and purple, orange and blue, are complementary. The two former are the colours most frequently found associated in plants, affording a pleasant contrast not only in the rich hues of geraniums, roses, and thousands of our favourite flowers, but also in the scarlet berrios which peep from amid the dark green foliage of our winter shrubs, cheering us by their brightness in the absence of our summer friends. To prevent the discord which might arise from the association of green -the hue of all foliage-with other colours, such as yellow and blue in the flower, Chevreuil lays down the following rule:-"I must reply to the objection that might be made, that the green of the leaves, which serves, as it were, as a ground for the flowers, destroys the effect of the contrast of the latter. Such, however, is not the case; and to prove this, it is only necessary to fix on a screen of green silk two kinds of flowers, and to look at them at a distance of ten paces. As soon as the eye sees distinctly and simultaneously two colours, the attention is so riveted that contiguous objects, especially when on a receding plane, and when they are of a sombre colour and present themselves in a confused manner to the sight, produce but a feeble impression." Purple with its complementary yellow we find perhaps most frequently in juxtaposition in the colours of flowers. Orange and blue are more rarely seen together, a pure blue being seldom met with in the flowers of plants.

:

Nor is this harmony confined to the complementary colours those called tertiary are likewise in agreement throughout the vegetable world; and the same careful attention to effect and contrast may be traced even in the flowers of our grasses, where citron is associated with dark purple, olive with dark orange, and russet with dark green. This latter association produces a pleasing effect in the pine-tree, whose russet-coloured bark harmonizes with the sombre tints of its dark foliage; and again, in the Victoria Regia we see a red purple calyx in conjunction with yellow-green leaves. Colour in vegetation is to us such a common thing that we hold in light esteem the many-hued wildflowers which we crush beneath our feet. Yellow japanned buttercups, and star-disked dandelions, the profuse daisyflower, with its button-like mound of gold set round with milk-white rays, are so familiar to our view that we, perhaps, have never thought of the different aspect our daily paths would present in the absence of colour. The purple bloom of the peach and the rich crimson of the strawberry would be wanting to enrich their flavour, and the glories of the rising and the setting sun would be replaced by a dull, leaden-hued sky. But He who formed the eye knows how to minister to its gratification, and enhances the value of his gifts by bestowing upon them that beauty which makes them pleasant to the sight as well as "good for food."

"One spirit, His

Who wore the platted thorn with bleeding brows, Rules universal nature. Not a flower But shows some touch in freckle, freak, or stain, Of His unrivalled pencil. He inspires Their balmy odours, and imparts their hues." The sober hues of our autumnal foliage bear no resemblance to the gorgeous colouring of American woods during that charming season to which our transAtlantic brethren give the name of the Indian summer. It generally commences in October, and lasts for six weeks or two months, and during this time nature arrays herself in hues of almost prismatic brightness; and, as if conscious of the icy shroud which is to con

stitute her winter covering, she gathers all her glories around her, and, like the setting sun, retires to rest in a mantle of the richest tints, not massed together in a kind of dusky outline, as with us, but flushing each bough and leaf with such clear, metallic brilliancy, that it seems as if some fairy had touched them with her wand, and turned the leaves to rubies, emeralds, and topaz. This wonderful change in the foliage is sometimes the work of a single night, and the soft golden atmosphere peculiar to the season renders this Indian summer still more enjoyable.

The last lesson to which we shall direct the attention of our readers as to be learned from the brilliant tints of nature, is the transitory character even of our brightest possessions. As children, we grasp too eagerly at the flowers, only to crush them for ever by our tenacity. In later days we often find the fruit, for which we long so feverishly, to be painted ashes; and, in old age, too frequently the glory of life seems to decay sadly, and what was prized to fade even as does the beauty of the rose. But, viewed aright, we can learn higher and better things from these mute teachers. The rose, whose brightness fades so quickly, does not perish, but blooms again, as if to remind us that we, too, may renew our life in a better land where thero is no death.

THE PULPIT IN THE FAMILY.

THE REPENTANCE OF JUDAS.

"Then Judas, which had betrayed him, when he saw that he was condemned, repented himself, and brought again the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and elders, saying, I have sinned in that I have betrayed the innocent blood. And they said, What is that to us? see thou to that. And he cast down the pieces of silver in the temple, and departed, and went and hanged himself."-Matt, xxvii. 3-5.

E read of two kinds of sorrow for sin-"godly sorrow," and "the sorrow of the world." And "godly sorrow," we are told, "worketh repentance to salvation, not to be repented of; but the sorrow of the world worketh death (2 Cor. vii. 10). Now it is said here that Judas "repented himself;" but it is plain that his repentance was not " repentance unto salvation" (indeed the word in the original is quite different), but rather "the sorrow of the world." It was sorrow, not so much for sin as for the consequences of sin; for it was only when he saw that Jesus was condemned, that he repented himself. And it worked death in his case. A bitter remorse took hold of him. An insupportable load pressed upon his mind. Yet this did not lead him to God, but rather drove him to destruction. heart was still unchanged. "He departed, and went and hanged himself.”

His

An unchanged heart often feels remorse, but never true repentance. A great crime weighing on the conscience has often clouded all the after life of the criminal, and has sometimes driven him to give himself up to justice. And many have passed a sad old age by reason of youth wasted, the best years misspent, opportunities gone for ever, and perhaps the consequences of sin still felt in ruined health and blighted prospects. All this may be, and yet no godly sorrow, no true repentance, no change of heart.

True repentance is the gift of God, and comes only

when the heart is changed by grace. Then the sinner comes to Christ. Then is there a true sorrow for sin itself. Then does he draw nigh to God. With trembling step, perhaps, and downcast look, like the publican in the temple; yet still he draws nigh. For godly sorrow leads to God, while the sorrow of the world does but drive the heart from him.

If repentance be the gift of God, then we may pray for it. Jesus Christ is exalted "to be a prince and a Saviour, for to give repentance to Israel, and forgiveness of sins" (Acts v. 31); the true repentance, a chango of heart. We may seek this precious gift therefore from Him. How earnestly should we seek it! Some say, "I cannot go to Jesus till I repent." Nay, rather, you cannot repent till you go to Jesus. If repentance be his to give, how can we have it but by going to him for it?

Now observe how little help this miserable man got from his companions in sin; what false friends they proved in the hour of need. But a little while ago, Judas and the chief priests and elders were plotting together with one object. Their motives indeed were different: his, mere gain; theirs, the destruction of Jesus. But they were joining together for one end, they were partners and associates. One might have thought them fast friends. A few hours

only have passed, and see them now. In his deep distress and despair, Judas comes to the chief priests and elders. "I have sinned," says he, "in that I have betrayed the innocent blood." How do his partners receive him? They have no word of pity for him in his misery; no help, no comfort, no sympathy. Though every tone and look must have spoken the anguish of his heart, he meets with nothing but hardhearted indifference, and mocking scorn. "What is that to us?" You have done our work, and we have paid the price; the business is finished; your sorrow, and his innocence, what matter they? "What is that to us? See thou to that."

Ah! there is nothing sure in a friendship or companionship based on sinful, or even on mere worldly, principles.

How often do companions in crime betray one another! Sometimes in order to save themselves, but sometimes even from the hope of reward.

How often do old companions, friends as they called themselves, fail in the hour of need! They seemed firm friends indeed. They were boon companions perhaps. They laughed, they sang, they drank together. Many a merry evening did they pass together. But let one of their number be brought into trouble, and how often do such friends as these forsake him? Some fever scizes him perhaps, some contagious fever, and they flee from his house, as from the plague. He comes to poverty and want, he can no longer feast them, he stands in need of the very necessaries of life; often he seeks help in vain from these old friends. Did not the prodigal find it so? Though there was a mighty famine in the land, yet all were not brought to destitution, for we know that there was one citizen of that country who still kept his property, and if one there were probably more. Yet "no man gave unto him." Of all those with whom he had wasted his substance with riotous living, there was not one to help him in his need. How different is true Christian friendship. is based on the love of God. It is kind, generous, unselfish. It leads men to regard one another as brethren, brethren in the Lord. Even where this bond

It

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is wanting on one side, the Christian is kind and loving still, even to all. Often, when one who has kept company with the worldly and ungodly, and shunned, and even scoffed at, the servants of God, is brought into some sore trouble, he finds at last who are his true friends. While old companions come not near him, he finds at his bed-side some kind Christian, whom once perhaps he disliked and despised, and hears from his lips the words of truth and of prayer, and receives from his hand those comforts which the sick man needs.

Seek such friends. Be such friends. We should all be helpers to one another, helping each other with kindness, with comfort, with sympathy, with gifts. We should be companions, not in sin, not in folly; at times, it may be, in tribulation; but always in godliness; fellow-travellers towards the heavenly city, cheering one another by the way.

"Jesus, on me bestow

The penitent desire; With true sincerity of woe My aching breast inspire.

With softening pity look, And melt my hardness down Strike with thy love's resistless stroke, And break the heart of stone."

Poetry.

STRIFE IN HEAVEN.

BY THE REV. RALPH ERSKINE.

IN heavenly choirs a question rose,
That stirr'd up strife will never close-
What rank of all the ransom'd race
Owes highest praise to sov'reign grace?
Babes thither caught from womb and breast
Claim'd right to sing above the rest;
Because they found the happy shore
They never saw nor sought before.
Those that arrived at riper age
Before they left the dusky stage,
Thought grace deserv'd yet higher praise,
That wash'd the blots of num'rous days.

Anon the war more close began,
What praising harp should lead the van?
And which of grace's heav'nly peers
Was deepest run in her arrears?
""Tis I,' said one, "'bove all my race,
Am debtor chief to glorious grace."
"Nay," said another, "hark, I trow,
I'm more obliged to grace than you."
"Stay," said a third, "I deepest share
In owing praise beyond compare:
The chief of sinners, you'll allow,
Must be the chief of singers now."

"Ho," cried a mate, "'tis mine I'll prove,
Who sinn'd in spite of light and love,
To sound his praise with loudest bell,
That saved me from the lowest hell."

"Come, come," said one, "I'll hold the plea,
That highest praise is due by me;
For mine, of all the saved by grace,
Was the most dreadful, desp'rate case."

Another, rising at his side,

As fond to praise, and free of pride,
Cried, "Pray, give place; for I defy

That you should owe more praise than I.

"I'll yield to none in this debate; I'm run so deep in grace's debt, That sure I am, I boldly can

Compare with all the heav'nly clan."

Quick o'er their heads a trump awoke,

Your songs my very heart have spoke;

But ev'ry note you here propalo

Belongs to me beyond you all."

The list ning millions round about
With sweet resentment loudly shout:
"What voice is this, comparing notes,
That to their song chief place allots?

"We can't allow of such a sound,
That you alone have highest ground
To sing the royalties of grace;
We claim the same adoring place."

What! will no rival-singer yield
He has a match upon the field?

Come, then, and let us all agrco.
To praise upon the highest key."
Then jointly all the harpers round
In mind unite with solemn sound,
And strokes upon the highest string
Made all the heav'nly arches ring;

Ring loud with hallelujahs high,
To Him that sent his Son to die;
And to the worthy Lamb of God,
That lov'd and wash'd him in his blood.
Free grace was sov'reign empress crown'd
In pomp, with joyful shouts around;
Assisting angels clapp'd their wings,
And sounded grace on all their strings.
The emulation round the throne
Made prostrate hosts (who ev'ry one
The humblest place their right avow)
Strive who shall give the lowest bow.

The next contention without vice
Among the birds of paradise,
Made ev'ry glorious warbling throat
Strive who should raise the highest note.

Thus in sweet, holy, humble strife,
Along their endless, joyful life,
Of Jesus all the harpers rove,

And sing the wonders of his love.

Their discord makes them all unite
In raptures most divinely sweet:
So great the song, so grave the base,
Melodious music fills the place.

FULNESS AND FREENESS OF THE GOSPEL CALL.

BY THE REV. RALPH ERSKINE,

THEY onght, who royal grace's herald be,
To trumpet loud salvation, full and free;
Nor safely can, to humour mortal pride,
In silence evangelic myst'ries hide.

What heav'n is pleased to give, dare we refuso?
Or under ground conceal, lest men abuse?
Suppress the gospel-flow'r, upon pretence

That some vile spiders may suck poison thence?

Christ is a stumbling-block, shall we neglect

To preach him, lest the blind should break their neck? That high he's for the fall of many set,

As well as for the rise, must prove no let.

No grain of precious truth must be supprest,
Though reprobates should to their ruin wrest.
Shall heaven's coruscant lamp be dimm'd, that pays

Its daily tribute down in golden rays,

Because some, blinded with the blazing gleams,
Share not the pleasure of the light'ning beams?
Let those be harden'd, petrified, and harm'd,
The rest are mollified, and kindly warm'd.
A various savour flowers in grace's field
Of life to some, of death to others yield.
Must then the rose be veil'd, the lily hid,
Their fragrant savour stifled? God forbid!
The revelation of the gospel-flower

I still the organ famed, of saving power;
Most justly, then, are legal minds condemn'd,
That of the glorious gospel are asham'd:
For this the arm Divine, and only this,
The pow'r of God unto salvation is.

For therein is reveal'd, to screen from wrath,
The righteousness of God from faith to faith.
The happy change in guilty sinners' case
They owe to free displays of sov'reign grace;
Whose joyful tidings of amazing love
The ministration of the Spirit prove.

The glorious vent the gospel-news express,

Of God's free grace, through Christ's full righteousness,
Is heaven's gay chariot where the Spirit bides,
And in his conq'ring pow'r triumphant rides.
The gospel-field is still the Spirit's soil;
The golden pipe that bears the holy oil,

The orb where he outshines the radiant sun, -
The silver channel where his graces run.
Within the gospel-banks his flowing tide
Of light'ning, quick ning motions, sweetly glide.
Received ye the Spirit, Scripture saith,5
By legal works, or by the word of faith?
If by the gospel only, then let none
Dare to be wiser than the wisest One.

We must, who freely get, as freely give
The vital word that makes the dead to live.
For e'en to sinners dead within our reach,

We, in his living name, may most successful preach.
The Spirit and the Scripture both agree
Jointly, says Christ, to testify of me."
The preacher, then, will from his text decline
That scorns to harmonize with this design.
Press moral duties to the last degree;
Why not? but mind, lest we successful be,
No light, no hope, no strength for duties spring,
Where Jesus is not Prophet, Priest, and King.
No light to see the way unless he teach;
No joyful hope, save in his blood; we reach 7
No strength, unless his royal arm he stretch.
Then from our leading scope how gross we fall,
If, like his name, in ev'ry gospel-call
We make not him the First, the Last, the All!
Our office is to bear the radiant torch
Of gospel-light into the darkened porch
Of human understandings, and display
The joyful dawn of everlasting day;

To draw the golden chariot of free grace,

The darken'd shades with shining rays to chase,

Till heaven's bright lamp on circling wheels be hurl'd,

With sparkling grandeur, round the dusky world;

And thus to bring in dying mortals' sight

New life and immortality to light.8

We're charg'd to preach the gospel unconfin'd

To ev'ry creature of the human kind;
To call, with tenders of salvation free,
All corners of the carth to come and see:10
And ev'ry sinner must excuseless make,
By urging rich and poor to come and take."
Ho, ev'ry one that thirsts,12 is grace's call
Direct, to needy sinners, great and small;
Not meaning those alone, whose holy thirst
Denominates their souls already blest.

If only those were call'd, then none but saints;
Nor would the gospel suit the sinner's wants.
But here the call does signally import
Sinners, and thirsty souls of ev'ry sort;
And mainly to their door the message brings,
Who yet are thirsting after empty things;
Who spend their means no living bread to buy,
And pains for that which cannot satisfy.
Such thirsty sinners here invited are,

Who vainly spend their money, thought, and care
On passing shades, vile lusts, and. trash so base,

As yield immortal souls no true solace.

The call directs them, as they would be blest,
To choose a purer object of their thirst.

All are invited by the joyful sound,

To drink who need, as does the parched ground,

Whose wide-mouth'd clefts speak to the brazen sky
Its passive thirst, without an active cry.

The gospel-preacher, then, with holy skill

Must offer Christ to whosoever will;

To sinners of all sorts that can be nam'd;

The blind, the lame, the poor, the halt, the maim'd;13
Not daring to restrict th' extensive call,
But op'ning wide the net to catch them all.
No soul must be excluded that will come,
Nor right of access be confined to some.
Though none will come till conscious of their want,
Yet right to come they have by sov'reign grant;
Such right to Christ, his promise, and his grace,
That all are damın'd who hear and don't embrace.
So freely is th' unbounded call dispensed,
We therein find ev'n sinners unconvinced,
Who know not they are naked, blind, and poor,14
Counsell'd to buy or beg at Jesus' door,

And take the glorious robe, eye-salve, and golden store.
This prize they are obliged by faith to win,

Else unbelief would never be their sin.
Yea, gospel-offers but a sham we make,

If each description has not right to take.

"Let love be without dissimulation."-Rom. xii. 9. "Seeing ye have purified your souls in obeying the truth through the Spirit unto unfeigned love of the brethren, see that ye love one another with a pure heart fervently."-1 Pet. i. 22.

How pure and how real is the morality of the gospel compared with the teaching of a polite and hollow-hearted world! Love to God, love to man, is the sum of the law, but it is to be real, not simulated love. A false standard of manners pays homage to the beauty of Christian kindness by attempting to imitate it, often where there is no real kindness or love in the heart; but this is in itself displeasing to a God of truth; he looks on the heart, and if it remains cold, no outward semblance of love can deceive his eye. He who desireth truth in the inward parts, would have his people to love," not in word and in tongue, but in deed and in truth." And where his Spirit is, there must necessarily be that fruit of the Spirit which is love. Love is to be" without dissimulation;" we are neither to affect an appearance of it where there is none nor to affect indifference where it really exists, but let love be true and simple, or, as St. Peter calls it, " unfeigned love of the brethren." The best way to get free from dissimulation is to "love thy neighbour as thyself."

"Thy nature, gracious Lord, impart;

Come quickly from above;
Write thy new name upon my heart,
Thy new, best name of Love."

Pages for the Young.

OLD WILLY, THE IRISH PEDLAR.

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IIE events of the little story I am about to relate, took place in the wild bleak county of Galway, which my readers know is situated in Connaught; but they may not be aware of the fact, that in Ireland you frequently hear this Connaught spoken of as "real old Ireland," on account of the inhabitants of that western province having retained more of the language, manners, and customs of their ancestors than those counties brought into immediate and daily communication with the English. It was a calm sweet day in June, and nature appeared clothed in her loveliest attire, when an old man who had wandered many miles, seated himself for a short rest on a rock,

"Just by that lake, whose gloomy shore
The skylark never warbles o'er."

But I cannot help interrupting my story here to relate a legend which I remember having heard from the peasantry themselves, when in that part of Ireland, connected with this lake. They say that in times gone by, there stood on this spot a beautiful city, adorned with lordly palaces and magnificent temples. The inhabitants lived in luxurious effeminacy, caring not who ruled over them, tyrant or lawful king, so that they could but enjoy their sensual pleasures. Their sons were never seen among the number of those who fought well and bravely for the freedom of their native land; but there came a punishment for all this, dreadful as it was unexpected. One night arose a fearful storm; the oldest men in the villages around, who had witnessed many a tremendous gale on their wild western shores, shook their heads and owned in panic-struck whispers, "Shure, niver had they seen the likes of this." Great roaring peals of thunder made the poor trembling creatures fear lest the next moment their cabins would be shattered by a falling bolt; and as the vivid lightning-flashes lit up the surrounding country, men and women might be seen prostrating themselves before pictures of the Virgin, or some patron saint. At length that fearful night was passed, morning dawned, the storm had spent itself, and all was still. The villagers ventured forth, expecting to sce crops and herbage destroyed, but, strange to say, all appeared as on the previous morning. Was it possible that thunder and lightning so awful had been harmless? was the question passed from lip to lip; but later in the day, as men went off to their daily work, they missed the lofty towers and domes of the buildings in the neighbouring city. Many at the first opportunity went to see if these had been destroyed by the storm on arriving, what wonder and astonishment filled their minds; not a vestige remained of that once splendid city, but on the spot where it had been, there now murmured a calm gloomy lake, surrounded by wild desolate scenery. The peasantry tell you, if you doubt this story, to go on a bright sunshiny day and gaze steadily down into that calm lake, and that at the bottom you will see the beautiful city. Such is the wild legend, as I have heard it.

To return to the old man whom we left scated on a rock by this very lake. He is a travelling pedlar, and is known in the country far and wide as "Old Willy." He is heartily welcomed at all the cabins, not only on account of his pack, which contains such a wonderful assortment-something to please eld and young, grave and gay; but, though himself a favourite, he owes his heartiest welcome to the fact that he is the great newsmonger of the place. Wherever he stops, the greeting is certain to be, "Shure, thin, an you're welcome back agin; what's the news, Willy?" As old Willy sits on the rock, his face wears a thoughtful, nay, a troubled look; is it the colitude and stillness of the place, or is it that gazing on that silvery lake this bright summer day brings thoughts to old Willy's mind new and strange? The old man thinks of the days when he could have tramped on many a mile further without being weary; it reininds him that he is growing old, the sands of life are almost run, and now in that quiet lonely spot, he begins to think of God and the future. Old Willy dreads that future, and why? because he looks forward to spending many years in purgatory; when he is gone, there will be no one to pay the priest to offer up masses for his soul. Poor old Willy knows that there is a heavy weight of sins for him to expiate; he knows not how many hundreds of years of purgatorial pain he must

464

endure. A strange new fear has come to his heart; he fears that he will never be good enough to come before the holy God. How came these thoughts in the mind of simple, unlearned, Roman-Catholic Willy, I do not know. The breeze that so gently ruffled the surface of the lake, can men of science tell us with precision whence it came, or whither it went? no, that is a mystery man cannot solve. Just so it is with the workings of the Spirit; for after results proved it to be the Spirit breathing on old Willy's soul, but how or whence these feelings came is among the secret things of God.

Old Willy being rested rises from the rock, takes his pack, and throwing the strap over his neck, stick in hand, pursues his way. It is not long before he reaches a cabin; the little half-door, or gate, is closed; Willy opens it, and enters. As my readers may be unacquainted with an Irish cabin, I will tell them what the one old Willy entered was like. You enter from the door into a middle-sized room with a stone floor; a large turf fire is burning on a hearth at the farther end; in one part of the room a pig is busy taking his evening meal, while in another the fowls are roosting; in front of the fire lie two dogs and a pet lamb, while ducks waddle in and out at their pleasure. Willy is surprised at finding no one here, but soon hears voices in the inner room; some one is reading,-and reading, too, in the Irish language.

As he listens, a sudden light beams in old Willy's eyes; his heart feels a thrill of hope, as the Scripture reader reads those beautiful words, "There is, therefore, now no condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus." Old Willy repeats to himself again and again the words, "no condemnation." Is it not exactly what he needs., Without a moment's hesitation, he opens the door of the inner room, and going up to the Scripture reader says in an eager voice, "Sir, are those words thrue for every one?" "Yes, old Willy, for every one in Christ Jesus." "Oh, thin, sir, shure, and won't you pray that I may be in Christ Jesus?" Immediately the Irish Scripture reader and the women to whom he had been reading knelt, and most earnestly did they pray that old Willy might be among the number of those who have no condemnation because in Christ Jesus. That prayer was answered.

With radiant face, old Willy told the joy he felt at being in Christ Jesus. All that weight of sin which the priests told him he must expiate in purgatory (unless he could leave a large sum of money for masses) had been expiated long ago. Jesus had paid the sinner's debt, and there is now no condemnation to them that trust in Him.

Receiving a few Testaments from the Scripture reader to add to the contents of his pack, with joyful heart old Willy went his way; but as he stopped at the different cabins, when the usual question was put, "Well, Willy, an what's the news?" his answer was, "Glorious news, glorious news! There is now no condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus." And, then, when the people wonderingly asked what he meant, he would unfold to them the way of salvation. And so old Willy goes from village to village, spreading the joyful tidings of pardon and peace through the blood of Christ; or it may be, that the Master whom he served to the best of his abilities in weakness and imperfection on earth, has ere this called him to a perfect service in heaven. Shall we not learn from this true story of the poor Irish pedlar to so work to win souls to Christ, that in the day of rejoicing ours may not be a starless crown?

4. My 4, 2, 1, 6, 3, make known a lovely daughter's name, Whose father's beauty was, alas! his ruin as his fame.

5. My 5, 2, 1, his name reveal who with his brethren found Safe refuge when, because of sin, a guilty world was drowned. 6. My 6, 1, 3, 2, 1, declare his name whose child was reared Within that tyrant's court, who was by Hebrew parents feared.

My whole will form the name of one whom Jesus knew and loved,

Who in the service of the Lord was by the Lord reproved.

1. To the flatterer, Job xvii. 5. To the flattered, Prov xxix. 5.

2. In Jer. vi. 14; Ezek. xii. 24; Rom. xvi. 17, 18. 3. Herod; Acts xii. 21-23.

4. Rehoboam, 1 Kings xii. 11-13; and Darius, Dan. vi. 7, 13-16.

5. Absalom, 2 Sam. xv. 1-6.

6. Delilah, Judges xvi. 4-17. Woman of Tekoal; 2 Sam xiv. 17-21.

7. Satan's flattery of Eve, Gen. iii. 4, 5.

8. When the Pharisees sent out the Herodians to "entangle him in his talk," Mat. xxii. 15, 16.

9. With our lips, Psa. lxxviii. 36; Ezek. xxxiii. 21; Isa, xxix. 13.

10. Prov, xxviii. 23.