from Thy hand," in that Thou sendest them no messages of love, but through life they pass, worse off here than in a heathen land, with none to love them, none to tend.

5. "Thou hast laid me in the lowest pit: in a place of darkness, and in the deep."

"In the lowest pit," where no light comes, "in a place of darkness," yea, of darkness like the outer darkness, "and in the deep," where penetrates no ray of sympathy, no spark of that love which, ministered from a brother's heart, might soften and save their soul.

6. "Thine indignation lieth hard upon me: and Thou hast vexed me with all Thy storms."

Thine indignation, and all Thy storms, driving the miserable soul from one suffering to another, from one wretchedness to another: the only goal that the soul can see is the ending of its own life.

7. "Thou hast put away mine acquaintance far from me: and made

me to be abhorred of them."

And is not this true? He has sinned, he has sinned, they say; he is a bad man, and so they pass him by on the other side, and he dies for want of the love that might have saved his soul. He goes on in words that they might use, and that we may use for them.

8. "I am so fast in prison: that I cannot get forth."

Powerless am I to move, to yearn, to feebly wish myself better; and if powerless to feebly wish myself better, what to turn to Thee, what to repent, what to amend?

9. "My sight faileth for very trouble."

I cannot even see Thee, nor what Thou art: no ray of light to me comes through the thick of the murky darkness: nought see I, save the foresight of the lurid flashes of hell. "Lord, I have called daily upon Thee, I have stretched forth my hands unto Thee."

Yes, ever He liveth to make intercession, and He who intercedeth for thee, intercedeth for the devil's outcasts. And His Church on earth, too, knowing how it was only His almighty power that roused many in it from the lethargy of some sin, it too prays that He would pour forth the same mercy on them too; it too stretched forth its hands in doing works of mercy for the poor.

10. "Dost Thou show wonders among the dead: or shall the dead rise up again, and praise Thee ?"

And

As it is said in another Psalm (lxxix. 12), "O let the sorrowful sighing of the prisoners come before Thee: according to the greatness of Thy power, preserve thou those that are appointed to die. again, Psalm cii. 19, "Out of the heaven did the Lord behold the earth; that He might hear the moanings of such as are in captivity: and deliver the children appointed unto death."

Yea, O Lord, in pity, in Thy compassion, magnify Thyself among those, who do but die for want of the love that Thou hast shewn each of us, and whom one touch of the love that Thou hast shown each of us, would have made saints. Yet, though to all appearance dead, Lord, O Lord, may they yet rise up and praise Thee.

11. "Shall Thy loving-kindness be shewed in the grave: or Thy faithfulness in destruction ?"

Yes, Lord, even as Thou didst shew it on Lazarus, when four days dead, and on those who rose again at Thy dread passion and death,

even so. Lord, O Lord, what can man do with these fearful masses; where man cannot, there let Thy power be shewn: Thy loving-kindness, as being love; Thy faithfulness, that of Thine own, none shall be lost. Shall Thy wondrous works be known in the dark, and Thy righteousness in the land where all things are forgotten? Thy marvels of love, O Lord; Thy righteousness justifying, imputing, imparting Christ's righteousness, in that land where they know not Thy name save only to swear?

13. "Unto Thee have I cried, O Lord: and early shall my prayer come before Thee."

Now it is night: to Thee we cry all night: in the morning, the morning of the resurrection, then shall we see each prayer made in faith, and often in difficulty and in pain, safely stored and answered in love as we knew not. And now, again, He puts words into their mouth, and into ours for them, whom our Lord, having taken us, has left, or seemed to leave.

14. "Lord, why abhorrest Thou my soul: and hidest Thou Thy face from me ?"

Why passest Thou me over? Was it not for me that Thou didst die? and Thou givest me no thought of Thee. Thou sendest none to tell me of Thee; none to love me for Thy dear sake. Yet am I not the price of Thy blood; am I not, O God?

15. "I am in misery, and like unto him that is at the point to die: even from my youth up Thy terrors have I suffered with a troubled mind."

Have I ever known ought but suffering? Have I anything to look forward to but death? and then, do I not shut my eyes to what is beyond it? Have I ever thought of Thee but in fear? From my childhood, in misery and dirt in the streets, did I ever think of Thee, save as one who hated me, who had not given me my portion, and whom I must indeed fear, but might not escape?

16. "Thy wrathful displeasure goeth over me: and the fear of Thee hath undone me.

17. "They came round about me daily like water, and compassed me together on every side."

Yes, O Lord, I sinned; there was none to lead me, none to teach me to do better, none to comfort me. Thy terrors were round about me like water; for I knew of nothing but hell. Hell I heard of; I knew, I knew well, it was for such as me; but of Thy pity, no one breathed one word to me, and so thy terrors have cut me off.

18. "

My lovers and friends hast Thou put away from me and hid mine acquaintance out of my sight."

My children Thou tookest away from me one by one, even the one child who was still in baby-innocence. Those who were my friends are gone; they know me not. They do but scorn me as they pass by with averted head, and say, "She is a sinner." And that love which might have saved me I had not.

But Thou, O Lord, have mercy upon me; for I am in Thy sight, and Thou wilt not turn away Thy face from any whom Thou hast led to turn to Thee.

S. C. S.

NOTICES OF NEW BOOKS.

A NEW and handsome edition of the whole works of Henry Smith, of St. Clement Danes, London, has laid not only the clergy, but the whole literature of England, under an obligation. The title, at length, of the two volumes is,-The Sermons of Mr. Henry Smith; together with a Preparative to Marriage, God's Arrow against Atheists, certain Godly and Zealous Prayers, &c. With a Memoir of the learned Author. By Thomas Fuller, B.D. The whole carefully edited by the Author of "Our Heavenly Home," "Life at Bethany, &c. London: William Tegg. 1866.-Fuller, the genial historian of the Church, who lived soon after the death of Henry Smith, pronounced him to be the Chrysostom of the English Church, and in that character he comes down to us. This however is but faint praise, and entirely fails to represent, or rather thoroughly misrepresents, the real character of one of the purest writers, and beyond all comparison the most eloquent preacher, of the Elizabethan age. Chrysostom is weak, florid, and burdened with the oriental, metaphorical style which had entirely superseded the chaste models of Greece and Rome; and the faults of his style are not atoned for by the soundness of his theology.

Henry Smith, a Puritan of eminent piety, silenced on account of his adherence to the Puritaus, though afterwards restored, is nervous, a keen observer of human nature, as fearless as John the Baptist in reproving sin, and eloquent in the highest sense. The perorations of his sermons must have thrilled his hearers. We give one specimen, and by no means the best that we could have chosen; but we have taken it as it presents itself almost at haphazard :

"Our Fathers have summoned us, and we must summon our children, to the grave. Every thing every day suffers some eclipse, nothing standeth at a stay, but one creature calls to another, Let us leave this world. While we play our pageants upon this stage of short continuance, every man hath a part, some longer and some shorter, and while the actors are at it, suddenly Death steps upon the stage like a hawk which separates one of the doves from the flight; he shoots his dart; where it lights, there falls one of the actors dead before them, and makes all the rest aghast ; they muse and mourn, and bury him, and then to the sport again. While they sing, play, and dance, Death comes again, and strikes another; there he lies, they mourn him, and bury him as they did the former, and play again: so one after another, till the players be vanished like the accusers which came before Christ, and Death is the last upon the stage; so the figure of this world passeth away.”

Mr. Ryle has published a carefully prepared Address to the Clergy assembled at Ipswich and elsewhere; to which are added some important Remarks upon the Lord's Supper. Mr. Ryle, though well acquainted with our writers on Canons and Rubrics, prefers, as his manner is, to go straight to the Word of God. He is honest and faithful, and if anything can save us from the lapsed condition into which our modern school of Evangelical men are falling, his stirring appeals, with God's blessing, may have such an effect. The super

stition, too, which still prevents so many of our people from approaching the Lord's table, would surely be removed if they would read Mr. Ryle's remarks on the Lord's Supper. Wicked men, loving sin and living in sin, in malice or envy, or any other grievous crime, are warned to repent, or not to come to that holy table. Our Church invites all others to draw near. She knows no such thing as the fencing of the tables. All are welcome, if they believe, or even have a hearty desire to believe, that Jesus Christ came into the world to save them in particular, as well as all other sinners.

Archdeacon Wordsworth, of Westminster, has published a short History of the Church of Ireland;-a small book, of which the price, we believe, is two shillings. It is the substance of four sermons preached before the University of Cambridge, with considerable additions, published by Rivingtons; but it is by no means a compendium. The authorities are good, and they are all taken, not at second-hand, but from the original sources. It is just such a history as every intelligent layman, as well as the clergy, ought to read; and contains, we fear, a great deal more than either clergy or laity know about the sister Church; or else neither in Parliament, nor out of it, would the impudent falsehoods which are palmed upon us by the Irish Papists be so calmly received, as though their truth was not to be questioned.

It is true, in past ages we made our mistakes, and were perhaps sometimes guilty of injustice, especially in withholding the Scriptures in their native tongue from the Irish, and in forbidding Irish preaching. This, however, was done centuries ago, at a time of chronic rebellion; when it was thought that, could the Irish tongue have been brought into disuse, Ireland would be at rest. "Nations," says the poet,

"Are slowly wise and meanly just."

While we write, one of our newspapers of the widest circulation, with an amount of ignorance and levity which is almost incredible, is actually contending for the destruction of the Welsh language by every fair, and some foul, means, such as refusing instruction in the Welsh language in all national schools, and compelling preaching to the people almost exclusively in English.

Now, sixty years ago, there was no Welsh preaching in the Church in Wales, and the churches were desert places; no Welsh bishop could speak a word of Welsh, or even give his benediction in that language. The bishops were hated, and it was seriously apprehended that the Welsh Church would die out. The Welsh have now a Welsh-speaking clergy, and their churches are crowded to suffocation, as we can testify; and the bishops who can deliver a Charge, or even pronounce the benediction in Welsh, are as much respected as our English bishops at home.

It is profound ignorance alone which leads English writers to speak of the Welsh as a barbarous language; it is one of the purest in the world. It is easily learnt, and when spoken by an eloquent Welsh preacher, it is soft and liquid beyond expression; it is only because we are unacquainted with the force and meaning of its strange jumble of vowels and consonants, as it seems to us, that it appears harsh and guttural. It is perfectly self-contained, and is not indebted to any

European language for a single word, except where the thing which the word represents was unknown; as in the case of pons, which was introduced into the language when the Romans first built a bridge, and then the Welsh began to speak of pont-y-Cylty, &c. The Welsh in fact are Celts; they are the Galatai or Galatians of the New Testament; and the rudiments of their language must be traced, if any where, to an Oriental source. We have wandered somewhat from Archdeacon Wordsworth and his excellent manual, but no English gentleman, and certainly no English clergyman, ought to be content to know less than may be gathered from these instructive and very interesting pages.

We have many valuable reprints this month: amongst these, A Commentary on the whole Epistle to the Hebrews. By that holy and learned Divine William Gouge, D.D. Vol. I. Edinburgh: James Nichol. London: Nisbet and Co.-We have long known that Gouge was indeed a holy and learned Divine: this first volume, in small quarto, shows that he was also a good expositor, perhaps equal to any of the old Puritan school. He writes in a happy cheerful strain, and the volume is a great boon to the clergy, who may fill their shelves with a course of sound theology, for which their fathers haunted book-stalls and old book-shops, much perhaps to their amusement, but very little to their advantage.

Miss Whately has just published, in two volumes octavo, The Life and Correspondence of (her Father) the late Archbishop of Dublin. London: Longmans and Co.-Whatever proceeds from her pen cannot fail to be interesting and instructive, and we hope to be able to make our readers more fully acquainted with these volumes. The Archbishop was a good and great man, but his last were his best hours. He had what one of our old writers terms "a pregnant wit," which seemed to lie under no restraint. It appeared to us, that in the presence of strangers he avoided serious conversation, and turned everything into a jest. But we met him only once, and on such an acquaintance it is perhaps unfair to give a decided opinion. The wisest men have their foolish hours.

The Prison Life of Jefferson Davis, one volume, post 8vo, has lately been published by Sampson Low and Co.-The fallen President appears to be a sincerely good man of the old Puritan stamp. We cannot help expressing a hope that, after so long a period has elapsed, President Johnson will perform an act of justice rather than of generosity, and at once release his truly noble captive. England and all Europe would applaud his conduct; and we are persuaded that he is deterred from this course only by the deference which he feels himself compelled to pay to the most worthless section of his opponents. How is it that our philanthropists, who are so anxious to see Governor Eyre hanged as a murderer, for what at the worst was, as we believe it was, a grievous error of judgment, should address neither remonstrance nor petition to the President of the United States upon his treatment of President Davis?

Perhaps we are more interested than becomes our professional gravity, in a work entitled Fish Culture; by Francis Francis. George Routledge and Sons. But we cannot be guilty of the affectation of