. They are brief, plain, and simple, and form a neat volume.

Without a Friend in the World. By the author of "Worth her Weight in Gold." London: W. Macintosh.

THIS is a feebly-written and painful story. It describes the career of a young man who, without having any particularly vicious propensities, is so easily taken in, and is so incorrigibly weak and stupid that, after having brought his wife (a paragon of beauty and excellence) to her grave, and thrown away a host of good opportunities, he finds his way, in the natural course of things, to the workhouse, and at length to prison, where he dies, having, however, at the eleventh hour, derived much benefit from "the wholesome exhortations" of the chaplain. Truly he needed very "wholesome exhortations."

A CHAPTER OF PAMPHLETS. The Power of the Pulpit: wherein does it consist? By JOSHUA WILSON. London: Hodder & Stoughton.

MR. WILSON says that he "is not one of those who affirm that 'the pulpit is no longer a power in the land,' but he believes that it has lost much of its ancient power,' and considers it most desirable that the cause should be searched out and ascertained. There may be more than one cause (he says), but the chief cause to which he is compelled to trace the lamentable fact is, that the great end of the Christian ministry is not sufficiently kept in view-'to bring men to God,' and to keep those who are made nigh' intimately near Him, by bringing the doctrinal truth contained in the Scriptures, especially the truth as it is in Jesus,' into close and continual contact with their minds and hearts." Again, he says, "There is one subject to which I feel compelled briefly to advert. I cannot conceal my serious apprehension that some of our younger ministers have embraced the utterly imperfect and inade. quate, and in my judgment, the absolutely erroneous view concerning the vicarious death of Christ as a mere act of self. sacrifice-denying its expiatory qualityits relation to the moral government of God-its bearing on His law and justice." "The former times were better than these," is a cry easily raised and often credited; but it is one which we always hear with suspicion. Still it would be unwise not to listen to those who honestly believe it. The warning may be most necessary where it is least heeded. Mr. Wilson states his "apprehensions" strongly but modestly. And whether they are well founded or not, we are entirely one with him as to his ideas of a spiritually efficient and successful minis try.

On this subject, Christian laymen can judge as well as ministers. And we hope most sincerely that the Pulpit will listen thoughtfully and teachably to this voice from the Pew.

Protestantism and Romanism Contrasted; being an Explanation as to the material points of difference in Faith and Practice that exist between the two Communions. London: William Macintosh.

THIS pamphlet is of goodly size (138 pages), and discusses questions which are not likely soon to lose their interest. But while we agree with its doctrines for the most part, we cannot recommend it as at all satisfactory or sufficient. Its argu ment is often feeble, its style is loose and slipshod, and its Protestantism far short