fusion and terror. Both fire and water are fearful scourges when they prevail; and though the former is the more terrible, the latter is oftentimes more extensively ruinous. Reader, dost thou pray that fire and water may not have dominion over thee, and dost thou praise thy heavenly Father for his merciful protection?

Who has been at the wedding of manly grace and feminine beauty, the union of two youthful, virtuous, and happy hearts, without regarding it as one of the impressive sights of life?—The fair bride, the joyous bridegroom, the happy attendants, the dresses, the carriages, the drivers in their white favours, the cracking of whips, the clattering of wheels, the smile on the face of the bridegroom, and the tear on that of the bride; the entrance of the church, the impressive ceremony, the ringing bells, the rapid return, the tasteful and abundant breakfast, the sparkling wines, ornamented bridecake, and lovely greenhouse flowers; the solemn prayer, the travelling dresses, and embraces and kind adieus. Oh! for the time, it is a world of sunshine, and bridecake, and white kid gloves, and embossed cards, and bouquets of flowers. Happiness, like a rosebud gen med with dew, is embellished, rather than disfigured, by a few tears; and Joy sees his own form mirrored in the faces of all around. The wedded pair are

gone; will their happiness endure?

Will their

affection fly off in the crucible of trial, or will it come forth as gold? Ask no questions now. Care must come, will come; let it not come today. Beat on, ye happy hearts, for it is your wedding-day. Angels of mercy, commissioned from above, wait on your future years!

Of all the scenes presented to our gaze, there is, perhaps, none more gloriously sublime or arrestingly impressive than that of the setting sun. Far and wide are spread the kindling clouds with hues of dazzling light, and the sparkling intensity of the topaz, the ruby, and the diamond are outdone by the dread magnificence of the skies. But what are the kindling clouds? These are but the skirts of the garment of the king of day! As much as they excel the common creation in brightness, he transcends them in magnificence and glory. If for a moment he draws aside the robes that enshroud him, earthly monarchs are blinded by his unbearable beams. His presence is light and life, and his absence casts a shadow upon the world. The setting sun is an impressive, rather than a joyous spectacle, for it tells us of a dying day, and disposes us to think on our own dissolution. But it proclaims also, as with an angel's trumpet, the almighty power and immeasurable goodness of our

great Creator; nor can we regard it as an ambassador of the Most High, without a more exalted conception of the King of kings, and a livelier thankfulness to the Lord of lords.

A concentrated scene, an impressive sight, is that of a funeral; when the faded form of one dear to us is committed to the ground-" earth to earth, ashes to ashes, and dust to dust." We have been made familiar with sorrow and sighing, sickness and death. The plumed hearse, the funeral pall, and the sad procession have flung an added shadow on our hearts; and now we part with the last remains of our departed companion: "I am the resurrection and the life; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die," are cheering words, and much do we require them. At one moment we can rejoice, but in the next we needs must mourn. We hear the solemn words pronounced over the departed one, and feel their truth, that man cometh up and is cut down like a flower;" and we respond heartily to the prayer, "O Lord God most holy, O Lord most mighty, O holy and merciful Saviour, deliver us not into the bitter pains of eternal death." By turns we are elated and depressed, for Affection and Sorrow will look into the grave, though Faith will gaze beyond the starry skies.

Oh that every impressive sight that met our eyes duly impressed our hearts, filling us with more affection for mankind, and more love and zeal for the Redeemer's glory?

ON PEDIGREE

Not all the blood of the Plantagenets

Can heal the leprosy of sin and shame.

THERE are, reader, two opinions held respecting pedigree, that I can by no means entertain. The one is, that it is a personal credit to a man to be descended from an ancient and noble family, irrespective of his character being good or bad. So far from this being the fact, I rather lean to the belief that, to be descended from a noble family, is a just reproach to every ignoble and unworthy member of it-rendering, as it does, his unworthiness the greater. Not even the farfamed herald, Sylvester Petra-Sancta himself, with the kings-at-arms Garter, Clarencieux, and Norroy, bedizened with or and argent, azure, gules, sable, vert, purpure, tenne, and sanguine, with all the shields, crests, supporters, and mottos they could muster, could convince me that a bad man can be really ennobled by a noble descent.

The other opinion to which I demur is, that for any one to be fond of his pedigree, and carefully to preserve an account of it, is, of necessity,