"let the peace of God rule in your hearts, and be ye thankful," that peace and gratitude may continually keep you in good-will to all. Such is Christian temper. But are no professors found by whom these sacred injunctions are continually violated? Is it not said, significantly, of some, in whom the existence of other evidences of religious character can scarcely be doubted, that they are just good-tempered when they are pleased; but when they are contradicted, put out of the way, provoked, then indeed they are like other persons who make no pretence to religion? Nay, are there not even instances in which a soaring profession of religion, and notoriously bad tempers, are as intimately blended, as if a vehement, inflammatory temper were the necessary result of the "sanctification of the Spirit?" Are not some "easily provoked," cast into a paroxysm of anger? Are not others capable of retaining their displeasure even for years? We wish the facts could be explained away; but they cannot. How, then, are we to account for them? On no other ground than that which has been already suggested. They have not so directed their attention to the rule as to have it, clearly understood, abiding in their hearts. They pass over the instances of infraction without any particular notice. They so look for redeeming mercy, as to overlook the equal need of redeeming power. And thus their Lord, scourged in the hall of Pilate, is wounded in the house of his friends. What must Christ have been, if his temper were the counterpart of that of some of his followers? 3. Is there never any manifestation of this Antinomianism in connexion with selfishness and self-will? We know that that care for his own preservation and comfort which was originally, for the wisest purposes, implanted in man, has become, through the corruption occasioned by the fall, a decided and dominant selfishness. But we know, too, that grace and truth are designed to produce, in this respect, an entire change. The language of inspiration on this subject may be passed over without reflection; but no one who pauses to think, can possibly mistake its meaning. We quote only two passages : "Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep." (Rom. xii. 15.) The Christian, then, is to be not cold and indifferent, but sympathizing, cherishing, and exhibiting a kind fellow-feeling, and that where no interest of his own is involved. Another is happy in that happiness he is to rejoice, though he may have no share in it. Or another suffers and weeps; and with the sufferer, though the suffering extends not to himself, he is to weep. And thus, as Christ is our sympathizing Saviour, "touched with the feeling of our infirmities," so are we, his disciples, to be. But are all such? Are there no professors who appear to have feeling for none but themselves? They can be charitable in action; but of the kind and tender sympathy which Christianity enjoins, and which it enforces by reference to Christ himself, they seem to have no notion. We quote a second passage: "Be like-minded, have the same love, be of one accord, of one mind. Let nothing be done through strife or vain glory; but, in lowliness of mind, let each esteem other better than themselves. Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others." (Phil. ii. 1-11.) Can there be any doubt as to the meaning of this? This goes even beyond sympathy. There must be none of the vanity of selfpreference. From this spirit must not anything be done. It is a divine sympathy, in union with humility, condescension, unselfish generosity, a noble regard to the welfare of others. And of this Christ himself sets the splendid example. Beyond the light of revelation, never was such a character drawn, even as the beau ideal of philosophy. Its existence is a commanding proof of the superhuman origin of Christianity. Man could never have originally conceived what even yet man scarcely seems able to understand. And of this example it is pointedly said, "Let THIS mind," the temper thus displayed, in all its branches,-not, the mind of Christ, generally, but this particular mind," let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus." But is there no Antinomianism here? Is nothing ever done among professors through strife and vain glory? Does each in "lowliness of mind esteem other better than themselves?" Is the talent and success of one a source of real pleasure to others? Is envy never indulged? Is pain never felt when another is praised? Is there joy when God's work is done, though another have been made the instrument? The Apostle describes even to minuteness the Christian temper; and yet, in how many instances may habitual contradiction and deficiency be seen! And no longer to classify, but, in conclusion, to look at one or two particular facts, may it not be asked, whether all professors clearly exhibit that hatred of detraction and scandal which the Scriptures enjoin? Of the citizen of Zion it is said, not that he does not originate, but that "he taketh not up"-when set in motion by another-" a reproach against his neighbour." But is evil-speaking unknown among the professed disciples of Christ? Have they among them no "busy-bodies in other men's matters?" Is scandal at once frowned down? Is truth rigidly adhered to? Are evil surmisings-taking wrong for granted till right is proved, in exact reversal of the ordinary principles of justice-unknown? One thing is certain. The religion which the Scriptures describe, when regarded as constituting personal character, is not only one of the loveliest, noblest moral spectacles ever presented to the view of man, but is precisely that which society requires for its perfect renovation, prosperity, and happiness. Is it not, then, infinitely desirable, that every individual professor should feel himself charged with its honour, and solemnly called to sustain its interests in himself? in his own character to exhibit the Christian character? Christ's great design concerning his church is, to free it from spot, from wrinkle, that it may be holy and without blemish. It is against this design that the subtle enemy of God and man, of Christ and his church, has directed this perhaps his most artfully-devised temptation of Antinomianism,-making void the law through faith. Against open assaults, open resistance must be directed; but the more insidious wiles, the artful stratagems of our "ghostly enemy," can only be defeated by being understood. Let each soldier of Christ feel that he himself is, in an important sense, charged with the safety of the whole garrison; and let him, in this very instance, resolve, that if watchfulness and attention will prevent it, he will not be the instrument of Satan even for weakening, much less betraying, it. Where there is genuine sincerity, there will be a strong desire to be right. A very different case is presented where the heart is not right with God. But, just here, perhaps, is the origin to be found of the mischief we have been describing. We desire to be right; we should take care that our desire does not come short of a strong purpose, a settled resolution, to be so. We desire to be right, but we too often content ourselves with what we may be allowed to term, general right; and if no very glaring instances occur of positive wrong, or deficiency, we are satisfied. We must purpose, by God's grace, to be right in all things. It is thus that we shall most effectually honour Christ before men, and promote his blessed cause in the earth. And even higher than this should our "Look through me with thine eyes of flame, those clouds, and that darkness, which have too much, and too long, concealed us from ourselves ; "And tell me what by sin I am, And what I am by grace." If this be your earnest wish, you are directly in the way to escape the entangling snare. First: Peruse, with a special care, those portions of holy writ which so minutely describe Christian temper, conduct, and character. "Think on these things." Seek to understand them. See what they really imply and require. "Understand what the will of the Lord is." Read for information on this very subject; not as a formal task, but devoutly, with much prayer, and careful meditation. Seek to possess a clear view of the real Christian character, in all its parts, and in their proper and harmonious combination. ness. Second: Study yourselves. Ascertain what you are naturally. Some things you will find favourable to religion: see that they be sanctified, so that natural dispositions may become Christian graces, fruits of righteousSome things you will find unfavourable. These must be corrected and subdued; some of them, perhaps, utterly eradicated. On some points, it may be, you will find absolute deficiency. For instance, your natural disposition may be cold and reserved for the remedy, firmly embrace the truth which requires tenderness and sympathy. Or it may be what the world calls "amiable," and you may be weak and yielding where you should resist. In this case, apply the same remedy. Embrace the truths which go to invigorate and establish the mind. That all the fruits of righteousness may grow and flourish, let all the seeds of righteousness be sown. Look at your actual character. Is nothing absent that is right, nothing present that is wrong? Review yourself as carefully and impartially as if you were reviewing another. If even the malice of an enemy should point out a fault, leave the censurer to God, and extract good from the evil of another, by the correction of what is wrong. "Leave no unguarded place, No weakness of the soul; The task, indeed, is arduous; but the reward is great. You labour for the glory of God, the honour of your Redeemer, the interests of your own eternity. That you bring no reproach on religion, is but a little you are called to "adorn in all things the doctrine of God your Saviour." attract praise to yourself. You are willing "To be little and unknown, Prized and loved by God alone." You seek not to But you wish that men should admire religion. Show it, therefore, just as it is, in its own purity and completeness. You will then do more than not make void the law through faith. By faith you will establish the law. Against the doctrines of grace pretended philosophers and vain formalists have often objected, that they relaxed the obligation, and lowered the standard, of morals. Their strongest arguments have rested on facts which have unhappily been furnished by thoughtless professors. As far as you are yourself concerned, take this objection from them. Your task will soon be over. The labours of contest and discipline cease with life. Not so their advantages. Think on heaven, the presence of God, the fellowship of saints and angels. Realize that holy fellowship by faith, and the spirituality resulting from it will effectually repel the Antinomian temptation. Live for heaven, and by your life you shall " establish the law." E. T. MONT BLANC, FROM THE VAL D'AOSTE. THE views of Mont Blanc from the Flegère, from the Breven, and from the Col de Balme, might each seem, under favourable circumstances, so sublime and glorious, that nothing could exceed them, or cause any increase in their sublimity. But Mont Blanc from the Italian side, from the Val d'Aoste, is presented to the eye in a greater unity of sublimity, with a more undivided and overwhelming impression, than from any other point. In the vale of Chamouny you are almost too near; you are under the mountain, and not before it; and from the heights around it, there are other objects that command a portion of your admiration. But here Mont Blanc is the only object, as it were, between you and eternity. It is said that on this side the mountain rises in almost a sheer perpendicular precipice thirteen thousand feet high: an object that quite tyrannizes over the whole valley, so that you see nothing else; and in a day of such glowing brilliancy as I am writing of, you desire to see nothing else, for it seems as if heaven's splendours were coming down upon you. Coming suddenly upon such a scene, you think that no other point of view can possibly be equal to this, and you are tempted not to stir from the spot till sundown; but, looking narrowly, you see that the road scales the cliffs at some distance beyond, at an overhanging point, where Mont Blanc will still be in full view; so you pass on, plunging for a few moments into a wood of chestnuts, and losing Mont Blanc entirely. Then you emerge, admiring the rich scene through which you have been advancing, until you gain the point which you observed from a distance, where the road circles the jagged, outjutting crags of the mountain at a great distance above the bottom of the valley; and then again the vision of glory bursts upon you. What combinations! Forests of the richest, deepest green, vast masses of foliage below you, as fresh and glittering in the sunlight as if just washed in a June shower; mountain-crags towering above, the river Doire thundering far beneath you, down black, jagged, savage ravines; behind you, at one end of the valley, a range of snow-crowned mountains ; before you, the same vast and magnificent perspective which arrested your admiration at first, with its infolding and retreating ranges of verdure and sunlight ; and at the close, Mont Blanc flashing as lightning, as if it were a mountain of pure alabaster. The fleecy clouds that here and there circled and touched it, or like a cohort of angels brushed its summit with their wings, added greatly to the glory; for the sunlight reflected from the snow upon the clouds, and from the clouds upon the snow, made a more glowing and dazzling splendour. The outlines of the mountains being so sharply defined against the serene blue of the sky, you might deem the whole mass to have been cut out from the ether. You have this view for hours, as you pass up the valley, but at this particular point it is the most glorious. It was of such amazing effulgence at this hour, that no language can give any just idea of it. Gazing steadfastly and long upon it, I began to comprehend what Coleridge meant, when he said that he almost lost the sense of his own being in that of the mountain, so that it seemed to be a part of him and he of it. Gazing thus, your sense almost becomes dizzy in the tremulous effulgence. And then the sunset! The rich hues of sunset upon such a scene! The golden light upon the verdure, the warm crimson tints upon the snow, the crags glowing like jasper, the masses of shade cast from summit to summit, the shafts of light shooting past them into the sky, and all this flood of rich magnificence succeeded so rapidly by the cold grey of the snow, and gone entirely when the stars are visible above the mountains, and it is night!—Dr. Cheever's " Wanderings of a Pilgrim in the Shadow of Mont Blanc." WESLEY PAPERS. No. XXV.-REPROOF. (To the Editor of the Wesleyan-Methodist Magazine.) IN 1787, Mr. Wesley published a sermon entitled, "The Duty of reproving our Neighbour," which is inserted in the third edition of his Works, vol. vi., p. 296. At the close of it he remarks, "When the present revival of religion began, about fifty years ago, all the subjects of that visitation were reprovers of outward sin." That he himself was distinguished for it through life, take the following instance, recorded by the Hon. Mr. Thicknesse, who was doing duty with his regiment in Georgia during the whole time Wesley was in the colony :-In the second volume of his travels, after his return to England, he mentions, that, being in Shropshire, and about to descend by boat on the Severn, the porters threw down his boxes into the barge as though they would break out the bottom. was making a great noise, and blowing them up, when a little man touched my elbow, and said, 'Don't swear, don't swear. I turned and looked, and who should it be but my old friend, John Wesley!" He names the affair as a pleasantry, but without the attachment of moral blame. He esteemed Wesley to the end of life. "I In a Ms. letter to his niece, Miss Sarah Wesley, dated, "Near Cowbridge, August 18th, 1790," Wesley says, "I always reprove the profane sailors, or, what is worse, the profane gentlemen; and many of them will receive it civilly, if not thankfully. They all know, Captains as well as common |