is now no hope, life is altogether extinct. And so, when the heart, like that of Pharaoh, has become doggedly insensible to all the calls of love and warnings of justice, when it has ceased to feel even the reproaches of con: science, when it is as that of Nabal is described, a stone within a man, the fatal truth seems indeed proclaimed that here is one that has, perchance, a name that he liveth, but is dead. Brethren, above all things, avoid what ever would tend to produce a hardened heart. In the rapid sketch that I have given I am not conscious of having overstepped, nay, I am sure that I have fallen short, of the scripture declaration. It is true, as I am quite ready to admit, that there is often much in natural temper to love; for are we not, as I have said, the ruins of a noble structure? But even those who have what is termed a knowledge of human nature must allow that I have said the truth. For we are not to judge of what lurks in the heart by the outward face. How often is the word of kindness on the lips, while a sword is in the soul! How often, behind the veil of outward cheerfulness, corroding envy, bitter disappointment, jealous rivalry, determined malice are at work! It was our Lord himself that said: "This people draweth nigh unto me with their mouth, and honoureth me with their lips; but their heart is far from me" (Matt. xv. 8). And he added the awful confirmation: "Out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornications, thefts, false witness, blasphemies: these are the things which defile a man" (Matt. viii. 19, 20).

But I must advance to the IIIrd particular to be examined-what this heart of ours may become. This topic divides itself into two branches. Let us consider them severally.

1. You may readily conclude what the heart must be if left to itself. Let any evil thing alone, take no pains with it, and, whether it be neglected ground or neglected mind, it will soon be overgrown more luxuriantly with noxious products. The process of deterioration will go on, and the harvest of shame become more abundant. Evil passions are, eventually, their own avengers. Envy, lust, malice, selfishness, the more influence they obtain, the more suffering they cause. In this life, indeed, there is always some flattering hope in the indulgence of them; some sweetness, it is supposed, that will be gained by their being gratified. But, if we are to investigate the full range of the evil heart, we must behold it in another state, in which that that is unholy is eternally unholy still. Rage and envy and sensual desire and selfishness

will still subsist; but every hope will have finally perished: their gratification will have become impossible. And then, when every voice for God has ceased, and all nobler principle has been altogether quenched, and the heart with its devouring passions feeds only on itself, what human arithmetic can measure the duration, or sensible conception reach the intensity, of the misery that must ensue? For it is not that at length, as here, a change may come, or that that sad heart shall one day cease to throb; alas! there is rest for it no more. For, as the saved shall brighten, we are told," from glory to glory", the lost, it is to be feared, shall pass from sorrow to sorrow, the heart becoming for ever more hardened against all that is good, more exquisitely tender to all that may afflict it. Does there seem a contradiction in this statement? Why, here we may see very often a nature, hard as the nether mill-stone to others, acutely sensible to that which affects itself; callous to inflict evil, tender to bear it. Let this be indefinitely aggravated, as it must be, and then you see the frightful fate of an unsanctified heart. It is a hell unto itself; no meekness, no pity, no love remaining, but pride unmitigated, and selfishness, and envy, and revenge; a cage, indeed, of every unclean bird. I pause not to notice any bodily suffering which God's enemies may endure at death they become, for a time, all spirit; and, though the body will arise with a terrible adaptation to the soul's destiny, yet that I will leave out of the present question, and, that you may see the result of an unchanged nature, would simply desire you to look, if you can look, at the tremendous spectacle of a heart perfectly alienated from God; on fire, as it were, with every fierce passion; the weight of eternity forcing each miserable pulse into more furious action. Leave it, as it now is, to itself; indulge its sensual desires; let the means of grace be neglected, the calls to repentance be disregarded, the love of Christ be slighted, the Spirit's motions quenched; and this, I warn you in God's name, must be the fatal catastrophe.

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2. But what may it become, formed afresh by almighty grace? There is provision in the gospel covenant for such a new creation. As the guilt of sinful deeds is removed, obliterated by the blood of Jesus Christ applied by faith, so there is the power of God's Spirit to renew the nature, and change the earthly heart. There is a sanctifying process which he can carry on; so that they who were once under the dominion of evil lust become the obedient children of a holy God. It is a marvellous translation. "Now," says the apostle, "being made free from sin, and

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF M. BARBER, WHO DIED AT THE AGE OF NEARLY ONE HUNDRED AND ELEVEN YEARS.

year;

No. II.

COMMUNICATED BY MARY ROBERTS.

"I CONTINUED to live for five years very comfortably in my place, and should no doubt have continued longer if my master had not been obliged to part with me. He used often to go to Dublin in the way of business, that is, once or twice a but the last time he went there before my going away, he met with an old friend, who for some offence against the laws was sent to prison, and who could not be let out before the session without good bail. My master was a kind-hearted man, and, having unbounded confidence in the integrity of his friend, he readily became bondsman for him. In consequence of this, he was almost ruined; for his friend, being afraid to appear before a jury of his countrymen, secretly left home, and was not heard of for many years afterwards. In due time, the day of trial came, and, the accused not appearing, the bail was declared forfeited. It was, I believe, to a large amount: master was sent to prison, and his house and property declared for sale. However, through the kindness of friends, he was saved from utter rain: money was raised; and he returned to his house and family. Truly, he was an honest man; one who determined to pay his friends, let it cost what it would. I was, in consequence, discharged, and other servants likewise; and both master and mistress worked almost day and night to pay every one what they owed. However, in spite of all their endeavours, they never perfectly recovered themselves, but remained to the end of their lives, in a great measure, dependent on their friends.

"Or leaving my place, I was passed to another, in order to complete the period of my apprenticeship, where I continued the two following years. I wanted for nothing, and yet I was not so comfortable as in my last situation, and I had no mother to whom I could tell my troubles: my poor father had almost ceased to be such to me; for, shortly after mother's death, he married again. Of his wife I knew but little, seeing her no more than I was obliged; nor yet the children, of whom they had many. From this time till my twenty-f year I continued in service; but, then, an offer being made me, I married, and took my present name of Barber, which I have borne as wife and widow nearly eighty-five years.

7-fifth

"My husband was some years older than myself. I have heard him say that he was a boy at school in the great frost of the year 1717. We had nothing more to depend upon than what hard labour enabled us to purchase; but, though poor, we were very comfortable together: he was a kind husband, and a hard-working man; and labour was nothing new to me so we managed to get on, and in the course of five years we had a little well-stocked farm. We both rose early, and did not let the grass grow under our feet: this was the more needful, as our family increased; and ten children were given to us, three of whom died in their infancy. My chief employment consisted in spinning, while my husband was almost con

stantly employed on a neighbouring farm; yet we contrived to attend to our own at spare hours.

"Things were in this state when my father died, having been for some time previously dependent on the bounty of his children. But sorrow came upon us: my eldest boy, a fine youth about fifteen years of age, and his youngest brother, not more than four, were attacked with a putrid fever, which presently seized upon us both. My constitution was a very good one: my husband's too, to all appearance; but, alas! he sunk under the attack: his time was come, and, in ten days from his falling sick, he breathed his last. I have witnessed many trying scenes since then, have passed through many dangers and difficulties, yet still the thought of that dismal hour is imprinted on my memory fresh, and almost as fearful as ever. It was a blow that I was not prepared for, and one that I almost wished to sink under; but, blessed be the Lord, he gave me strength to resist determined to bring up my family respectably, if the temptation. I became resigned to my lot, and possible. The decision I then came to was ever after my principle of action. I devoted myself to my children's good; and it has pleased God, blessed be his holy name, to give them grateful hearts. One of my poor girls, the companion of many of my troubles and privations, was attacked, when coming of age, with that dreadful diseasethe rheumatic gout. Her sufferings were dreadful: for weeks she kept her bed, and could not even brar the bed-clothes to touch her emaciated frame-so much so, that I was obliged to make a rack of boughs, dried and bent, to support them over her. quite hopeless; and, when at length she did get During many weeks her recovery was better, and was able to sit up, and even move about with the aid of crutches, the disease centred in her left thigh, and caused her indescribable pain. Poor thing, even with my assistance and her crutches, she could go about only very slowly speaking after the manner of men, it would have been well if she had then died; for years of suffering were her lot. Yet the Lord has done all things well, blessed be his name: her sore trial might have been sanctified to her everlasting good. As years went on, my children, becoming men and women, married, and went away, till at length I was left with no other companion than one daughter: she, too, at length married; but her husband did not live many years, and, having no children, she came back to me again.

"I have said that in old times each family supplied themselves from their own yard with pigs, poultry, and the like; but, as business increased, and each one took to some, trade or occupation of their own, they found it more to their advantage to give themselves entirely to their business, and depend on supplying themselves with food from the farm-yards of others. As long as I can remember, there have been in and about the villages little shops, or, as they were more generally termed, regaling-houses, intended for, and depending on, the sale of their articles to wayfaring travellers. Afterwards, when business increased, it became common for these little shopkeepers to deal in pigs and poultry. As I had now no boy to assist with the cows, or on our little piece of land, I was advised to try one of these houses; which I did, and for some time obtained a very decent livelihood

for poor folk. My poor lame girl remained at home, while I went for miles round the country, buying whatever we could agree upon. Poultry was then very cheap. I have often sold a common turkey for 4d., and a very fine one for 6d. A turkey, with eight or ten young ones, might be purchased for 14d.; geese about the same price; fowls at 1d. and 1d. A good calf fetched 6s., and a quarter of mutton 1s.: other things were equally reasonable; and so great a change had taken place with regard to potatoes, that such as I used to hoard up for a great treat at Christmas, when living in my first place, might be had for 3s. a waggon load, I mean at the time of digging: of course, the price rose before the next crop came in.

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"At length, the terrible rebellion broke out, thirty-five years ago: it was a frightful scourge; but we lived on, and, when quiet came again, I set out for London. One of my brothers, when quite a youth, settled in Tipperary, and became a leathercutter, and, in the spring before I left my own country, my poor girl got to see him he was not, however, doing so well as he had done, and he made up his mind to leave Ireland for England, in hopes of better success. Many had suffered deeply from the rebellion, and I among the number; though brought up and educated as a Protestant, and not having to my knowledge any relation engaged in that dreadful affair, party spirit ran so high that my little business suffered greatly.

"My brother's going away made me wish to follow; and my poor afflicted girl and myself at length safely arrived in London, with what little property I possessed. But sad was our disappointment: our hopes had been greatly raised; but London did not prove the place we expected. What to do puzzled us; but at length we opened a little fruit-shop, and, though the profit was trifling, we contrived, with the aid of needle-work, to get on pretty well for some years. At length, being anxious to see some of my children, who had settled in Ireland, I went there, and spent two years with one and the other: after which I returned back to London, and in this way I passed my life, when in full vigour, going and returning five separate times.

"People called me old at the time, but I did not feel so, and at the age of 97 I returned to Ireland for the last time. My love to my children was great; and, as a son and daughter, who had been in London, were going over to settle at Slaguy, a town about one hundred miles from Dublin, they invited me to go with them. The offer I gladly accepted; for, as I was certainly getting old, I thought that perhaps I had not much longer to live, and greatly did I wish to see again all those dear ones who were living in the old country, to visit, too, the churchyard in which were deposited the remains of my dear and neverto-be-forgotten husband. I parted with my dear girl in London: she was then working for an upholsterer, and had plenty of employment, though poorly paid for it. I believe she and my other children took, as they thought, their final leave of me; thinking, and with reason, that they should never behold me in this world again. I know not how it was, but I had strong hopes of again returning, and from that inward assurance I bade them cheerfully farewell.

"I have said that we left London for Slaguy. Nothing happened particularly, as I can remember, on the road: we walked the greater part of the way; and when we reached the coast we got on board a sailing-vessel. Our pockets being very low, we were necessarily deck passengers, and rough and weary enough is the passage generally. At Slaguy I remained two years, and then went to see a daughter settled at Roscrea, where I was welcomed right heartily and affectionately, though they had few comforts to offer, being scarcely possessed of the common necessaries of life. My daughter had a large family, and her husband was only a labourer; he was, moreover, advanced in life, and could not, therefore, get full employ ment. Of course I would not think of remaining long with them, and I began to long after my poor girl in London. Nor was this strange: my children were poor; and I could not help thinking that I was a burden upon them, though nothing they either said or did confirmed my opinion. When, however, there are many mouths to feed, and scant means, every thing extra is felt. I knew it must be so; and this made me fretful: no sooner was I in one place, than I longed to be in another. But at Roscrea I was destined to remain for some time-much real trouble, suffering, and affliction was to be my lot. Scarcely had I been there a month before one of the children was taken ill. At first we thought and hoped that it arose from having eaten green fruit, then in great plenty; but this was not the case; and dreadful was our disappointment to find that the little boy's illness was pronounced to be a dreadful fever, then fatally prevalent in a neighbouring village. Poor child! we had to soothe and relieve him in every possible way; and such attentions were cheerfully and freely given, notwithstanding our own great risk. At length, when arrived its worst and most dangerous state, the boy rallied and began to mend; and we cheered ourselves with thinking that, as the other nine children ea: well and ran about as usual, there was no need of fears on their account. Alas, alas! we only deceived ourselves: three children were taken ill in one day. Our worst fears were excited; and in a few days all, excepting the husband, were down with it. My clothes at the time were good and comfortable, but they presently were pawned to relieve our desperate sufferings; and yet the money got upon them was so trifling, that we were soon obliged to content ourselves with water. My son-in-law, before he left for his work, used to bring in a pail of water from a spring hard by, and leave it in the room, where eleven poor suffering creatures lay ill of fever. By a little exer tion and helping one another we were enabled to get it during the day; and when he returned in the evening he brought us a fresh supply; and so he continued night and morning while our illness lasted. Some of the children soon got better, but the greater part of us remained for some days in a very dangerous state: for my own part I believe that I was the chief sufferer, owing, doubtless, to my advanced age, being in my 100th year; yet it pleased the good Lord to be once more mercifu to me. In the course of a month I was considered out of danger, though exceeding weak, and quite unable to walk for another four weeks; two weary weeks more passed away before I got into the

fresh air; so that, altogether, I was ill for the space of ten weeks.

"Meanwhile, as death seemed so near, I suffered great anxiety, thinking much of my dear girl in London. No letter had been sent her, because my death was hourly expected; and she on her part, thinking much of her poor mother, had written a letter to Roscrea to know what was the matter, being full of sad thoughts, and fearing that I was dead. On hearing this, my distress was great, and in the impulse of the moment I determined to set off for London; but, when I came to think the matter over, I found that I was little better than a prisoner at large. True it was that I could walk where I chose, and enjoy the sweet fresh air of heaven; but then I had no money, nor indeed any clothes but such as I stood upright in. Yet, though weak and dispirited, I was not entirely cast down. I used to look up to heaven, and fancy that my poor child did the same; and I believed that the Lord, whom we both worshipped, could and would help us in our sore extremity; and, blessed be his holy name, he did so.

"There was a brewer at Roscrea of the name of Smith; and, when I was in Ireland some years before, I worked for his father during the space of seven years, and all the time of our illness, or nearly so, he occasionally employed my son-inlaw. I knew that he was a kind-hearted man, and I did not doubt but that if I spoke to him he would do what I desired, which was to write to my children to tell them what I suffered, and how greatly I desired to see them once again before I died. I knew that my friends in Ireland would help me as far as Liverpool, where I wanted one of my children to meet me, and to return with me to London. This I knew they could readily and would willingly do, because the cost was trifling, and the love which they bore me made the fatigue of the journey light.

"The second day, therefore, of my going out of doors, I went to Mr. Smith's house. He was not at home; and those I saw had forgotten me, or had never known me, as twenty years had passed away since I worked for the master. I did not state my errand; but determined to go every day till I could see him. I had, however, no occasion to put my intentions in practice, for I had not gone many steps from the house when I met and knew him well; twenty years having made little if any change in his appearance; and he still seemed to be a fine-looking young man. I conclude that time had not dealt so well with me; and, when I explained my errand, he looked at me with an incredulous eye, saying that I had better go about my business, and not attempt to impose upon him. I told him that I did not want to impose upon him. To which he answered that it would not do, the person whose name I assumed having been dead some years. I protested that he was mistaken, and told him when and where I worked at the brewery. But he said, 'It was all very clever, but it was too monstrous in me to attempt to make him believe what I said was true.' Then I told him he might learn the truth of what I said from my daughter, mentioning her name; but he said that he was sure I was no mother of hers. At this I was sadly vexed, and

began to get chafed; and I asked him if he knew better than myself who her mother was.

"Just at this moment a friend of his came along, and, seeing me sadly disturbed, asked what was the matter. To which Mr. Smith replied that I was a person who wanted to make myself 100 years old, pretending to be a woman who had worked for his father and himself, but who had been dead many years.

"The gentleman looked at me, and said, 'She does not appear to be so old; but we can easily prove the matter by asking the person she says is her daughter.' True,' answered Mr. Smith, we'll go directly.' This they did; and when IÍ got home they begged my pardon, said they were sorry to have doubted my word, gave me some money, and promised to write to London. This was done, and Mr. Smith even enclosed a register of my baptism, thinking it might be of use to me.

THE CANARY BIRD.

THE Canary birds, now kept and reared throughout the whole of Europe, were originally natives of the Canary islands. There they are still found in pleasant valleys, and on the delightful banks of sparkling rills and small streams. But for some two hundred years they have been bred in Europe. ship was wrecked on the coast of Italy, which, in About the beginning of the sixteenth century a addition to merchandize, had a multitude of canaries on board. These birds, thus obtaining their liberty, flew to the island of Elba, the nearest land. There they found a propitious climate, and posed by hunting them for cage-birds, until they multiplied very rapidly. Had not man interwere entirely extirpated, they would probably have naturalized themselves there.

In Italy were found the first tame canaries, and there they are still raised in vast numbers. Within the last hundred years they were so uncommon and expensive, that only princes and people of great wealth could keep them. But at the present day these birds are raised in all our cities and most of the towns, and sold at moderate prices.

In its native island the plumage of the canary bird is said to be more beautiful than that of our tame ones; but its song is less melodious and varied, consisting of fewer notes, and uttered at longer intervals. The original colour of this bird in its wild state was grey, merging into green beneath; but, by domestication and climate, it has been so changed that canaries may now be seen of almost every hue.

Most commonly they are of some shade of yellow; but some are grey, others white; some are reddish brown, or chestnut-coloured, others are beautifully shaded with green. These are the prevailing colours; but they are blended in various combinations, and thus present every degree of shade. Those the most prized exhibit the most marked and regularly these various shades.

The one most generally admired at present is yellow or white upon its body, and of a dun yellow colour on the wings, head, and tail. Next in degree of beauty is that which is of a golden yellow, with black, blue, or blackish grey head, and similar wings and tail. There are also grey