of his master, as might be supposed, was great when he was informed of the baseness and perfidy of the man he had trusted so implicitely, and whose shame and crime were therefore the greater; and he determines to punish him as he deserves. But there is a providence which watches over the good man and protects him from evil; which, while visiting with signal punishment the sin of the guilty, protects the virtuous from harm. And this is surely an occasion which calls for its prompt interference, to vindicate the character so basely maligned and to save Joseph from the consequence of a crime of which he is accused, but of which he is guiltless. How is it exercised? The honoured and respected Joseph is cast into prison, dishonoured and despised. His fair fame is tarnished by the suspicion of having attempted the foul stain; and that, too, under circumstances which tended to aggravate its nature. Not a voice save his own asserts his innocence, and perhaps scarce a heart, save his own and that of his heartless persecutor, but believes him guilty. And under that foul suspicion he passes years in prison, apparently unobserved and unaided by the God he served. The time comes, however, when circumstances change with him, and when it would seem as though the God of providence was vindicating his own character, for almost as sudden and unexpected as was his fall comes his promotion, and he is taken from the prison and transferred to the palace, and the Hebrew slave becomes the appointed governor of Egypt and the lord of her lords. Supposing that the purpose of God was to bring Joseph from his home and to make him the instrument in saving Egypt from famine, how is it reconcilable with his revealed character that, having infinite resources at his command, he should subject his chosen instrument to such needless humiliations and afflictions when he could by other means have accomplished his purposes? Were they needless humiliations which Joseph suffered? or was it not rather a discipline of trial, necessary to qualify him for the weighty responsibilities and high honours he would have to bear? A little hard, matter-of-fact experience in the rough usage of the world was necessary to teach him what wrongs and injustice calumny and power could inflict upon the innocent, and that honour and truth might abide in the heart which outward appearances would sometimes indicate as the dwelling of unmittigated evil. And we can easily conceive how necessary it would be for one called to fill such an office, invested with so much power, which might be made to serve the purposes of a most oppressive tyranny, or to promote the ends of justice in a high degree, to have learned himself those lessons which his experience was so eminently calculated to teach him. Admitting that a certain discipline was necessary to qualify Joseph for the great purpose before him, why should his father be subject to so much sorrow? why should Jacob be permitted to mourn for his lost son when that son was still living, and, though passing through sorrow and affliction which surrounded him with a gloom as dense as the shadow of death itself, was still destined to cheer the old man's heart in his last years and to repay him for all his affection and love by filial tenderness and unceasing care when, raised to the highest dignities which Egypt could offer, he was in a position to render substantial help to his family and in many ways to soften down the sorrows and trials incident to the declining days of old age, now they had overtaken Jacob? The question is eminently suggestive, and may, perhaps, open up to us a train of thought which may help us to understand some of those mysteries of Divine Providence of which we have been speaking. The incidents connected with Joseph's life seem to show us, that in the economy of Divine Providence men are dealt with upon those principles of mutual dependence aud mutual interest laid down in the declaration that "none of us liveth to himself." We are apt to forget that while we have a distinct individual existence and position, from the obligations and responsibilities of which no theory of collective influence or collective responsibility can possibly free us, we are at the same time members of the great universal brotherhood of man, bound by the ties and obligations of brotherhood to all the past and to all the future generations of men, who have found, since the day of creation, and who shall find, until the time when men shall cease to multiply upon the earth, a temporary home and a momentary resting place amidst the shifting scenes and oppressive cares of this changeful and sorrow-burdened world. And to our position as integral elements in the collective community of universal man will be traced the most weighty and solemn responsibilities which devolve upon us. It is not unreasonable, therefore, to suppose that the circumstances of our individual lives may be ordered and influenced with a view to the general weal of the whole family of which we are the individual members. Always bearing in mind that while the more we cultivate an acquaintance with ourselves the more necessary do we see many of our individual trials to be to us, we may, at the same time, safely assume that some of those calamitous circumstances, which our utmost vigilance has failed to avert, may have a reference to others as well as to ourselves; and our consequent sorrow and suffering may be a part of those obligations arising out of our position in the social community. The object of all humane laws is to secure the general good and interest of those who are the subjects of them. And this result is often sought at a serious cost to individuals. When the laws of a community are framed for the purpose of protecting or promoting the interests of merely a class, to the disadvantage of the whole, they become unjust; and the ruler who permits such an injustice to be done to his subjects, instead of being (as he ought to be), the father of his people, is a tyrant and an oppressor. The principles upon which the wisest legislators have framed their laws testify to the fact, that to secure the greatest possible good to the general community at the least possible sacrifice to individuals is the highest and most commendable object of all good governments. May we not suppose that such is the design in the moral government of God, and that some of those hours of darkness which the people of God are called to pass through in silent sadness or sorrowful lamentation are destined to be the harbingers of a day glorious in its brightness and sublime in its benefits to others. How many a Joseph has there been since the days of Joseph, passing through heart-breaking trials and soulcrushing sorrow as a means of preparation for some future mission, the object of which has been to benefit largely succeeding gene rations. But it may be said that there is necessarily such a difference between the nature of God's moral government and the administration of all human lawgivers as to make a comparison between the two of no value. We refer to the principles of human law for the purpose of showing what has been the almost universal opinion as to what is the first and highest object of law; and if the dispensations of Divine Providence indicate that the same object is one of the purposes contemplated by the Ruler of the universe, we cannot but admit the justice of the administration, even though we may ourselves be called to suffer in the carrying out of some of its arrangements. Human lawgivers have to deal with a state of things the nature of which they have no power to change; and necessity is laid upon them to promulgate restrictive measures to prevent in some degree the crime and misery, the secret springs of which it is impossible for them to purify. God, as the Lord and Ruler of all, in the administration of his government deals with a state of things which in his omniscience he had the wisdom to foresee, and which in his omnipotence he had the power to prevent; and the question may be suggested, why is not God's providence exercised to cleanse the fountains of evil rather than in some degree to mitigate its results? or, in another sense, why should a gracious and beneficent purpose be accomplished at a cost of so much affliction and sorrow? We may, with equal propriety, ask the question, why has not God made the essential nature of things altogether different from what it is, and the principles of his moral government altogether different from what they are? Until all the mysteries of nature are made known and the methods and principles of God's government fully fathomed and understood, such a question is altogether premature. The facts of every-day life, the unmistakeable realities by which we are surrounded, and the plain and simple revelation of the word of God, will furnish us with an ample sphere of observation and investigation without entering the domains of those profound mysteries, upon the darkness of which God has not yet commanded a sun to shine. Confining ourselves to the truths of revelation and the facts of experience, they will furnish us with a far better solution of the mysteries of God's providence than we can hope to obtain by unprofitable speculation in reference to those "secret things which belong to God," and which he has not revealed to us. We have quoted from the New Testament a passage which, as a declaration of providential care, is most unequivocal and emphatic, "all things work together," &c. The teaching of this passage is, that in the providence of God everything shall be conducive to the personal and individual advantage of those who love him. This would seem to negative the proposition we have suggested in reference to the trials which individuals may sometimes be called to bear for the general good. For how can that be said to be a working together of all things for my good which imposes upon me the necessity of suffering a calamity or bearing a sorrow for the benefit of others? It does, certainly, seem to be a contradiction; but the analogy of our experience teaches us not to regard it as such, but patiently to wait the issues, fully satisfied that the mystery will in due time be solved. It may be, indeed, that while passing through those bitter experiences necessary for the accomplishment of some scheme for the good and interest of others we may be learning for ourselves lessons, the value of which eternity alone can determine. Very possibly Jacob lived long enough to know that he had gained experiences while he mourned for Joseph which were worth all the pain and grief they had cost. And we have profited little by the experiences we have had if they have not taught us lessons of confidence and trust under circumstances of affliction and care. Let us look at the past. We remember the night of sorrow and trial, when we were surrounded with a thick and impenetrable gloom which seemed to scorn our hopes of dawning brightness and to fill our hearts with the blackness of despair. But now that we can calmly look upon that dismal past from the brighter present we are amazed at our own misgivings, and we confidently assure our hearts that they need doubt no more. The night of sorrow was to us a season of repose, broken, it is true, by unpleasant dreams of fancied and imaginary ills, but still a rest, invigorating in the highest degree. And the very darkest hour of that dark night was to us the herald of the light and labours of a better day. But what shall we say for those for whom the morning has never dawned, but whose night of sorrow and trial has found its termination in the deeper shades of death itself? The best thing that we can say is, that we commit a very grave error in assuming that death is a calamity, greater even than the woes of life. When we speak of the night of death and the gloom of the grave we speak of that of which we have no absolute knowledge, and in a manner, too, which flatly contradicts the profession of our faith. If we treat the subject in a manner consistent with the profession of our faith, and can divest our minds of their foolish imaginings, we shall say of those whose night of sorrow and trial finds its end in death, that they have awoke up to the light and enjoyments of another day, a day whose morning glory no cloud shall obscure and whose meridian brightness the gathering shadows of eventide shall never dim-a day which shall bring with it duty and labour free from toil and weariness, pleasure without sadness, and a peace never to be broken by the fitful change of time. To speak of the time of death as the night of our being, and of death itself as a last long sleep, is to ignore the teachings of Divine revelation and to shut our eyes to the suggestions of our own boasted reason. Longfellow has very beautifully said,— "There is no death! What seems so is transition. This life of mortal breath Whose portals we call death." The expression is ambiguous, certainly, and taken in its strict literal sense, as referring to the fact of death, not true. But taken in its qualified sense, as referring to the nature of that fact, it is so evidently true that it seems strange we should ever forget it. That we must die we one and all accept as a fact indisputable; but when we look forward to death as the longest and darkest of life's many long dark nights we set at naught the facts and principles which are the ground-work and foundation of our faith. It is in fact mistaking the first hour of the morning dawn for the beginning of a long and dreary night. There is much truth and philosophy in the well-known dream of good John Bunyan. He saw poor Christian, in the course of his journey, passing through the "valley of the shadow of death;" and a place dreary and forbidding enough it was. Its hideous sights and frightful sounds, and imaginary and actual dangers, made it the most dreary and fearful part of his long and tedious journey. But when he neared the end of his journey it was not to find another and more dreary valley through which he must pass before he could reach the city and home of his hopes, but simply a narrow river, over which he could look and distinctly see the scenes upon the opposite shore. Its waters were cold and |