the old man was bared, the naked weapon was in his grasp, his left hand was laid upon the head of the boy, his countenance was raised to heaven, his features were lighted with an expression of the deepest devotion; and I saw that the father was about to sacrifice the son. At that moment, a noise, like the fall of many waters, broke the silence of the scene; a light above that of the sun, which had just arisen on the horizon and agitated the mist of the mountains, irradiated the place around the altar, and shed its glory upon the victim and the priest. The clouds, which encompassed the tops of the hills, concentrated their volume; and from the midst there came a voice, which bade the father suspend his arm, and arrested the stroke of death. Suddenly the scene became altered in its character, but not changed. The sire and the son had ascended above the eminence on which the altar had originally been built; the beams of the morning sun were brightening the whole extent of the plain; and the clouds had rolled away from the sides of the hills. The east alone appeared to be in a supernatural darkness, over which the sun could exert no influence, and which my eye in vain endeavoured to pierce. I turned and looked upon the countenance of him, who had so lately heard and obeyed the command to spare his child.

The express

ion of his face was no longer such as when he stood by the altar, with the instrument of death in his hand. The same appearance of devotion was there, but his looks seemed to be agitated with feelings more intense. The smile of joy was on his lip, a more than mortal brightness irradiated his features, and his eye was fixed in a rapture of devotion upon an object which lay in the darkness before him. Again I looked, and the obscurity appeared to break from before my vision. In the distance I beheld a cross. Around it were an innumerable host of beings, whose faces shone with heavenly benignity; upon it hung a form whose lineaments it was not given me to discern; and on its top was inscribed SALVATION in letters of blood. My soul was overwhelmed with a tumult of awe; again my senses forsook their office; again were the faculties of nature suspended, and again were the powers of thought oppressed with their own weight. But gradually the veil of insensibility was removed, and returning consciousness informed me that an angel was still beside me; and the voice of Asraphel again addressed me. "I have showed thee," he said, "the path of eternal life. My power extends only to give thee an explanation of what thou hast seen; and already, while I am speaking, it is impressed upon thy mind. Beware, that thou ever suffer it to be

Thou

obliterated. Thou hast looked upon Abraham, the father of the faithful, hast seen what he was permitted to see, and felt what he was enabled to feel. hast beheld the subject of faith and the mode of its exercise." "And where," I exclaimed, "shall I find it in its greatest vigour? I have wandered over the countries of the earth, and beheld Christianity in its different forms. To which of the various bodies who own the name of the Redeemer, and claim salvation through the cross, shall I unite myself on earth, in the hope of being united for ever in heaven?" "The church of Christ," said the angel, "is but one." "And is there," I exclaimed, "but one term of salvation?" "Believe," said the angel," in the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved. Thou hast received thy first lesson of wisdom, awake and be wise."

ORIGEN.

THE LAST DAYS OF AUTUMN.

-The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds and naked woods, and meadows brown and

sere.

BRYANT.

DAYS of the yellow leaf!

Again your shadows gather round,

Where stood so late the golden sheaf

With hopes and blessings of the reaper crowned, Your sere and withered trophies now usurp the ground.

Days of the wailing blast!

Ye breathe sad music in your sigh;
Hoarsely the waters murmur past,

The pensive robin twitters plaintively,
And screaming sea-birds plume them for a kindlier sky.

Days of the brooding storm!

Cloud-borne, above the leaf-clad hills,

P

Ye show the tempest-spirit's form;

His angry voice the mountain echo fills : The wood-bird cowers, the joyous lark his carol stills.

Days of the rayless sun!

Deep thoughts ye wake within the breast;
Ye tell how near life's course is run;

Your counsel bids the spirit know not rest,

Till it has won a clime, with sunbeams ever blessed.

P. M. W.