it very likely that you ever prayed as the Pharisee did; but yet I fear that some of you may have had thoughts and feelings much the same as his. Perhaps you are accustomed every evening to repeat a prayer which you have been taught, in which you say, "Oh, pardon every one of my faults, and be not angry with me;" or something to the same purpose. Now, when you say such words as these, do you feel ashamed and grieved that you should have offended God so many times through the day? and are you really desirous that he should forgive you? or, do you say such words only because they happen to be in the prayer that you have learned?

And if

any one should ask you what faults you have committed, would you not sometimes answer that you did not know of any-that you had been attentive to your lessons at school, and obedient to your parents at home-and now you had said your prayers, and were going to bed like good children, and surely no one could find any fault with you? Perhaps you have been present when your teacher has reproved and punished one of your school-fellows for telling a lie. When this was the case, did you feel very sorry for that poor boy or girl that had been so wicked? and did you thank God in your heart that he had preserved you from deserving the name of a liar, while, at the same time, you remembered with shame, that you had been guilty

of many other sins which are quite as bad as lying? Or, did you turn first to your offending school-fellow, and then to your teacher, with a proud look which seemed to say, "I never got into such disgrace as this. I'm sure I deserve praise; for I have never told a lie yet since I have been at the school?"

When the preacher has said how necessary it is to repent of sin, and earnestly to seek forgiveness from God, have you not sometimes looked at one of your compani ons, and thought, "Ah! I am sure he has need to repent: I heard him swear three or four times the last day I played with him?" or, "There's Mary; she may well be afraid that God will not forgive her: it was only yesterday that I heard her refuse to do what her mother desired her!" But you think that repentance, and forgiveness, and such things, are what do not concern you at all.

Now, have any of you begun to find out that you too much resemble the proud Pharisee? Then, attend seriously to what the Saviour says respecting him. He says: "I tell you this man, (that is the Publican) went down to his house justified rather than the other." The meaning is, that the Pharisee, with all his good opinion of himself, and all the respect and admiration which he might obtain from other men, was not approved or beloved by God. Probably it is very true that he was neither an

"extortioner, nor unjust, nor an adulterer;” but he was a proud man, and his pride was what prevented him from being justified. "For every one that exalteth himself shall be abased." "God resisteth the proud." "Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall." He went to the temple and prayed, and returned home again; but we cannot suppose that he felt comfortable or happy in his own mind; for it is quite impossible for any one to be truly happy without the favour of God.

You

And I am certain that you are not happy while your minds are filled with proud thoughts. If you are always wishing and expecting to be praised, you will be very often disappointed. If there is pride in your hearts, it will show itself in your behaviour, even though you fancy no one observes it. When your teacher or other friends see it, it will keep them from praising you even when you might otherwise deserve it; and your companions will not like you. will be constantly getting vexed and affronted by things that would not give you the least uneasiness if you were modest, humble children. But if it should so happen that you get as much praise as you desire, and that you should be loved and esteemed by all who know you, still, I say it again, you cannot be happy. You must be sometimes alone; and you will find that you cannot enjoy the presence of God, or have any pleasure in thinking of that Sa

viour who "is a friend that loveth at all times. You may now be strong and well, but you cannot tell how soon sickness may come upon you. If you were tossing on your beds full of pain, would it give you any comfort to think of the good opinion that others had of you? And if your weeping father or mother should be obliged to tell you that the doctor could do you no good, and that you were getting worse, oh! how could you bear to think of your soul appearing before Him who knows all your proud thoughts? But there have been many persons, both old and young, who have not only lived, but even died, thinking that they certainly deserved to go to heaven for their good conduct, and because they were better than others. And this may be your case. If you will still continue to think highly of yourselves, your pride may so increase, and your hearts may be so hardened, that even the prospect of death may not alarm you. But it is an awful thing thus to go down to the grave with "a lie in your right hand." You may " exalt yourselves" to the very last; but how fearfully will you "be abased" when God shall bring you into judgment ! Instead of humbly trusting in Jesus Christ, as an all-sufficient Saviour, you trusted in your own good behaviour; but when that behaviour, which you thought so good, comes to be examined by the Judge of all, it will cover you with everlasting confusion.

CHAMOUNY is in some respects the central scene of grandeur and glory of Switzerland. It is a finished and perfect world of sublimity, within a world of beauty. Four or five times have I visited it, and each time with new discoveries of its glory, new impressions and lessons, new wonder and delight.

The first and principal excursion from Chamouny is generally that to the Mer de Glace. It is not at all difficult, and if you have fine weather, it gives you some of the most sublime views of mountain scenery you can meet with in all the regions of the Alps. You cross the meadows in the vale of Chamouny, step over the new-born, furious Arve, and climb the mountain precipices, to the height of 2000 feet, by a rough craggy path, sometimes winding amidst a