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RELICS AND FESTIVALS.

end of the Church; and Samoan love has placed the following inscription on his tomb-stone :O le tuugamau lenei O MISI LUNITI

Na ia maliu i Leone

Sepetemepa 25,
1841.

Sa tele lona loto i le galuega le Ataa ili nuu nei.

Cla manuia i latou

O cu ooi ai,

I le nafouga lelei,

I luga i le lagi.

Ua foamanava i latou

I gaiue sa fai;

Ua oo i le mapusaga

Ua malolo i ai.

"Le oti e, sifea lou fate ?"-PAULO.

This is the grave

of

MR LUNDIE.

He died at Leone,

Sept. 25, 1841.

Great was his heart in the work of the Lord in this

land.

Blessed are they

Who have arrived thither

At the happy dwelling-place Above in the skies.

Cease they do

From the works they did.

They have reached the rest

And there they repose.

"O death! where is thy sting ?"-PAUL

one,

RELICS AND FESTIVALS.

BY THE REV. W. K. TWEEDIE, EDINBURGH. As one wanders about in Rome, beholding a city with about fifty thousand inhabitants wholly given up to superstition, it is forced upon one's thoughts, that on the priests lies the burden of the guilt and the misery of such a state of things. The clergy of Rome are doing for the people what the Spaniards did for the Mexicans: they offer them protection-they, in fact, 'destroy them. We concede that, on more occasions than the rites are as they should be. Satan always leaves some mixture of truth, that error and delusion may be the more fatally seductive. time, the Church spends a day in praying for the conversion of sinners; and did they not pray to saints, it would be well. At another, the Church gives thanks" to the divine Lord for the benefits received from his divine bounty and mercy in the course of the year." But, in spite of these, the following extracts from the "Diary, or Religious Almanac of Rome," show the monstrous nature of its obser

vances:

At one

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April 2.-Baptize Jews and Turks.... and show the heads of the holy apostles Peter and Paul.

"May 2.-After dinner, discover the most sacred crucifix.

"May 23.-Show the most sacred crucifix, which, when this church was burnt (1519), was found after the fire uninjured by the flames, and the lamp still burning before it.

"June 10.-Plenary indulgence in all the churches where the image of the sacred heart of Jesus is kept. A festival at the Scots' College, in honour of St Margaret of Scotland.

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July 22.-Festival of St Julian-venerate one of his feet.

"Sept. 13.-Carry in procession the wood of the holy cross, and uncover the sacred crucifix.

"Oct. 18.-To-day uncover all the images of the Virgin Mary, painted (as is said) by St Luke.

"Dec. 24.-Carry in procession the cradle of our Lord, which remains exposed for the following day."

These are but a few gleanings from the Directory of Rome, indicative of the impostures practised upon men under the name of religion. We have seen the pillar upon which the cock stood which crew to Peter, the identical table from which the last supper was eaten, along with many other relics which scarce even a priest could show without smiling. And it should never be forgotten that these anilities are practised by the church which arrogates to itself the sole title of Christian, and declares that beyond its pale there is no salvation. It should never be forgotten, that, by such means as those of which I have here given a cento, men are allured to a specious worship, which must be, to a countless number of immortal creatures, what the candle is to the insect that flutters around it at once death and a grave. It should rested, a cunning, and an unscrupulous Church, are never be forgotten, that all the ingenuity of an inteat work among us, burrowing to spread the belief of these absurdities, and bring back the time when men shall live alike ignorant of God and themselves. At Rome there is, however, a spirit abroad which will It will be done lead men to shake off this incubus. most likely by the might of Infidelity, not of Christianity. But it will be done. As if to help on their own ruin, the Church of Rome has published, or sanctioned the publishing of, two works by two English Radicals Cobbet on the Reformation, and Brougham's Essay on Science. In consequence of this, the Romans begin to think "Comminciano," said a Deist of this number," pensare da uomini non da bestie”—"they begin to think like men, not like beasts ;”—and certainly, could a beast think, or be religious, it might adopt the thing called religion at Rome.

The mode in which the relics are exhibited for adoration is this: They are generally kept in some elevated place of the church, and from a balcony they are displayed to the worshippers below. On the the dedication of St Peter's, the spear which (it is 18th of November, for instance, the anniversary of said) pierced the Redeemer's side, part of the cros

on which he hung, the well known impression of his countenance on a handkerchief which he gave to St

Veronica, are displayed from a balcony in St Peter's to the prostrate worshippers below. We have seen all ranks, from Cardinal Galeffi, who acted as propope during an interregnum, to the poor contadini, kneeling prostrate before these lying wonders; and the sight troubled the soul with a two fold feelingcontempt for the imposturous system, mingled with pity for the men who were the dupes of such deception.

Such feelings cannot but be produced in the mind of every thinking man who enters a Romish Church on the day of a festival. Everything is calculated to allure and enthral the senses. Incense floats upwards, and hovers like mist beneath the domes; music peals from the organ; the violoncello, the violin, or, what is far nobler, the Italian voice, captivates and awes by Italian music; lamps and candles, in hundreds, shame the daylight; flowers of every hue decorate the altar; and all the rainbow's colours meet in the tapestries which adorn the pillars. The area of the church is crowded with loiterers, soldiers, monks, and ecclesiastics. From the cardinal in his robes to the Swiss mercenary who guards him, all seem awed into reverence; and it is not to be denied that one of the most imposing scenes which man can get up, is the raising of the host for adoration on such occasions. The vast church of St Peter's filled on Christmas-day with many thousands of Italians; the pope, borne aloft on his throne, like a demi-god, surrounded with all the insignia of royalty, wearing his tiara, and all the trappings which can impose upon an ignorant people; the hum of a thousand prayers; the gleam of many tapers; incense and music; and all that is sensual in religion, show a thinking man at once the havoc which such things make among souls, and the grand argument by which Popery is upheld. But amid this scene of splendour, the most imposing moment is when the pope, in his character of a priest, leaves on his throne, for a little, his character of king, and ministers at the high altar in St Peter's. He proceeds to compound the materials of which the holy wafer is to be made. As a baker would knead dough he kneads the composition. His mumblings consecrate it, and it is held up for the adoration of thousands. All is breathless suspense, and only the muttering of the pope breaks the stillness that pervades St Peter's. When the incantation is complete, by which a mortal creature makes a piece of bread a god, a solitary note from three bugles, placed far in the distance in the temple, announce the moment for the idolatrous worship to commence. The pope raises the wafer over the chalice, and the thousands of princes, priests, and men of every grade, prostrate themselves in instant adoration. The pope's guard of nobles offer military honours to the wafer: the crowd adore it with the profoundest homage. They dare scarcely look upon a thing supposed so sacred; and these men are seen abased before a thing so puny, as if they had "indeed met their God." One feels as if he ought to dare the swords of all the guards, the halberts of all the Swiss, in lifting a testimony against idolatry so gross. When we saw this spectacle, all were prostrate before the wafer, save only eight or ten Protestants, English and American, who stood erect among the crowd, bearing a silent testimony

against a system which is built at once on the ruins of the Word of God, and of the mind and soul of

man.

FUTURE JOYS.

BY MRS L. H. SIGOURNEY
DARK were this mortal life,

Did not a world of rest

Gleam brightly o'er the clouds of strife,
To cheer the drooping breast.
Sad were the weary way

Where wandering pilgrims go,
But for that pure, celestial ray,
Which gilds their path of woe.
Appalling were the grave

That whelms all earthly trust,
Had not our Lord, who died to save,
Its mouldering cerements burst.

So, o'er the midnight hours,

The desert, and the tomb,

Look up, meek saint, where angel-bowers
And flowers immortal bloom.

Hartford, November, 1845.

TOO LATE! TOO LATE! A DREAM.

BY THE REV. JOHN TODD, D.D., PHILADELPHIA. I HAVE never crossed the Atlantic, though it has ever been one of the strongest desires of my heart to do so-to visit what was the home of my fathersthe region of revolutions and battles-the country of song, of eloquence, of great deeds, good and bad. Probably my short purse will never permit me to enjoy all this, and mercy may give me to see a "better land." But in my dreams I often visit it. There is not a mountain or lake in Scotland which I have not many times climbed or sailed over, nor a landscape of note which I have not pictured in my imagination. In one of these mental visits lately, the following pictures were before my mind:

I was walking in a nobleman's park, the tall trees were in clusters, and their arches everywhere admitted light and shade in beautiful contrast. The wild birds had their home here, and even the timid deer were seen bounding from one thicket to another, without uttering the wild whistle which we hear in our forests when a deer sees a man. In the midst of all that was lovely stood the old family mansion, and there it had stood for centuries-its towers, its wings, its great niche for the family plate, its gardens and stables, and its thousand conveniences and elegances. But all around the house was still. The clock in the tower was stopped, the horses in the stables were unharnessed, and the domestics were gathered round in whispering groups; the bell and the knocker were bandaged in crape, and I now knew that Death was looking into the windows, or that he had already entered the door. On entering the lofty rooms, pannelled and stuccoed after the fashion of other days,

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TOO LATE! TOO LATE!

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you of necessity associated it all with great wealth. chairs, a cot bed, as its furniture, while bottles that In the antiquated but beautiful furniture, you saw at were empty, and cards scattered round, showed that a glance, that in no generation had the possessor been it was a miserable haunt of dissipation. A young man called upon for self-denial. In one of the most re- sat leaning on the table, who wore a torn coat, dirty mote rooms, whose doors were curiously inlaid with shirt, and slovenly garments to correspond. A large variegated wood-whose ivory knobs turned noise- letter lay before him. His eyes were red, his counlessly-whose carpet rendered the heaviest tread a tenance haggard and woful, and everything about velvet one, lay an old man, the possessor of all this him distressing. He was musing over the letter. He estate. He was tall, noble in mien, but trouble had would read it, or a part of it, and then get up and most evidently known him long. His countenence hurriedly walk across the room. Again he would sit was sunken and haggard, the lips colourless, and the down and read. After doing so repeatedly, he sudbreast scarcely moving as he breathed with great denly stopped, and said aloud: "Yes, it is just so. I difficulty. It was difficult to say whether he was have tried this course a great while. My companions weighed down most heavily by bodily or mental agony. are friends just as long as my money lasts, and then Friends were standing near him, but they were not they forsake me till I receive more. Once more I near in blood. Servants were in waiting, anxiously am stripped, and they have helped to strip me, and waiting, but their sorrows were not those which chil- have even proposed to me to commit robbery, in order dren have for a dying father. A large scroll of parch- to replenish their wants and mine! When have they ment was lying on the table, it was the will of the ministered to me? I have been in the hospital, and dying nobleman. The gentleman named in it as exe-in prison, and not one of them ever came to me! And cutor was carefully reading it over.

"Mr Douglas," said the dying man, "I know you will scrupulously observe all the directions of that instrument. I believe I have been minute and particular. As to that son--my only child!-the memory of the past is overwhelming—he is mine, as you know, only by adoption. I took him when a mere child, at the dying request of his father. I have educated him as my own child, and loved him as such. Oh, what returns have I received from him! Ungrateful, disobedient, prone to all that is evil, giving himself up to every vice, he grew more and more vile, till at last he fled from me and from his country, and for many years has lived in a foreign land, amid society and scenes which I dare not think of. During all these years I have supplied his necessary wants, and have tried every method to recall him; but he scorns every overture I can make. For the last six months I have sent by every packet, sometimes writing and sometimes sending special messengers, urging him to return to me-promising that I will forgive all, and make a my heir if he will return. I have taken the pains to be assured that my messages and letters have been put into his hands-as many as one a-week for a long time. In that will, Mr Douglas, I have directed, that if he returns before my death, even if it be but an hour before I die, he shall still be my son and heir. If he does not, the reason is that he is unworthy, and I have cut him off from all part in the inheritance. You understand me, do you not, Sir?" "I do, Sir; I shall follow your directions to the letter."

At that moment the sufferer was seized with anguish, and the pain brought large drops of cold sweat upon his forehead. It seemed as if his end must be at hand. I wanted to console him, but he seemed to have a consciousness that dreaming people cannot do good.

My dream was changed. I seemed to be ascending the creaking stairs of a miserable old building in one of the narrowest, most filthy streets in New York. All around seemed dirty, decaying, and vile. These stairs led up into a comfortless attic story. It was about noon. The room had an old table, a few broken

yet this good man-how differently has he done! It is plain, too, that he is very near his end. The physician says there is no hope of my reaching him alive, unless I do it within thirty days from this very day. If I reach him I may receive his pardon, his blessing, and his property; if I fail, I lose all. And now what shall I do? And the packet-the last packet sails this very day! Here I am a beggar, when I might there be the possessor of all the heart could wish. Nothing but my sins have kept me from all this. Can I give these up? Can I become virtuous and good? I trust I can. I will make the trial. I will make one effort more to recover and save myself. This letter insures the payment of my passage when I reach home. And at twelve o'clock the packet sails. She must be already down the harbour, and the steamboat must in a few minutes leave the wharf with the passengers and the mails. I have not a moment to lose."

Away went the young man down the stairs, and down the alley, with nothing but a small bundle of clothing under his arm. Towards the wharf I saw him rush. Panting and pale he went onward. Some thought him deranged-some thought him a thief-all thought him to be in a hurry. At length he sees the wharf, and hears the hissing of the steam of the boat that is to carry the passengers down to the ship already under sail. There is the boat-and there!

Alas! she is

they are just letting her off from her moorings! Away he darts, and reaches the wharf. off, and he is just one minute too late! In agony he saw it all, and cried: "Too late! too late!" and sank down in despair. It was too late, and he lost the inheritance for ever. What a dream! [Reader, you have a Father, and you may have an estate. Take care that you be not too late to obtain it. God is your Father-you are his wayward and rebellious child. You have crossed a very ocean of sin to be away from him, and you have tried to drown all thoughts of him in pleasure-in business-in dissipation-in indifference. He has sent after you many messages, beseeching you to return and be reconciled, and promising to make you heir of all things; nay, he has sent a vessel to bring you over free of trouble and expense, if you will but come. Hitherto you may

have despised his love and refused his offers. He sends you yet another message; and the vessel is still waiting even the Covenant Ark; will ye not arise and enter, and go to your Father? Ye may not have another message sent, and this very day the vessel may depart. You will wish then you had gone, but it will be "too late." "Now is the accepted time-now is the day of salvation." Beware lest the ocean of sin, which separates between you and your Father, rise and sweep you into wrath."]

GOD IN HIS WORKS.

much time in viewing the clouds and sky, to behold the sweet glory of God in these things; in the meantime singing forth, with a low voice, my contemplations of the Creator and Redeemer. My mind was greatly fixed on divine things, almost per- | petually in the contemplation of them. I oft walked 1. alone in the woods and solitary places, for meditation, soliloquy, and prayer, and converse with God. Prayer seemed to be natural to me, as the breath by which the inward burnings of my heart had vent."-Hamilton's " Mount of Olives."

ETERNAL.

Eternal! What a sound doth this word "eternal" make in my ears! What workings doth it cause What word is next to be added to it? Is it "eternal within my heart! what casting about of thoughts! world?" Where? for this is temporal. Oh! that eternal world is now by us unseen, and as to us is yet to come. But yet my trembling heart is still solicitous to what other word this word "eternal" might be prefixed as to myself, or those that hear me this day, of God are yet in this present and temporal, shall be when they and I, who, through the long-sufferance in that eternal world. Shall it be "eternal damnation" in that eternal world! How? after so many knockings of Christ, strivings of the Spirit, tenders of mercy, wooings of grace, calls of ministers, warnings of conscience, admonitions of friends, waitings of escaping eternal damnation. O dreadful words! of patience? all which put us into a fair probability Can more terror be contained, can more misery be comprehended, in any two words, than in "eternal damnation" But we in time are praying, hearing, repenting, believing, conflicting with devils, mortifying sin, weaning our hearts from this world, that when we shall go out of time, we might find "life" or "salvation" added to "eternal." Eternal salva

FROM David learn to delight in God, and so to view each scene in creation, and each event in providence, in God's own purest light. God was his chiefest joy-his sure and ascertained friend; and every scene was pleasant where God's presence was enjoyed, and every object interesting in which aught of God's glory could be seen. He felt Jehovah's tread in the shaking wilderness and the quivering forest. He saw Jehovah's chariot in the rolling cloud, the eddying tornado, and the wheeling water-spout. He beheld Jehovah's majestic flight on the wings of mighty winds, and in the chariot of careering clouds. He heard Jehovah's voice in the thunder-psalm and in ocean's echoing chime. He heard it, too, in the hum of leafy trees, and in the music that trickled down the mountain's side. He recognised Jehovah's frown in the splitting rocks and smoking hills; and hailed Jehovah's smile in the melting tints of morning, in the laughing joy of harvest-fields, in the glancing roll of sun-steeped billows, and the plunging gambols of leviathan as he played his ponderous frolics there. Every touch of pathos or power passed away ation-these be words as comfortable as the others heavenward melody from the Æolian harp of his devotional spirit; and not content with these strains of constant adoration, on some occasions you can see him mustering all his being for some effort of ecstatic worship, and longing to flame away a holocaust of praise. Describing the change which came over his own feelings from the time that he knew God in Christ, President Edwards says: "The appearance of everything was altered; there seemed to be, as it were, a calm sweet cast or appearance of divine glory in almost everything. God's excellency, his wisdom, his purity, and love, seem to appear in everything; in the sun and moon and stars; in the clouds and blue sky; in the grass, flowers, trees; in the water and all nature, which used greatly to fix my mind. I often used to sit and view the moon for continuance; and in the day spent

were terrible-as sweet as they were bitter. What, then? This word "eternal" is the horror of devils, the amazement of damned souls, which causeth deslike a dart, continually sticking in them, that they peration in all that hellish crew; for it woundeth most certainly know that they are damned to all eternity. Eternal!-it is the joy of angels, the delight of saints, that while they are made happy in the they sit and sing: "All this will be eternal." Eternal! beatifical vision, are filled with perfect love and joy,

this word-it is a loud alarm to all that be in time, a serious caution to make this our grand concernthat when we must go out of time, our "eternal" souls might not be doomed down to "eternal" damnation, but might obtain salvation that shall be "eternal;" of which we have hope and expectation, "while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal."-Doolittle.

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