pected obstacle, Alfonso took an affectionate leave He stances considered, has scarcely a parallel in the annals of blood since the time of the first fratricide, and affords a striking proof of the degree in which fanatical zeal will stifle the tenderest affections of the human breast, and stimulate to the perpetration of crimes the most atrocious and unnatural.-From M'Crie's History of the Reformation in Spain. PRAYER. THERE is an eye that never sleeps, There is an ear that never shuts, When human strength gives way; When earthly loves decay. That eye is fixed on seraph throngs; But there's a power that man can wield That eye, that arm, that love to reach, That power is prayer, which soars on high, BY THE REV. WILLIAM ARNOT, GLASGOW. ROOTS OF BITTERNESS. "Looking diligently lest any man fail of the grace of God; lest any root of bitterness springing up trouble you, and thereby many be defiled."-HEB. xii. 15. Alarmed by the noise which the assassin's spurs made on the steps as he descended, the person who slept with Juan Diaz rose hastily, and going into the adjoining apartment beheld, with unutterable feelings, his friend stretched on the floor and weltering in his blood, with his hands clasped, and the instrument of death fixed in his head. The murderers were fled, and had provided a relay of horses to convey them quickly out of Germany; but the pursuit after them, which commenced as soon as the alarm could be MANNA GATHERED FROM THE GROUND. given, was so hot that they were overtaken at Inspruck, and secured in prison. Otho Henry, Count Palatine of the Rhine and Duke of Bavaria, within whose territories the crime was perpetrated, lost no time in taking the necessary measures for having it judicially tried. Lawyers were sent from Neuburg with the night-cap of the deceased, the bloody axe, the letter of Alfonso, and other documents; but though the prisoners were arraigned before the criminal court at Inspruck, the trial was suspended, through the influence of the cardinals of Trent and Augsburg, to whom the fratricide obtained liberty to write at the beginning of his imprisonment. When his plea for the benefit of clergy was set aside as contrary to the laws of Germany, various legal quirks were resorted to; and at last the judges produced an order from the emperor, prohibiting them from proceeding with the trial, and reserving the cause for the judgment of his brother Ferdinand, king of the Romans. When the Protestant princ s, at the subsequent diet of Ratisbon, demanded, first of the emperor and afterwards of his brother, that the murderers should be punished, their requests were evaded; and, in the issue, the murderers were allowed to escape untried and with impunity, to the outraging of humanity and justice, and the disgrace of the Church of Rome, whose authorities were bound to see that the most rigorous scrutiny was made into the horril deed, under the pain of being held responsible for it to Heaven and to posterity The liberated fratricide appeared openly at Trent, along with his bloody accomplice, without exciting a shudder in the breasts of the holy fathers met in council; he was welcomed back to Rome; and fin lly returned to his native country, where he was admitted to the society of men of rank and education, who listened to him while he coolly related the circumstances of his sanctified crime. Different persons published accounts, agreeing in every material point, of a murder which, all circum SIN, whether in men or among them—whether viewed as inherent in the individual, or spread through the community-sin may well be compared to a root. This analogy does much to point out the nature, and the origin, and the consequences, and the cure, of that one evil which offends God and afflicts men. The analogy of a root serves to illustrate the nature of the evil. Forewarned, forearmed. An accurate knowledge of the danger goes far to constitute a defence. The figure directs our thoughts at once to the heart as the seat of the affections. "Out of the heart proceed evil thoughts," and words, and actions. It is not enough that we mark the character of the actions. The deeds that appear to others are the fruits; but any one, or any number of these, would be comparatively a small matter. It is the root that secures continuity, and imparts power. It is not any fruit, however evil, that is so much to be dreaded, but the hidden, living, spreading root below, that secures a continued supply. Our care must not be exclusively directed to the deeds-the fruit above ground-we must seek to reach that hidden root which grows in the soul unseen, generating actual transgression in the life of men. There are many points in which the analogy holds MANNA GATHERED FROM THE GROUND. good between a root and the sinful disposition of soul which gives birth to unrighteous action. 1. The root is below ground-unseen. The surface of the field, when you pass by, may be naked, and clean, and smooth-not a green blade to be seen, far less an opening flower, or ripening fruit; yet there may be in that field a multitude of thriving, vigorous roots, that will soon cover and possess its surface with thorns and thistles. So in a church, or a family, or a single member of it: though for the time all that meets the eye be fair, there may be in the soul within a germ of evil already swelling, and ready to burst out into open wickedness. Reader, remember the danger lies in a heart deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked. "What I say unto you, I say unto all, Watch!" 2. The root not only is, but grows. It has a vital self-increasing principle. By its own inherent energy it extends itself. It never remains stationary. While it lives it grows. There is no way of preventing it from growing larger, but by taking away its life. Unless you kill it, you cannot keep it down. So with the sinful disposition in the heart. It is not the existence of the thing merely that we have to dread, but its vitality. It is a thing of life. The Scripture (Eph. ii. 2, 3) speaks of men being dead in sins, and yet walking according to the course of this world. In like manner, though the guilty state of the soul be called death, yet it is a death that lives and grows. It not only bears fruit upward, but strikes root downward; and the more vigorously it shoots its fibres down into the soil, the heavier a harvest of wickedness it bears. It is not enough to say, that after one sinful deed is over, there is a root below which will produce another. There is a growing root below, which will produce a worse. Begin in time. All experience echos the Scripture injunction: "Train up a child in the way that he should go." There is a peculiar wisdom in the resolution, "Lord, thee my God, I'll early seek." Most of the roots that are killed, are killed when young, and comparatively tender. What is it that makes young sinners so fond of putting off their repentance? Why are you not willing to repent now? Is it not just because you find your sinful desires too strong to be thwarted? Ah! fools, and slow of heart to believe all that the Scripture-all that experience hath said! Will these desires be weaker after you have given them another year to grow? Now is the time to crucify the flesh. 3. Though you may be able to destroy the fruit, and cut down the branches, the root may be beyond your reach. Though the branches be lopped off, and the stem cut down close by the ground, yet the root left in the soil will keep its hold, and send up another stem, and spread out other branches. It is an easy thing for the husbandman to destroy all of a noxious plant that meets his eye, while it may be beyond his power to reach and remove the root. So with this sin. Much may be done to check its outward exhibition. Many agencies may be brought to bear upon it, which will not only prevent the ripening of the fruit, but will blight the opening blossom, and maim the spreading branches. Many schemes may be tried, and tried successfully, to stop the committing of sins, while the disposition to sin lives as vigorous, and grows as rank as ever in 67 the soul. A parent, by a frown, may prevent his child from beating a companion; but he has not thereby torn up the root of malice that grows in that child's breast. In a Christian land, and in a civilized society, there are appliances of sufficient power to prevent you from doing some of the more characteristic deeds of the old man; but these appliances have no power to make you put off the old man with his deeds. Oh! wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me? Help, Lord; for vain is the help of man! Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me! In the text prefixed to this chapter, the root is significantly called a root of bitterness. The analogy of a root suggests the existence, and the life, and the growth, and the power of a principle, without determining whether it be good or bad; but the distinguishing characteristic of the root spoken of is "bitterness." Everything depends on the nature of the root that is bedded in the soil. Earth, and air, and sun, and rain, nourish every plant that grows upon the surface of the globe. Trees that bear nutritious food, and trees that bear deadly poison, grow together on the same ground. There is a plant called the Nightshade, which is in some respects like a vine. Like the vine, its branches are slender, and unless supported, they trail upon the ground. Its bunches of fruit, too, are very similar, both in form and colour, to clusters of grapes. Its fruit is a poison. From its nature, it gets the name of the Deadly Nightshade. Now, this plant may grow beside a vine— may cling to the branches of a vine, and intermingle its clusters of fruit, so that you could scarcely distinguish the one from the other. Nay, more; in such a case, the roots of the two plants will shoot down into the same soil-they will cross and intertwine with each other in the earth-they will drink up the same sap at the same place. It would require a very close examination to distinguish the fibres that belong to each; yet this root converts the sap into delicious food-that into deadly poison. The result does not depend on air and sun, and moisture and earththese were all the same in this case. The fruit takes its character from the root. If it be a root of bitterness, it turns everything into poison. Such is the distinguishing characteristic of a sinful affection. Our living souls are the seat of many thoughts and emotions-they constitute the soil which nourishes many roots. Some roots grow there bearing sweet fruit to the glory of God and the good of men; but they are "the planting of the Lord." It is the root of bitterness that springs first, and spreads farthest. There are the shattered remnants of much good in the human soul. There are in it many materials which may be turned to good account, when a new heart has been given a new spirit created. But in all at first, and in many still, a strong one has possession. A bitter root occupies and sucks the soil, wasting its strength in bringing forth death. Pride, envy, worldliness, ungodliness these, and other roots, pervade the ground, and drain off all its fatness. The natural powers and emotions of the soul-the sap which these roots feed upon-would nourish trees of righteousness, if they were but planted there. There are many precious qualities of mind, efficient for good or for evil, just as they are employed. You have known a man possessed of many good qualities-such qualities as attract and bind to their possessor a wide circle of friends. He is, in the common sense of the term, a good-hearted man. He is generous, and kind, and honest. He will not maliciously resent an injury-he gives liberally of his goods to feed the poor--he renders to every man his due; but he is a drunkard. A bitter root has fastened in that generous soil, and drinks up all its riches. Oh! it is sad to see that strong one keeping possession of a wealthy place. It is sad to see so promising a field exhausted in bearing the filthiest fruit. Avarice is another root of equal bitterness. When it has fairly got possession of the ground, and maintained its place long, and reached maturity of growth, how it wrings the man, and squeezes out the last dregs of each generous emotion, leaving his soul a dry, useless, sapless, pithless thing, like a bit of rotten wood! There is no more pitiable creature on earth than a man whose heart's warm affections have been sucked out by the lust of gold. The power of understanding and judging-of liking and disliking-of hoping and fearing all these, as natural capabilities of the human soul, are wielded by the presiding will either on the side of righteousness, or the side of sin. The same learning and ardour which Saul of Tarsus employed to waste the Church, Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ, plied as the instruments of extending and establishing it. Paul had met the Lord in the way, and received into his heart the seed of a new life. This is the one needful thing. These understandings and memories, and all these natural powers that are now wasted on sin-the same instruments will do for serving God, when the quickening Spirit has implanted the new life within. "With you do I make this covenant,.....lest there should be among you man, or woman, or family, or tribe, whose heart turneth away from the Lord our God,..... lest there should be among you a root that beareth gall and wormwood."-- Deut. xxix. 14-18. The root that beareth gall and wormwood, is a heart that turneth away from God; and to that spring of evil must the cure be applied. Although it be "a root out of a dry ground," all will be well, if it be not a "root of bitterness." If the root be holy, so also will the branches be. EXTRACTS FROM A TRAVELLER'S NOTE-BOOK. BY THE REV. W. K. TWEEDIE, EDINBURGH. THE GREAT ST BERNARD. WITH two guides, and the best equipments we could find for such an expedition, we started at an early hour to ascend the Great St Bernard, travelling by the route over which Napoleon conducted the French army previous to the battle of Marengo. But his devastations, tremendous as they were, are not the only judgments which have visited this province. Our path lay for some time up the Valley of Bagnes, watered by the Drance. For five years previous to 1818, the debris which descended from the mountain and glacier of Getroz, at the head of that valley, had raised a bridge or dyke across the course of the river, whose waters, thus dammed up, gradually formed a lake behind the barrier, the length of which was at last about twelve thousand feet, while at some places it was seven hundred feet deep. Terrified by this accumulated mass, and anticipating the hour when it would sweep away the barrier, and devastate the valley, the inhabitants made an outlet for the water, and thereby lowered the lake to the extent of fifteen yards in depth, diminishing the whole volume of water by about two hundred and thirty millions of cubic feet. But in spite of every effort or expedient, the pressing mass at last forced away the barrier, and rushed down the valley with resistless fury. In one hour, the torrent had reached Martigny, eighteen miles distant from the gorge of the lake. Fifty houses were swept away at the hamlet of Hampsee-a forest was completely rooted up along the course of the Drance-the valley was in a few hours turned into a desert; and the whole damage was estimated, according to official returns made to the Swiss Cantons by the Pays de Vauds, at 1,664,640 francs. Even amid the grandeur of this morning's journey, we could not help feeling the truth and the beauty of what Corinne (Madame de Stael) has recorded regarding wayfarers like us. To traverse a country which you do not know, to hear a language which you can scarcely understand, and look on human countenances which have no connection with your past or your future, is solitude without repose, and insulation without dignity. That haste to arrive where no one expects you that ceaseless agitation of which curiosity is the only source, adds nothing to your self-respect; it is only by perpetuating the agitation that you render it supportable. We perpetuated it, however, throughout this weary day. The ascent occupied upwards of ten hours; and, though scarcely more than one of these was spent within the region of snow, it was enough to convince us of the misery of those whom a tempest overtakes in those wild regions. About half a league from the convent, we passed a hut called the Hospital, where wine and bread are deposited by the monks for the relief of those who are too much exhausted to reach the summit without help. All around was intensely wintry; and this "frosty Caucasus" contrasted strongly with the summer we had left a few hours before in the Valley of the Rhone. The ascent, though very toilsome, is at no place very steep, till we approach the Convent; and the ever-varying vistas up the valleys, terminated by mountains of unsullied whiteness, exhilarate for a time, and carry one so buoyantly forward, as in some measure to account for the lassitude and tendency to sleep which crept over us as we drew near to the summit. At one place, we leant for a little against a mass of snow, to gather strength for what remained of the climb where it grew steepest, and it was with difficulty that we could keep ourselves, for the few moments, awake. But the remembrance of Sir Joseph Banks, and the fate of some of his fellow-travellers in Patagonia, stirred us on-one other struggle of less than half-an-hour, and the summit was gained. EXTRACTS FROM A TRAVELLER'S NOTE-BOOK. There are moments in one's life whose remembrance never can be effaced. It may be that some very simple incident is connected with them; but however simple, they cannot be forgotten; and one of these was the moment when we knocked at the Convent gate of the Great St Bernard. By the time we reached it, our party was numerous; for group after group had joined us, or we them-and our characters were not all above suspicion. Among the rest at the Convent there was a truculent bandit, who had been guilty of murder-whose sin had found him out, and who was then being conducted by gens-d'armes to the scene of his crime, where he was to meet his doom. But men are the same in every locality-" enmity against God;" and what marvel if enmity to man? We could not speak the brigand's language, and could convey no hint as to the Friend of sinners. The Convent is a plain unornamented structure, and occupies a spot as dreary as any that man could select for his dwelling-place. The rocks on either side leave scarcely room for the foundations; and the overhanging peak of Mount Velan, the loftiest of the St Bernard range, covered with ice and glaciers, consummates the wild gloominess of the scene. A little lake of dark, deep water, at a short distance from the Convent, and not frozen at the time, gave additional stillness to the aspect of the desolate abode; and the whole is such-so peculiar and unique-as to impress itself at once and indelibly on the mind. Looking abroad, you see only Alp towering above Alp in grandeur which no hyperbole can overstate, while immediately around you, all that is sterile and wintry reigns, unvaried by a single speck of green. 69 tural history, and a telescope-the unused gift of General Macauley. From the library we passed to the chapel, which contains the tomb of Dessaix, one of Bonaparte's generals, who fell at Marengo. The inscription is simple: "A Dessaix, mort a la battaile de Marengo." His body is here, his heart is in another tomb which we saw in Alsace, his native country-where will the immortal spirit be, when the secrets of all hearts are made bare? More impressive far than the mummery of the Roman ritual-its matins, its vespers, or its perpetual sacrifice, the mass, as opposed to the one sacrifice (see Heb. x. 12, compared with 14), is the spectacle of such a termination to such a career. For fame or glory Dessaix and myriads fought and died-they got it; and what is it, especially what is it Now, to them? At a short distance from the Convent stands the Maison des Morts, where the dead found on the mountain are deposited. They are placed erect against the wall, till their friends identify and claim them, or till the corpses fall into decay, here rendered tardy by the coldness of the region. We have beheld few sights more humbling to proud humanity than this charnel-house. The ghastly skeletons, ranged in hideous order along the wall-some comparatively fresh, and others crumbling to fragments-some with the struggles of their snowy death-bed still depicted on their visage, others black, as if malignant typhus had been their death carry one back at once to the era of the primal curse, and remind us, in a way that cannot be soon forgotten, of the disorganization and death introduced by sin. And yet, there is a resurrection! Them that sleep in Jesus will God bring with him, even from this disgusting dead-house. The dogs of St Bernard are known through the world; but the celebrity which they enjoy is not en It is, however, in the interior of the Convent that we find the strongest attractions after sun-down on the mountain. The fatigue of the ascent had prepared us to be pleased even with an unkind reception; but the courteous attentions of the padre for-hanced by a close inspection of their character. The restiero-the stranger's father-needed not that to recommend them. The Convent supper was past ere we arrived; but refreshments were speedily prepared for us. It was a meagre day, and our fair was regulated accordingly; that is, everything was purely vegetable, but the omelette and cheese, though the variety in some degree compensated for the meagreness. We were surprised, at supper, to find the father so intelligent regarding the state of matters in our native land. The Emancipation Act, the effects of the Reform Bill, and, above all, the condition of convulsed, unhappy Ireland, were objects of interest, and even of familiarity to him. He knew its history and its towns, especially in the south and west, better than we did. After a shivering night, we breakfasted at seven, and were then shown over the Convent by the father on duty; for it is taken in rotation. The refectory, to our surprise, contained a print of Theodore Beza, and some antiquities found in "the Plain of Jupiter"a level rock not far from the Convent, where a temple to that divinity once stood. The library contained a tolerable collection of books, some objects of na This was not a solitary instance. We know from observation, that for many years past, Romanists have looked to Ireland as their key to Britain; and recent events are showing the far-sightedness of their policy. marvels which are told of them are often fabulous or romantic. That they do aid in the discovery of travellers overtaken by storms is certain; but not to the extent which many say. They never leave the Convent without an attendant monk, who threads his way along the roads to the Convent, during the prevalence of a tempest, while the dogs range from side to side, just as other dogs seek game; and, in fact, their instinct, or education, teaches them to find men, just as the instinct of other animals teaches them to find inferior quarry. Nay, we were told by the father who escorted us, that the dogs of St Bernard have been known to prey on the dying whom they had discovered. It is the monk, the good Samaritan of the mountain, that saves the wayfarer -the dog only scents him out, when exhausted, and ready to perish. It is a pity to dash so much romance as adheres to these fabled dogs; but our authority was the stranger's father. Our entertainment was, of course, gratuitous at the convent; but we took care to deposit in the alms' box, an equivalent for the hospitality enjoyed. The funds of the Convent have been augmented by various Sovereigns; but a yearly collection is made in Savoy and the Vallois to recruit its insufficient treasury. It were needless to rehearse the details of Bonaparte's passage of this mountain; but the toils of the achievement appeared to us, on the spot, to be exaggerated. The numbers were surprising, but not the mere act of passing; for the difficulties were such as could be surmounted by industry and perseverance. Had it been at the season of snow, the attempt had been vain; but commencing, as it did, on the 15th of May (1800) the wonder is diminished. In seven days, thirty thousand men, with twenty pieces of cannon, passed the mountain. At various periods, from the time of Augustus, similar efforts were made at the bidding of ambition or revenge; and during the revolutionary wars, it is calculated that, in four years, one hundred and fifty thousand men traversed the mountain. When Napoleon passed, his army partook of refreshments dealt out to every soldier of the thirty thousand, at the Convent gate! The origin of this Institution is variously described. Some state that Charlemagne was its founder, who bestowed on it the name of his uncle, St Bernardthus superseding the ancient title, Mons Jovis. At present there are thirty monks of the Augustinian order attached to it-fifteen of whom were resident when we passed. The prior resides at Martigny. In looking back on our brief sojourn on the Great St Bernard, and the unwonted scenes we witnessed, one would be glad could he cherish the hope that it is Christian principle, the only principle that will be recognised by the Judge that has induced those thirty men to abandon tne milder cnmate of their birth, to dwell in the most elevated abode in Europe, and undertake a perilous task, which must spread over four or five months of every year, in a region where vegetation is just not extinct, and few days of sunshine are enjoyed. We know how much more readily man will make sacrifices at the bidding of self-righteousness, than in compliance with the humbling doctrines of the Gospel. Give me the prospect of purchasing heaven, or of establishing a claim to its blessedness in my own right, and there is no sacrifice which I will not make. I will rival the Hindu in selfinflicted torture, or Simon Stylites himself in austerity and penance. But bid me believe for heaven, and not work for it; bid me receive and rest upon Jesus Christ alone for salvation, instead of upon self, or self and Christ united-and you thereby paralyze my efforts unless the Spirit of God carry home your message to my heart, it will be rejected as foolishness or falsehood. Now, on which of these two sets of motives do the monks of St Bernárd act? The self-righteous, or the believing ?-the human, or the Christian? They stand or fall to their own Master. The day that reveals all secrets will decide. Immediately after leaving the Convent, we entered the Sardinian territory, and began the descent of the mountain. The side next Italy is yet more magnificent than that toward the north; but, with ordinary care, the traveller encounters nothing on the descent that can be dignified with the name of adventure. Hitherto, our guides had enjoyed a tolerable sinecure, as they continued to do till we commenced the ascent of Mont Blanc. At St Remy, on the southern slope of the St Bernard, and the frontier town of Savoy, we were strictly searched, mainly, we were told, lest we should import tobacco or books; of the former we had none of the latter few, and these were reckoned harmless, because they were English. After a few hours' rapid descent, we found ourselves in the Valley of Aoste, where, for the present, we must rest, and reserve what remains regarding the Passes of the Alps, for some future Extracts. WEEP NOT FOR ME. When the pangs of death assail me, Anecdote. THE REV. MR BERRIDGE. RELATED BY HIMSELF. DALE. Soon after I began to preach the Gospel of Christ at Everton, the church was filled from the villages selves hurt at their churches being deserted. The around us, and the neighbouring clergy felt themsquire of my own parish, too, was much offended. He did not like to see so many strangers, and be so incommoded. Between them both it was resolved, if possible, to turn me out of my living. For this purpose they complained of me to the bishop of the I was soon after sent for by the bishop; I did not diocese, that I had preached out of my own parish. much like my errand, but I went. When I arrived, the bishop accosted me in a very abrupt manner:"Well, Berridge, they tell me you go about preaching out of your own parish. Did I institute you to the livings of Ay, or En, or Pn?" these livings; the clergymen enjoy them undisturbed "No, my lord," said I, "neither do I claim any of by me." "Well, but you go and preach there, which you have no right to do." "It is true, my lord, I was one day at E-n, and there were a few poor people assembled together, and I admonished them Jesus Christ, for the salvation of their souls; and I to repent of their sins, and to believe in the Lord remember seeing five or six clergymen that day, my lord, all out of their own parishes upon E- -B bowling-green." "Poh!" said the bishop, "I tell you, you have no right to preach out of your own parish; and, if you do not desist from it, you will that, my lord," said I, "I have no greater liking to very likely be sent to Huntingdon jail." ́ Huntingdon jail than other people; but I had rather go thither with a good conscience, than live at my liberty without one." Here the bishop looked very hard at me, and very gravely assured me, “that I should either be better or worse." "Then," said I, was beside myself, and that in a few months' time I "my lord, you may make yourself quite happy in this business; for if I should be better, you suppose I shall desist from this practice of my own accord; and if worse, you need not send me to Huntingdon jail, as I shall be provided with an accommodation in Bedlam." "As to |