I didn't know how Master Henry could be looked after if he did go away, and here it is all settled, better than I could have ever thought."

"What have you done about Mr. Thurn?" said Mr. Latimer, who had gleaned enough from Henry's confession of his own sin, in which, however, he spared Sebastian Thurn as much as possible, to show him the character of both father and son.

"I left a message at the house," said Sally, "when first he was ill, and I never heard anything from them, but, as I thought it my duty, I've called once or twice to say he was getting on better."

"And has no one called to inquire about him? How very strange !"

“Well, Mr. Thurn is a strange kind of a man," answered Sally. "He doesn't forget, it's plain, by the way he looked after Henry from time to time; but he's not a man to make open show about things, and fuss and talk. I should like him to know something about him now, for if he gets strong in the country, I suppose ho'll be having to go back again."

"I will call upon Mr. Thurn," said Mr. Latimer; "ho has been an important friend to him, and ought not to be neglected." And Sally was well pleased to have the task taken from her, for she had a sort of feeling of Mr. Thurn's house as if it was a den of thieves that no one could go to without being the worse for it.

Mr. Latimer was not so awestruck by the appearance of the artist as Henry had been on his first visit -although he found him in exactly the same circumstances as those bofore described. Mr. Thurn, having read his card and laid it down, listened with unaltered expression of countenance to his account of Henry, merely remarking at the end that he had heard of his recovery from Mrs. Brooks.

Mr. Latimer felt sure that the coldness of his manner was levelled at him rather than at his subject, but having much of the spirit of his namesake of holy memory, he was not daunted nor discouraged. May I ask what you think of young Douglas?" he said, just as Mr. Thurn gave a look at the timepiece, and scemed quite disinclined for further conversation. "I mean is it your opinion that he will rise in the profession he has chosen ?"

"He has talent, undeniably," said Mr. Thurn, "and would do well but for his character."

"What is amiss in that ?" asked Mr. Latimer. "Weak and womanish," was the reply. "It's a life in which he will be exposed to temptations of the most serious kind, and such as his temperament and carly training render peculiarly dangerous to him. I should fear that unless he were under the continual guidance, yes, and control too, of some strong and wise hand, a friend that could win his affections and influence his will, he will not pass many years without falling into trouble."

"I think you have a regard for him," said Mr. Latimer.

"I knew his father," replied Mr. Thurn, coldly. "And you esteem his memory?" asked Mr. Lati

mer.

"I have shown that I do," said Mr. Thurn, with increasing distance of manner.

"Then you will be glad to hear, I am sure, that his son has found just the Friend that you feel to be necessary for him.".

"Indeed!" said Mr. Thurn, "I am glad to hear it; for to speak with candour, I was rather solicitous

about him before his illness. He certainly did not improve, or rather, his character came out with greater force, so as to make me feel anxious as to tho responsibility I had taken on myself. Pray who is this friend, sir, that has kindly relieved me from the weight of the care ?"

Mr. Latimer paused for a minute, then, looking steadily in the artist's face, he said, "Jesus of Nazareth!"

Mr. Thurn's look of surprise was succeeded almost immediately by one of undisguised contempt. remained silent. Mr. Latimer, well understanding the look, and quite prepared for it, gave Mr. Thurn a brief but full account of Henry's convictions, repentance, confession, and faith, during his illness, and concluded by saying, "So that if he returns to you, although you will not find him perfect, you will see a great and important change in him."

"I conclude," said Mr. Thurn, seeing it was necessary for him to say something, "that the lad has taken up the opinions that ruined his father, I may say, killed him."

"You may, with quite as much truth as that they ruined him, but let me ask what makes you say either ?" "Knowledge of the fact," said Mr. Thurn. "They unfitted him for business, separated him from his friends, destroyed his health, and brought him to poverty and an untimely grave."

Mr. Latimer smiled. "Forgive my smiling at so serious a subject," he said, "but your charge is to me very much like what a drawing of mine would be to you. If I painted a man, I should make his head too big for his body, and perhaps his arms where his legs should be, and you wouldn't know that it was meant for a man at all. This would arise, not from any design of mine, but simply from not knowing; and it is ignorance that has just cansed you to give such a charactor of the faith that gilded the days of Theodoro Douglas with peace, and sent him to glory with a song of praise on his lips."

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"I think, sir," said Mr. Thurn, rising, "we are wasting time, are we not? Call it ignorance or what you will, but our opinions on these subjects are as different as light and darkness."

"A most happy comparison," said his companion, interrupting him.

"Take it as you please," said Mr. Thurn, with a scornful smile, "but let me tell you that the way to recommend the sentiments of your profession," glancing at his coat, "is not to thrust them on unwilling cars."

"On willing ears," said Mr. Latimer, not losing his temper, though Mr. Thurn's was rising, it was plain to see, under a show of polite indifference, there is no need to thrust them; it is on the unwilling that we are called on to do it, but you have not always been unwilling, if report is true. In your youth you had uneasiness of conscience, and although you stifled it, there are doubtless hours now when you feel a yearning after something which neither fame nor wealth nor the fascination of your profession can satisfy. Yes, and as you draw nearer to the tho when your hand can no longer exerciso its skill, nor your eyes delight themselves in your works,—when heart and flesh will fail, and you must go to the long silent home, the prospect becomes more dreary and still more dreary, and you know it."

A look of mingled anger and pain passed over Mr.

Thurn's face; he replied haughtily, "When I require | spiritual advice, sir, I have your card, and can apply to you; until then you must excuse my attending further to you. Time wears on," he said, looking again at the timepiece, this time more decidedly, "and doubtless we have both work for the day." As if this did not say "go" plainly enough, he added a slight

stiff bow.

Mr. Latimer replied sorrowfully, "Well, I will go, but remember your promise, that if you want to hear more of what I would gladly call our common salvation, you will send for me. We seem now to have scarcely a thought in unison, but there is but one great difference between us, you don't believe the gospel, and I do."

"Insolent fool!" exclaimed Mr. Thurn, venting his indignation when the door had closed.

"Alas, my brother!" sighed Mr. Latimer, as he descended the stairs.

Scarcely had the ebullition of the artist's wrath subsided, when, after a slight tap at the door, the object of it re-entered the studio. "I know you are busy, and so am I," he said, "but before I had got half way down the street, I recollected that I had left undone a very important part of my business with you, and was obliged to come back."

Too much annoyed to speak, Mr. Thurn merely looked at him, waiting his communication in silence. "Henry Douglas," resumed Mr. Latimer, "while he spoke with the warmest gratitude of the kindness of your son to him, inevitably revealed, though he did it with the greatest tenderness, facts of a character that would alarm any father; and if Henry wants the restraint that you suggested, surely he does. Believe me the opinions in which you are nurturing him must inevitably end in ruin."

"The opinions of a boy," said Mr. Thurn, " are little worth regarding; as he matures he will learn, as I have done, to sift the truth and free it from the error that all classes of men try to smother it with."

"If he should continue in his present courses he will not arrive I fear at your station of respectability. You had the advantage of a mother's care and prayers when you were young, he has not; and, sad to say, you have allowed him in early and ignorant youth to drink in the poison which age and experience have considerably weakened to you. I ask your pardon for being so plain, and I beg you not to be angry, for, however ill you take it, believe me I speak as a brother."

He then began to recount some of the facts at which Henry had glanced, but Mr. Thurn impatiently interrupted him.

"You are giving yourself needless trouble: I know what young men are-I know my son. As most of us have done, he will pass through a career of folly, and learn the excellence of wisdom by experience."

Another stiff bow intimated that this was the utmost limit of Mr. Thurn's forbearance, and again Mr. Latimer left him.

Mr. Thurn went on for some time working, or trying to work, at the canvas before him, but at length threw down his brush.

"I wish that fellow had kept in his parish!" he said; "he has spoilt my morning. Master Henry too has begun his puritanism in good style by traducing his friends."

Notwithstanding his slight of Mr. Latimer's warning respecting Sebastian, a painful foreboding of evil

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pressed heavily upon him, and had done so for some time. "I shall be glad when he has settled down and come to something like sober sense," he said, gloomily, as the thin cloud, in which he had sought to calm his ruffled feelings, curled round him. Sebastian's easel stood in the corner, and on it a painting of great promise, half finished.

"Idle! idle!" said his father, as he looked at it. "He hasn't spent an hour at work for days!"

As he sat reviewing the past, which Mr. Latimer had so unceremoniously brought before him, he justified himself in all that he had done; and by the time he had finished his pipe, felt serenely sure that in training his boy, left in infancy without a mother, he had pursued the noble course of a free agent, and that, when the strong vibrations of youthful passion had subsided, Sebastian would find his balance.

"He knows I am displeased with his excesses," he said; "I have told him they are unworthy of the dignity of his nature, unworthy of the high and refined art for which he possesses so much power, but he must learn for himself."

He had just arrived at this conviction when the servant announced that a strange gentleman wanted to sce him, and that he would not come up into the studio till he was sure her master was alone.

"It's not the same that was here but now ?" he asked quickly.

"Oh no, sir, quite a different looking person," she replied; and the next minute the stranger was admitted. Mr. Thurn, who was naturally an adept in physiognomy, studying, as a habit, every face that came before him, looked curiously on that of his present visitor. It was not prepossessing, neither was his appearance that of a gentleman, although he wore tho dress of one.

"Mr. Thurn, I believe," he said, with a half familiar smile; in reply to which Mr. Thurn simply inquired his name and business.

"Yes-well; sorry to say it's not a very pleasant business; my name's Picket, and I've got a little account that wants settling, against your son. It's not agreeable to pay money when you expect to have to do it, but I daresay this will take you quite by surprise."

Mr. Thurn waited with almost uncontrollable impatience while the man deliberately untied a knot in the string of his pocket-book, having opened which, he presented, with the smile of one conferring a favour, a folded paper.

It might have been an algebraic problem, or it might have been a catch paper at a college examination, Mr. Thurn seemed so long in understanding it. While he was gazing at it, Mr. Picket stood quietly tying up his pocket-book again, his little gray eyes furtively glancing from under his shaggy brows at his companion.

"This is no affair of mine," at last Mr. Thurn said, with as much calmness as he could command; and he returned the paper, or offered to do so, but Mr. Picket politely declined to receive it.

"I think, pardon me," he replied, with provoking complacency, "I think you will find it to be your affair. Your son is under age, and you are held as answerable for his just debts."

"This is not a just debt, it is a demand made by a fraudulent money-lender," said Mr. Thurn, greatly incensed; " and I will not have anything to do with it." So saying, he threw the paper on the floor.

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"Public! Will the public condemn me for not submitting to a fraud?" His sang froid, so habitual, now quite forsook him, and he trembled with rage. Pray be cool-pray be cool. You see the thing is this: it is easy for you to call names, but it is hard for those who have been lying out of the interest of their money for a long time, purely to accommodate your son, to get no better treatment at your hands. If I had not at a great inconvenience found this money for him, some little affairs which had better be nameless must have come out, and he would have been sadly disgraced. Knowing your great respectability I was willing to save him, and I hoped he would pay me the interest, which I made as low as I could, regularly out of his allowance, but I can get nothing from him. I have told him over and over again that I must apply to you, but I'm sorry to say he is not so alive to honourable duties as a gentleman ought to be." The money-lender, perceiving that his words had taken some effect, proceeded to relate various scenes of Sebastian's life, rendering the help of money necessary, so coarsely, and with so little respect to his father's feelings, that Mr. Thurn writhed under it.

"Enough, enough," he said. "You have done right in coming to me; leave the paper, and come again in three days; I shall have considered what to do."

Mr. Picket would have liked an immediate settlement; but he saw that there was nothing for it but submission, so picking up the paper and laying it on the table, he departed.

When he was gone, Mr. Thurn threw himself into his chair, again to investigate the document. The evil courses of his son which had that morning appeared to him as no more than the necessary experience of human life, not only very pardonable, but to be reasonably expected, had a surprisingly different appearance now that he was called to pay so heavily for them. He had always been liberal to Sebastian, so that there was no excuse for his extravagance, which, however, was innocent compared with the courses on which the money was expended. He had not seen his son that day, and felt that he had not sufficient selfcommand, as yet, to speak to him; so he laid by his brush and sought the house and advice of a legal friend, who, though Mr. Thurn kept back the worst parts of the story, advised him, for this time, to pay the money, on condition of Sebastian's solemn promise of abjuring the ruinous connections thus disclosed. It cost the father no small sacrifice of pride to do this, and he nullified the effect greatly by the harshness with which he did it. Sebastian, who was used to his fine long orations on honour and virtue, listened to them as the penalty he had to pay for his imprudence. He made many promises never to get into bad hands again, by which he meant into those of money-lenders, sincerely hoping that, if he should have the misfortune to do so, his father would not know it. He appeared affected for a time, and became lighter in spirit and more active at his work in truth he was much more easy, for the storm had burst which he had been long expecting. Not the finest specimens of heathenism could now talk better or act better, and Mr. Thurn flattered himself that he had seen his folly, and was growing straight up into a wise and virtuous man like himself!

THE DIVINE AND HUMAN NATURE OF CHRIST.

HE who is God can no more be not God than he who is not God can be God: and our difference with the Socinians herein is-we believe that Christ being God, was made man for our sakes; they say that being only a man, he was made a God for his own sake.

This, then, is the foundation of the glory of Christ in this condescension, the life and soul of all heavenly truth and mysteries; namely, that the Son of God becoming in time to be what he was not, the Son of man, ceased not thereby to be what he was, even the eternal Son of God. Wherefore this condescension did not consist in the conversion of the divine nature into the human, which was the imagination of some of the Arians of old, and we have yet, to my own knowledge, some that follow them in the same dotage. They say that the "Word which was in the beginning," by which all things were made, being in itself an effect of the divine will and power, was in the fulness of time "turned into flesh;" that is, the substance of it was so, as the water in the miracle wrought by our Saviour was turned into wine; for by an act of the divine power of Christ it ceased to be water substantially, and was wine only; not water mixed with wine: so these men suppose a substantial change of the one nature into the other, of the divine nature into the human; like what the Papists imagine in their transubstantiation; so they say God was made man, his essence

being turned into that of a man.

But this no way belongs to the condescension of Christ. We may call it Ichabod: it has no glory in it. it. It destroys both his natures, and leaves him a person in whom we are not concerned. For according to this imagination, that divine nature wherein he was in the form of God, did in its own form cease to be, yea, was utterly destroyed, as being substantially changed into the nature of man; as the water did cease to be when it was turned into wine; and that human nature which was made thereof hath no alliance or kindred to us, or our nature, seeing it was not "made of a woman," but of the substance of the Word.

Also, there was not in this condescension the least change or alteration in the divine nature. Eutyches, and those that followed him of old, conceived that the two natures of Christ, the divine and human, were mixed and compounded, as it were, into one and this could not be without an alteration in the divine nature, for it would be made to be essentially what it was not; for one nature hath but one and the same essence.

But, as we said before, although the Lord Christ himself, in his person, was made to be what he was not before, in that our nature hereby was made to be his, yet his divine nature was not so: there is in it neither "variableness nor shadow of turning." It abode the same in him in all its essential properties, actings, and blessedness, as it was from eternity. It neither did, acted, nor suffered anything, but what is proper to the Divine Being: the Lord Christ did and suffered many things in life and death, in his own person, by his human nature, wherein the divine neither did nor suffered anything at all; although, in the doing of them, his person be denominated from that nature; so "God purchased his church with his own blood." (Acts xx. 28.) It may then be said, What did the Lord Christ in this condescension, with respect to his divine nature? The apostle tells us that he "humbled himself, and

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bursts of Irving, have effaced from my recollection the persuasive pleadings of Hyatt."

Of the life and character of this remarkable man and eminent minister, the readers of the "Sunday at Home" may like to have a brief account :

John Hyatt was born, January 21st, 1767, at Sherborne, in Dorsetshire. His education was extremely defective, being only such as a common day school supplied; nevertheless, from the earliest dawn of reason he exhibited symptoms of mental superiority. At the age of fourteen he was apprenticed to a cabinet maker, at Sherborne. During the last year of his apprenticeship, his master died, at which period the business came into his own hands; when, by the steadiness of his conduct, and the open frankness of his manners, he not only secured the former custom of the shop, but greatly extended the connection, so that he bid fair to become a wealthy and influential inhabitant of his native town.

But the morning of his days was not hallowed by the power of vital godliness. His heart was unchanged. Without any regulating principle, and often exposed to the society of gay and dissolute young men, it was no matter of surprise that his conduct should become irregular. Fearfully, at this period, did he prove that "evil communications corrupt good manners." By associating, for a time, with some notoriously wicked characters, he was hurried to the very brink of ruin, and only escaped misery and infamy through the interference of a kind and gracious Providence. His irreligion was open and fearless. No one could have appeared at a greater remove from the kingdom of God. His aversions against religion and religious people were deep-rooted and inveterate. Oh, with what pathos did John Hyatt often allude to this eventful period of his history! To the very end of his days he was accustomed to magnify the riches of sovereign mercy, for having fixed upon an object so unworthy as

himself.

A most interesting account of the gradual, gentle, tender means by which the Father of mercies reclaimed this prodigal from his wanderings might here be given, but our limits forbid. In brief: the Lord directed him to form an attachment to an exemplary female, who afterwards became his devoted wife. This lady was the niece of Mr. Vardy, formerly a Dissenting minister at Sherborne, with whose venerable widow she resided. Lured by her godiy example, he now attended the ministry of the gospel; and the appeals of the pulpit, being succeeded by the pious conversations and examples of the private circle, caused John Hyatt to look on religion in her simplest and most inviting forms. Having also access to the library of the late Mr. Vardy, and as he was passionately foud of reading, this library being chiefly theological, a new description of reading was now presented before his eyes. The good work which was struggling within could not longer bo retained in ignoble bondage. Inward conviction of sin led to its external abandonment. A sense of spiritual need prompted to a life of prayer. A heartfelt conviction of the world's vanity gave energy to come out of it. An entire change of mental and moral habits took place. "Old things passed away, and all things became new." The companions of former years were shunned, and the people of God consorted with. In a word, John Hyatt literally felt it to be binding on him to "forsake all and follow Christ."

Could it be otherwise than expected that his former

associates would now be up in arms against him? that every method of ridicule and abuse was resorted to? yea, that some of his nearest earthly connections should rank themselves among his bitterest opponents? "His father beholds the astonishing reverse in his spirit and conduct: but instead of rejoicing over his reformed son, he beholds him with hateful and malicious eyes; and resolves, if it be possible, to deter him from pursuing his newly-adopted course. The father vehemently expostulates the son meekly replies; the father is greatly apprehensive of his son's derangement-the son is anxiously concerned for his father's eternal state!"

Thus he was looked upon, even by his immediate relations, as altogether beside himself; and shunned by his former companions, as a bewildered enthusiast. Nothing short of absolute ruin and misery was expected to result from the unpropitious change. Threatenings, promises, allurements, were all, in their turn, resorted to, in order, if possible, to restore the unhappy youth to his right mind. Little did they anticipate that every fresh storm of persecution would but more firmly rivet the decisions of a mind which God had redeemed.

At the carly age of twenty, Mr. Hyatt entered upon the married life, and never found reason to regret the important step. He also became a member of the same Christian church with his partner, and devoted all his energies to the benefit of the community. About this time Mr. Hyatt was thrown into the society of one of Mr. Wesley's preachers. They cherished towards each other feelings of sincere friendship, but did not by any means harmonize in their theological sentiments. Often did they discuss the "five points" with all the zeal of regular partizans; and, although now and then strange fire mingled in their contests, yet upon the whole the result was beneficial. In searching after truth, he found Elisha Cole's treatise on "Divine Sovereignty of the utmost service; and was ever after in the habit of recommending it to perplexed inquirers, as a work of deep piety and most conclusive reasoning. A sound acquaintance with theology was not the only fruit resulting from Mr. Hyatt's intimacy with his friend; it was also connected, in the providence of God, with his first efforts to proclaim" the unsearchable riches of Christ." Repairing to a neighbouring village in the expectation of hearing his friend preach, he found the people assembled, but the minister was not arrived. After waiting some time, the good old farmer, in whose house the auditory were convened, earnestly desired Mr. Hyatt to speak a word to the people. He felt that such an imperious call could not be refused, and, though greatly agitated, stood up, and spoke with zeal and piety, from Isaiah iii. 10, "Say yo to the righteous it shall be well with him; but woe to the wicked," etc. Such was the effect of this unstudied discourse upon the mind of the farmer, that (without consulting the trembling preacher) he gave out that the people assembled might expect to hear Mr. Hyatt again on the following sabbath evening. From this period, 1794, may be dated the commencement of Mr. Hyatt's career as a preacher. Henceforward, for more than two years, he held himself in readiness to expound the word, in a plain way, wherever his aid was solicited. His fame continued to spread, and not a few instances of good arose from his ministry. Encouraged by some, and reproached by others, he was every day augmenting the sphere of his labours and of his usefulness. The whole country side began to make inquirice