rather than strengthen the mind. It was when this sense of sin was felt in all its intenseness and poignancy-when, sunk in the depths of humiliation, the penitent scarely dared to raise his eyes to heaven, but smote upon his breast, exclaiming, "God be merciful to me, a sinner;" it was then that the Pastor dwelt upon the ineffable goodness of Him who came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance, "to seek and to save that which was lost; it was then that he expatiated upon the touching instances of grace and mercy, recorded for our consolation and instruction in the book of Truth; that he pointed to the welcomed prodigal, to the dying thief, to the heavenly host rejoicing amidst the glory by which they are encircled, " over one sinner that repenteth." Hope at length dawned upon the soul of the criminal; comfort visited his heart. It was, however, a hope chastened by humility; a touching sense of the Redeemer's love, melting the heart to gratitude, but not kindling it to rapture. Mr. Forrester did not desire to hear from his lips the language of that triumphant faith, which beholds the radiant crown prepared by the Lord, the righteous Judge: he did not desire to see the martyr's rapture, the saint's ecstatic joy: it was enough for him, that while his penitent was humbled under a consciousness of guilt, he was soothed by a sense of pardon. On the awful day of trial, Cumming pleaded guilty. In vain did the Judge remonstrate, and declare that the law of England secured every possible indulgence to the accused. "I am a murderer!" exclaimed Cumming. "God himself has borne witness to my crime, and I can say nothing but, Guilty!" The sentence of the law was pronounced-and meekly did the criminal prepare for his awful doom. From that hour, his master scarcely ever left him: to talk with him, to read, and to pray by his side, were the only occupations that could at all soothe his own perturbed spirit. Confinement, and mental anguish, had wrought a considerable change on the frame of the prisoner; his form was bent, his cheek pale and thin, his eye dim; but the peace of a patient spirit sat upon his brow. He spoke of past days-of Walton's constant kindness of the children, to whom his heart still clung; then his voice faltered, and a tear rolled down his furrowed cheek. "They loved me," said he; "but the name of old John Cumming must now be a forbidden sound; it must never pollute their innocent lips. May God bless them!" continued he, clasping his withered hands; 66 ever!" may God bless them! now, and for Then he spoke of the future,-calmly, hopefully. He could now recognise the hand of Mercy in the discovery of his crime. Had any vague suspicion been awakened, he felt that he might have plunged still deeper into guilt; had he been cut off suddenly by any fearful accident, some rapid disease, the future would have been all darkness and horror; and now he felt that there was hope-hope even for him. "Yes, my poor friend," said Walton, fervently pressing his hand, during the last evening they were to pass together on earth, Iwe shall meet again, I trust, where anguish, such as I now feel, will be unknown,-where tears will be wiped from off all faces."" Together they partook of the holy communion-and Cumming, exhausted by the emotions of the day, fell into a calm sleep. With feelings of solemn awe, but not of terror, he awakened from that sleep; and after joining with Mr. Forrester in devout prayer, awaited with fortitude the last awful summons. The moment arrived, and he was conducted to a spot at a short distance from the prison. A stillness, as of death, pervaded the immense concourse gathered around the scaffold. Not a sound was breathed, as the old man slowly advanced, and cast a farewell glance around. Once more he beheld the bright and blessed sun, careering through the joyous sky; once more the morning air, laden with fragrance, blew freshly round his temples,-and a thought of the past, of the smiling earth, the green hills and woods, where his footsteps would tread no more, was for a moment busy; it was but for a moment.-He felt the parting pressure of the good Pastor's hand; he heard his voice in fervent and sweet solemnity, pronounce the words "I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord." Then did this world, its joys, and woes, fade from before his eyes; and the future, with its blessed hopes, its glorious certainties, opened to his view, and calmed and sustained his parting soul. A few minutes elapsed, and all was over- -the awful penalty claimed by human and Divine justice, was paid; and the repentant and ransomed spirit returned to the God who gave it. THE PROTESTANT'S KYRIE ELEËSON.' I. GOD! whose throne of living light Burns beyond the starry sky, Where the hosts of Seraphs bright HAVE MERCY ON US, LORD.' II. Thou, in equal Majesty, Seated on the Father's throne, Yet still the' Incarnate SoN ;— G |