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HIS beautiful book of Christian meditations is worthy of all praise; for, like all true, simple, natural things, there la in it a beauty and charm quite inexpressible. You must come away from looking into it, for your heart has no mirror clear and deep enough to draw forth and make your own all its radiance and aroma, and you must leave unappropriated much that seems most graceful, and tender, and sacred. A true book it is, we have said; and to say this is to put it out of the range of mere praise; for all true words about such things awaken in the hearer rather delight in the truth they utter, and wonder because of its infinite beauty, than incite to praise and eulogy. And we are quite sure that the author of this book will not care to meet with mere praise in this notice of it, or in any other. Such a reward is meet for quite another class of speakers and writers. Beauty there is in the book; exquisite glimpses into the loveliness of nature here and there shine out from its lines—a charm wanting which meditative writing always seems to have a defect; beautiful gleams, too, there are of the choicest things of art, and frequent allusions by the way to legend or picture of the religious past; so that, while you read, you wander by a clear brook of thought coming far from the beautiful hills, and winding away from beneath the sunshine of gladness and beauty into the dense, mysterious forest of human existence—that loves to sing, amid the shadow of human darkness and anguish, its music of heavenborn consolation; bringing, too, its pure waters of cleansing and healing; yet ever- more making its praise of holy affection and gladness; while it is still haunted by the spirits of prophet, saint, and poet, repeating snatches of their strains, and is led on, as by a spirit from above, to join the great river of God's truth

This is a book for Christian men; for the quiet hour of holy solitude, when the heart longs and waits for access to the presence of the Master. The weary heart that thirsts amidst its conflicts and its toils for refreshing water, will drink eagerly of these sweet and refreshing words. To thoughtful men and women, especially such as have learnt any of the patience of hope in the experiences of sorrow and trial, we commend this little volume most heartily and earnestly.— Scottish Press.

E cannot express the pleasure with which we have read this exquisitely written book. In a former publication, referred to on the title-page, the author had urged with a wedge-like strength and simplicity of argument, the abundance of the present privileges which the Christian possesses, and the duty of entering upon these in the full confidence of present trust. In this volume she treats with skilful tenderness, and profound appreciation, the much more difficult subject of the long patience of Christian hope: how now, as of old, "Christ delays, withdraws, even hides himself from those that love and follow him—'a deceiver, and yet true;'" how all Christian life is a sacrifice and a crucifixion; how often "the Christian is in this life baffled and perplexed, as one that knoweth not what his Lord doeth;' how, while "there are moments in it upon which the spoil of a long conflict seems heaped," it is itself a journey in an enemy's land; how the believer's heart knows a peculiar bitterness, even as no stranger shall intermeddle with his joy; how even the gospel is a painful if a healing medicine, a sword sent upon the earth, a tire already kindled. The range through which this high argument is carried, indicates a mind of no common rank of genius, and of no ordinary cultivation. The book Is conceived in the spirit of a medicative philosophy, irradiated through and through by the golden light of Christian feeling; and while on the one hand the utterances of Scripture often take in the author's lips a new richness of quaint and beautiful significance, we find also a frank appropriation and use of the highest results attained by the great and godless thinkers of modern times.

The only extract we can allow ourselves must have reference not to the inner life, but to the history of the gospel and of the world. The following paragraph, on the wonderful time in which we moderns live, is torn from its connexion, but is surely very rich and suggestive.

"And it is plain that there was never in this