repeat this prayer, and whether our desires correspond to its signification. For there are two classes of men from whose hearts this prayer could not proceed. To the first class belong those obstinate unbelievers who systematically defend themselves in their perversities; to the second, those imperfect Christians, who, although not untrue to the Divine law, are still attached with greater love to the life of this earth. Can the former desire the coming of the kingdom of God? The petition, "Thy kingdom come," would, in their mouths, bear an awful signification. It would be as if they said, May Thy justice descend upon us; may Thy immutable sanctity and truth reveal themselves to us; may Thy chastising omnipotence seize us, and bear us away to that place where we shall never more abuse our liberty-that divine gift which came from Thee.' And how can imperfect and lukewarm Christians, who are enamoured with worldly pleasures, seriously pray, "Thy kingdom come," whilst they look upon the gates of death, which lead to this kingdom, with terror, and whilst they would willingly remain for centuries upon this earth?

We are told of a rich man in Belgium, who, when his physicians had lost all hopes of his recovery, caused himself to be taken into his pleasure-grounds, where, looking with tearful eyes upon the beautiful scene before him, he uttered in his anguish these foolish words: 'Why should I depart from this place; I have never sought my heaven away from thee; why canst thou not give me this earth?' How far was this unhappy man from understanding the second petition of the Lord's Prayer! But the Divine love, which will not leave us in

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so baneful an error, and which therefore shews itself as a strong love, has provided that we should open our eyes to the truth; and that nature and the world should exhibit themselves in such varying scenes of frailty and corruption, that it is impossible, even for the most thoughtless, not to behold this changing and fleeting nature of all worldly things.

In the chronicles of the fifteenth century, a princess is mentioned who possessed all the endowments that could make her shine in the kingdom of this world; and who nevertheless freely resigned all these pretensions. Johanna of Portugal, daughter of King Alphonsus, was called a miracle of beauty; but who might be named the despair of painters, for so many of them were sent to paint her portrait, and all confessed that no power of art could imitate such beauty. It is related of Louis XI., a man whose superstitious devotion is well known, that, when he beheld her portrait (which, however, was far inferior to the original), he threw himself upon his knees, and fanatically thanked God, who had condescended to permit him to look upon such a reflection of heavenly beauty. If ever there were princess upon this earth who could lay claim to the grandeur of this world, was it not Johanna? But within her soul there lay a deep and melancholy seriousness, which despised all thoughts of marriage, and which must be considered as a presentiment of future events. In vain did the Dauphin of France (afterwards Charles VIII.) and Maximilian, son of the Emperor Frederic, endeavour to gain her hand. But scarcely had Charles ascended his throne, when he sent an embassy to Lisbon, through which he not only

renewed his suit, but accompanied it with threats of vengeance. John, king of Portugal, enraged against his sister, compelled her to listen to his prayer. The princess asked for a short time, in which she might deliberate. She passed some hours in prayer, and then declared to her brother, that she was willing to give her hand to the king, if he were alive to accept it. The prince was surprised by this speech; but, after a few days, the intelligence arrived that the young king was dead. It was not long before an embassy arrived on a similar purpose from Richard III., king of England. Again Johanna requested time for thought; she deferred her answer for some days, she prayed and wept much; but at length approached her brother with calmness, and declared that she was ready to sail that hour for England, if he to whom she was to be betrothed was still alive. If he be dead,' she added, 'grant me this boon, the only one I ask, that you will no more compel me to listen to like propositions; for you must see that they are contrary to the will of God.' The king, struck with the composure and firmness of her manner, believed, by anticipation, that which, during the week, was announced by messengers of grief. What followed is learned from the sequel of this history. This wonder of beauty, this Christian Turandot, retired into a monastery. There followed an event which, although not impossible, nor to be classed amongst ancient legends, is yet most wonderful. The princess formed her little garden in the court of the cloister, in which she planted with her own hand orange and lemon-trees, roses and lilies. But she soon died; and when her corpse was borne through the cloister, all her trees and flowers lan

guished, and never raised their drooping leaves again. For, as the Seer exclaimed, "All flesh is grass, and its glory like the flower of the field; the grass is withered, and the flower is fallen: the word of the Lord remaineth for ever." This great thought had taken possession of the heart of this princess, whose life upon this earth was like that of the flower; and, with the Psalmist, she thought, "What have I in heaven? and besides Thee, what do I desire upon earth? My flesh and my heart have fainted away; Thou art the God of my heart, and the God that is my portion for ever. For behold, they that go far from Thee shall perish; Thou hast destroyed all them that are disloyal to Thee." (Psalm lxxii.)

Against this idea, which is painful to the world and to a life of worldly pleasure, many an objection may be urged. For it may be said, Where is the man who can devote himself entirely to God, who can seek Him alone, and live upon this earth a superterrestrial life? The answer is easy: That man may be found every where, and each one is that man. For let any one be found in difficulties, in occupations, in cares, labours, and troubles, he then stands, in regard to God, in the relation of a creature and child to his Creator and Father; each one is united in a strict bond of union with a God-Man, his Redeemer, by means of, and in, the Church; each one is engaged in one duty, which surpasses all others, namely, his spiritual warfare; each one is burdened

with one

important care; let him not fail in zeal and fidelity in this great duty.

Let us now seat ourselves on some extreme height of danger, abandonment, and want; let us represent to

ourselves a wanderer, who, journeying amidst Alpine ice and snow, like that noble German prince of whom history tells, comes at last to the edge of an awful precipice of rock, where, full of anguish, and in want of every help, he clings to the stone, waiting with horror, until, weakened by hunger, he shall fall into the fathomless abyss ;-let us imagine a man awakened from his sleep by the roar of waters and the crash of ice, borne away, together with his little cabin, clinging to a beam, or perhaps to a tree. Covered with snow and rain, stiff with fear, he looks through the horrid night, and sees the ice approaching nearer and nearer, and the waters rising higher and higher, and his watery grave opening beneath him. What is, and what should be, his last and only thought? Lord, omnipotent God, inscrutable in wonder, the kingdom of this world now passeth away from me, and Thine is approaching; remember not, O Lord, the follies and sins of which I have been guilty against Thy truth, Thy sanctity, and love; have mercy on me, Thy creature, whom Thou hast redeemed.' Truly he is happy whose life being thus perilled, within whom glows the light of this thought; and thrice happy he, if he bear with him the testimony of a good conscience. But where should he who has not this testimony in his favour look for help in the time of danger? A Polish king, Sigismund II., was called, in derision, the King of the East, because he was accustomed to defer even the most important affairs to the rising of the morning sun, and hence he seldom brought any thing to a successful result. But he who has learnt to seek his kingdom, his riches, and possessions, not exclusively in this world, will guard himself from such folly, and will exert