fied, since it is thy hand.' His doors must have stood open day and night, if all had been admitted who from sentiments of duty were desirous to see him; but as he could not, from difficulty in speaking, direct his discourse to them, he requested they would rather pray for him, than be solicitous about paying their visits. Often, also, though I always found him glad to receive me, he was very scrupulous respecting the least interruptions thus given to the duties of my office, so sparing was he of the time which he knew ought to be spent in the service of the Church; and his conscientious feelings, lest he should give the smallest trouble to his friends, exceeded the bounds of moderation. Such was the manner of comforting both himself and friends until the 19th of May, when we ministers were accustomed to meet relative to the censure of morals, and to take a friendly meal together two days before Whitsuntide, and the celebration of the Lord's Supper. He expressed a wish that the common supper should on this day be prepared at his house, and rallying his little strength that remained, was carried from his bed to the adjoining chamber, when he said, 'I come to see you, my brethren, for the last time, never more to sit down with you at table.' Such was the commencement of one of the most melancholy repasts we ever took. He then offered up a prayer, took a small portion of food and discoursed with us at supper in as cheerful a manner as his weakness permitted. Before supper was fully finished, he ordered himself to be carried back to the adjoining chamber, and addressing the company with a distinctly smiling countenance, said, 'This intervening wall will not prevent me from being present with you in spirit, though absent in body.' His prediction was fulfilled, for from this day he always lay in a horizontal posture, his small body, except his countenance, which was very little changed, being so much emaciated, that breath only remained. On the 27th of May, the day of his death, he appeared stronger, and spoke with less difficulty; but this was the last effort of nature, for about eight o'clock in the evening certain symptoms of dissolution suddenly manifested themselves. When one of his domestics brought one of the brethren, and me, who had only just left him, this intelligence, I returned immediately with all speed, and found he had died in so very tranquil a manner, that without his feet and hands being in any respect discomposed, or his breathing increased, his senses, judgment, and in some measure his voice, remaining entire to his very last gasp, he appeared more to resemble one in a state of sleep than death."

Thus died one of the brightest characters that has ever adorned the page of history. His death was bewailed by all classes of the community. In him the Church of Geneva lost a faithful and devoted pastor, the city a wise, philanthropic, and public spirited citizen, the college a learned and able professor, and all, a common parent and friend. His funeral was attended by the authorities, civil and ecclesiastical, of the town, and a great proportion of the citizens. Many tears were shed on the occasion, and for some days a gloom seemed to be thrown over the city. According to his own directions no monument was erected to his memory. Neither was this necessary. Calvin can never be forgotten. Si monumentum quaeris, circumspice. "If you wish to see his monument, reader, look around you."

THE GOOD OLD KING AND THE DYING GIPSY.

[This beautiful and affecting incident in the life of George III. is extracted from " The Gipsies' Advocate," by James Crabb. London, Nisbet and Co., 1832.1

A KING of England, of happy memory, who loved his people and his God, occasionally took the exercise of hunting. Being out one day for this purpose, the chase lay through the shrubs of the forest. The stag had been

hard run, and to escape the dogs, had crossed the river in a deep part. As the dogs could not be brought to follow, it became necessary, in order to come up with it, to make a circuitous route along the banks of the river, through some thick and troublesome underwood. The roughness of the ground, the long grass and frequent thickets, obliged the sportsmen to separate from each other; each one endeavouring to make the best and speediest route he could. Before they had reached the end of the forest, the king's horse manifested signs of fatigue and uneasiness; so much so, that his majesty resolved upon yielding the pleasures of the chase to those of compassion for his horse. With this view, he turned down the first avenue in the forest, and determined on riding gently to the oaks, there to wait for some of his attendants. The king had only proceeded a few yards, when, instead of the cry of the hounds, he fancied he heard the cry of human distress. As he rode forward, he heard it more distinctly. "Oh, my mother, my mother! God pity and bless my poor mother!" The curiosity and kindness of the sovereign led him instantly to the spot. It was a little green plot on one side of the forest, where was spread on the grass, under a branching oak, a little pallet, half covered with a kind of tent; and a basket or two, with some packs, lay on the ground at a few paces distant from the tent. Near to the root of the tree, he observed a little swarthy girl, about eight years of age, on her knees praying, while her little black eyes ran down with tears. Distress of any kind was always relieved by his majesty, for he had a heart which melted at "human woe; nor was it unaffected on this occasion. And now, he inquired, "What, my child, is the cause of your weeping? For what do you pray?" The little creature at first started, then rose from her knees and pointing to the tent, said, 'Oh, Sir! my dying mother!"" What?" said his majesty, dismounting and fastening his horse up to the branches of the oak, "What, my child? tell me all about it." The little creature now led the king to the tent; there lay, partly covered, a middle aged female gipsy, in the last stage of a decline, and in the last moments of life. She turned her dying eyes expressively to the royal visitor, then looked up to heaven, but not a word did she utter; the organs of speech had ceased their office; "the silver cord was loosed, and the wheel broken at the cistern." The little girl then wept aloud, and stooping down, wiped the dying sweat from her mother's face. The king, much affected, asked the child her name, and of her family, and how long her mother had been ill. Just at that moment another gipsy girl, much older, came out of breath to the spot. She had been at the town of W, and had brought some medicine for her dying mother. Observing a stranger, she modestly curtsied, and hastening to her mother, knelt down by her side, kissed her palid lips, and burst into tears. "What, my dear child," said his majesty, "can be done for you?""Oh, Sir," she replied,

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my dying mother wanted a religious person to teach her, and to pray with her before she died. I ran all the way, before it was light, this morning to Wand asked for a minister, but no one could I get to come with me to pray with my dear mother." The dying woman seemed sensible of what her daughter was saying, and her countenance was much agitated. The air was again rent with the cries of the distressed daughters. The king, full of kindness, instantly endeavoured to comfort them: he said, "I am a minister, and God has sent me to instruct and comfort your mother." He then sat down on a pack by the side of the pallet, and taking the hand of the dying gipsy, discoursed on the demerit of sin, and the nature of redemption. He then pointed her to Christ, the all-sufficient Saviour. While doing this, the poor creature seemed to gather consolation and hope; her eyes sparkled with brightness, and her countenance became animated. She looked up-she smiled;

but it was the last smile,-it was the glimmering of expiring nature. As the expression of peace, however, remained strong in her countenance, it was not till some time had elapsed, that they perceived the struggling spirit had left mortality.

It was at this moment that some of his majesty's attendants, who had missed him at the chase, and who had been riding through the forest in search of him, rode up, and found him comforting the afflicted gipsies. He now rose up, put some gold into the hands of the afflicted girls, promised them his protection, and bade them look to heaven. He then wiped the tears from his eyes, and mounted his horse. His attendants, greatly affected, stood in silent admiration. Lord I was going to speak, but his majesty, turning to the gipsies, and pointing to the breathless corpse, and to the weeping girls, said, with strong emotion, "Who, my Lord, who, thinkest thou, was neighbour unto these?

DISCOURSE.

BY THE REV. DAVID LOGAN,
Minister of Stenton.

"Then came the officers to the chief priests and Pharisees; and they said unto them, Why have ye not brought him? The officers answered, Never man spake like this man."-JOHN vii. 45, 46. BESIDES the miracles wrought by our Saviour, affording evidence that he was the "Teacher sent from God," and "that no man could do these works except God were with him," there is another source of conviction, in reference to the divine origin of the truth as it is in Jesus, arising from the effects produced on the hearts and lives of those who heard it. If this truth had the effect, when heard and embraced, of begetting new principles and holy affections-of exciting to new pursuits, and causing enjoyment to be derived from new objects of stirring up a desire to live unto God instead of the world, and to prepare for eternity instead of being exclusively occupied with the things of time-if this new character, and these new aims and ends, were not only assumed but maintained, and maintained consistently, and at the expense of sacrifices, and the enduring of suffering, and even of death itself-when called to contemplate such an effect of the truth as it is in Jesus, who can deny to it a divine origin? Who will not be ready to confess, that "in very deed" God himself is discovered giving efficacy to the word of his grace? When placed in peculiar circumstances, it is no uncommon thing to see sacrifices made, and hardships endured, as exhibited in the history of man, and even death itself submitted to, when the ancient and inveterate superstitions and habits of a nation required it, and when nothing but infamy and disgrace awaited a refusal to submit. Such exhibitions, however, command no respect in the motive, spring from no renovation of principle or change of character, and are directed towards no enlightened or worthy end. Christianity here can not only bear a comparison with every other religion which the folly, or superstition, or vice of man has invented, promulgated, and maintained; but in instituting every such comparison, the one has been found to be base alloy, and the other pure gold-the one

has been found to be the vicious fabrication of degenerate man, and the other to descend from the thrals in superstition, and leads to misery; and the Father of lights the one, springing from vice, enother, proceeding from the fountain of purity, opens up life and immortality in prospect, and conducts to bliss unspeakable. Now, from the short statement which I am about to submit to you, it is my object, from the effects produced by our Saviour's teaching on the occasion referred to, to convince you, that there is an internal power and efficacy in the truth for changing the heart and character; and that those to whom it comes in power, begin to thirst for Christ as the fountain of living waters, and come unto him as the well-spring of all their desires and enjoyments.

Although the inspired historian does not give us even a mere outline of the discourse delivered on that memorable occasion, yet we are not left in doubt as to its excellence; or as to our Saviour rising, in energetic power, according to the surpassing interest of the subject, and the importance and magnitude of the occasion. If a discourse is to be judged of according to its overcoming the most formidable resistance that could have been raised up against the speaker, and calling forth the loudest acclamations in his favour, the triumph of Christ at that time was full and complete. Take a hasty review of the circumstances in which he was placed, as presented to our notice in this 7th chapter. He had literally been an exile from Judea in Galilee, obliged to flee from Jerusalem for his life. His life was still sought after in such an unrelenting manner, as to have rendered it necessary for him to come up to the feast in secret. It was not only publicly, but almost universally known, what were the sentiments and designs of the chief priests and rulers against him-that they accused him not merely of a breach of the Sabbath, but of blasphemy, the very blackest crime recognised in the Jewish law, and on these accounts were plotting his destruction that thus all their influence and all their exertions were put forth, tending to blind the public mind, to poison their affections, and to strengthen and rivet their prejudices against him-that for an individual thus circumstanced to have even shewn himself in public, the shout of universal execration might have been supposed to be raised, "Away with such a fellow from the face of the earth,"_when, in the nature of things, we would have expected such to be the case, yet nevertheless we behold Jesus not only addressing the multitude, but allowed to address them without interruption; not only allowed to address them without interruption, but listened to in silence; not only listened to in silence, but with the most rivetted attention, nay, with admiration and delight; and with those ecstatic and tumultuous emotions embodying themselves in the burst of ingenuous feeling, "of a truth this is a prophet, a divinely commissioned and inspired servant of God;"" of a truth this is the prophet, even John the Baptist, greater than all the prophets, who

Nor is this all. There is still another effect of this discourse of our Lord, which we are now principally called upon to contemplate, even more striking, if possible, than the one now alluded to; an effect which, arising principally, if not solely, from the internal evidence which the discourse in question afforded, that he who delivered it was truly the Son of God, ought surely to beget and strengthen similar convictions in us, and cause us not only to bow submissively at the name of Jesus, but also bring us to him as the fountain of living waters.

As presented to our notice in the passage referred to, the multitudes of Israel were collected in the temple to perform a prescribed act of worship to the God of Israel. They were probably the more numerous, because the last day of the feast of tabernacles was not only one of the more solemn days, but also being the last, those who had any fear of God before their eyes, would allow no trifling excuse to prevent them from rendering to him on this day the homage of grateful hearts, and imploring from him a parting blessing; and not only being the last, but the great day of the feast, on which the miraculous supply of water in the desert was symbolically commemorated, it naturally called forth the expression of every grateful and joyous feeling, and inspired, filial trust and confidence in God as their covenanted Father.

Let the eye, however, not merely of any watchful observer, but of any individual accustomed to attend upon the temple-service on those more solemn days, let him take a casual survey even of the many thousands assembled, and there is one thing which cannot fail to force itself upon his notice. Those who "loved greetings in the markets, and the chief seats in the synagogues," are not there. The chief priests, the conductors of religious devotion, and who ought ever to be ensamples to the people in the practice of every sacred and social duty, are not there. The rulers and leaders of the Pharisees, who "made broad their phylacteries," and were to be seen "praying even in the corners of the streets," have not gone up to the temple, although it is the last, that great day of the feast. Surely some national catastrophe hath occurred-some work of dire necessity, neither to be done before, nor delayed till after the public worship of God, hath called them

fury, only by fleeing into Galilee. When they were reasoning together, saying, "What think ye that he will not come to the feast," devising how to waylay and cut him off privily, Jesus, aware of their devices, came up to the feast in secret. Though baffled in this respect, yet exulting in their hearts that their victim had come within their grasp that the prey had, even as it were, entered the den of the devourer-the more effectually to secure their purpose, at the commencement, or towards the middle of the feast, as soon as they ascertained that Jesus was there, they laid their toils to encircle him. During its progress, they gradually closed in upon their victim; and now, on the last day of the feast, the moment had arrived when, pouncing upon their prey, they were to gloat in the wanton indulgence of the most unhallowed affections.

Conceive to yourselves a conclave of beings in human shape transformed into demons, into fiends incarnate. In every breast there dwells malice. and revenge seated supreme, and whetting the appetite for blood and slaughter in proportion as the victim may have hitherto escaped the snare. The irrevocable word, however, is now gone forth, the decree is registered in the unalterable record, the victim is within the grasp of the thirsters for blood, who are nursing their implacable revenge, and stifling their breath and straining the ear to catch the most distant sound of the approach of their emissaries; when, lo! a sound is heard the doors though slowly, yet resolutely, are openedthe officers enter, but no Jesus of Nazareth is there. Portentous is the blank look of vengeance deferred, which the rulers for a moment cast upon each other. Dreadful is the flash from the infuriated eye, which can scarcely find utterance in this stifled voice of thunder, "What! have ye not brought him?" Turn for a moment from this storm, to contemplate the serene brow, the submissive mien, yet resolute purpose of those who could calmly face this storm; and whoever, on beholding such a sudden transformation produced by the discourse of Jesus of Nazareth, will not do homage to the Author of it, must have hearts akin to those rulers, who, against conviction, continued in unbelief, and died in their sins.

Recollect who they were with regard to whom we are now soliciting your decision. They were the inferior officers of worthless despotic rulers, who, before they could be truly fitted for such an office, must have practically passed through scenes of the lowest degradation and the foulest vice, scenes blunting and destroying all the finer sensibilities of our nature, drying up all the tender sympathies of the heart, and conversant in works of darkness, and preparing the individual for its

This interposition in his behalf, however, you see to have been actually their purpose. And mark how the internal change in their breasts manifests itself. They go not back with a fabricated story, intimating the impossibility of accomplishing their object. They go not back fawning and crouching with expressions of base regret on their lips for the past, and baser promises of success for the future; but honestly, and dignifiedly, and resolutely acknowledge their want of zeal in this matter, and candidly confess their change of sentiment on this subject, and justify the part they acted, by themselves becoming preachers of the faith which their | masters were destroying. The officers answered, "Never man spake like this man." Truly "out of the mouths of babes and sucklings God hath ordained strength, that he might still the enemy and the avenger." The subject of the discourse evidenced itself to be heavenly truth, by coming home to the heart and conscience, "in demonstration of the Spirit, and with power." The manner in which it flowed from his lips, who was "full of grace," also demonstrated, that the waters of which he spake descended from the heavenly sanctuary. And the authority with which he spake, incontestably proved, that he was what he laid claim to be," the only begotten of the Father," "the Son of God with power."

When we thus contemplate a change so great, passing so rapidly upon so very hopeless subjects, subjects, most probably, not only hitherto slaves to the lowest vices, but acting, in the case before us, in opposition to every worldly interest, and, by disobedience to the authorities opposed, forfeiting even life itself by such opposition; when we contemplate an effect so truly astonishing, who can deny but that the finger of God was here of a truth, bearing testimony, not only to the divine mission of Christ, but to the divinity of his incarnate Son, and to the word of his grace? Now, by way of application of this subject to ourselves, let us ask our own hearts, whether we have ever felt this power of the truth constraining us to forego all, to forsake all, and to encounter all for the sake of Christ. These officers, in obedience to earthly masters, went to become partakers in a deed which no law of man could ever justify. In the execution of their trust, they not only discovered the guilt of their

ter in heaven to whom they were accountable; began to feel that they should obey God rather than man; and had courage and resolution to act upon the feeling. Let us go and do likewise. Let us be convinced that all which we do has not only the sanction of our Divine Master, remembering that "whatsoever is not of faith is sin,” but let us also adhere to this, however it may affect those with whom we may stand connected, or on whom we depend, assured that the testimony of our own conscience, and the approbation of God, is a gem more valuable than any earthly treasure. These officers, in following out their new-begotten convictions, sacrificed every earthly consideration, to the maintaining of the new-born hope firm unto the end. Let us, if called thereto, never allow the comforts of the world to come into competition with the pleasures of religion, or to prefer the meat which perisheth to that which endureth to everlasting life. These officers did not shrink from avowing their new convictions to their very masters, and extolling him whom they were now determined to obey. Let us do all that in us lies to diffuse the savour of the name of Christ, that our lives may become "epistles of him, known and read of all men." And to this end, let us daily be coming unto him as "the fountain of living waters;" that, convinced of our utter destitution by nature of spiritual blessings, and intensely desirous of renewed and copious draughts from the inexhaustible fountain; that, "thirsting for God, the living God, and coming to him as "the well-spring" of all our joys, our souls may be refreshed, and the whole spiritual man nourished up unto everlasting life. NARRATIVE OF A REVIVAL OF RELIGION IN THE ISLE OF ARRAN.

THIRTY years ago, the state of religion in this island was exceedingly low. "Darkness covered the land, and gross darkness the people." But, through the tender mercy of God, the day-spring from on high visited it. Divine light arose on them that sat in darkness, and the cause of Christ has gained much ground in this part of his vineyard, since the year 1804. In that year, and the year following, many were awakened at the north end of the island, especially about the farms of Sannox and their neighbourhood. And although this awakening, as to its power and progress, was not of long continuance, by their after lives and conversation, that they had yet a considerable number of the subjects of it testified, undergone a gracious change. This day of small things

was the commencement of the revival which followed. From this time, a change for the better might be observed in the religious sentiments and conduct of many among the people. Many seemed now to be awakened from the slumber of spiritual death; being disposed to attend to the things which belonged to their everlasting peace. Their eyes were now opened to see the evil of their former wicked ways, their perishing condition as sinners, and their need of Christ as a Saviour. They now began also to distinguish between truth and error; to relish evangelical doctrine; to attend with diligence on the means of grace; and, in general, to set up the worship of God, morning and evening, in their

This Narrative is extracted from No. V. of a series of well written Tracts, now in the course of publication at Glasgow.

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families. Religious meetings were also set up in many places; and, in the course of a few years, a kind of reformation was thus visible throughout many parts of the island. This was the case more especially, though not exclusively, in the parish of Kilmorie, which was at this time favoured with the ministry of the late pious and laborious Mr M Bride. It may be remarked, respecting his usual style of preaching, that he was by no means what might be called an alarming preacher, but rather the opposite. His sermons were frequently close and searching; but he dwelt more on the consolations of the Gospel than on the terrors of the law; and the excitement seemed to be, in general, greater under the sermons in which the riches of divine grace and the consolations of the Gospel were exhibited, than under such as were more awful, and apparently better fitted to awaken. Mr M Bride's manner of preaching was very much distinguished for seriousness, fervour, and great zeal for the salvation of sinners; and this often led him to make very close appeals to the conscience. But the revival itself was not of a sudden. gradual, and spread from one place to another. Neither was it in all cases saving as to its effects. Many under it assumed a form of godliness, who were altogether destitute of its power. In other cases, however, there was something more deep and precious-even the quickening, saving, and soul-transforming influence of the Holy Spirit. During its progress, a considerable number were accordingly brought under deep convictions of their guilt and unworthiness as sinners, of their liability to eternal misery, and of their utter helplessness as concerned themselves. Now, they began in earnest to say, "What shall we do to be saved?"—and to count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus-for an interest in him. And the God of all grace, who thus visited them with the awakening influences of his Spirit, was pleased also to enlighten their minds as to the way of salvation; and thus to lead them, by faith, for peace and rest to the only Saviour of sinners. And being thus quickened, enlightened, and comforted, by the teaching of the same Spirit, they were also united together in the bonds of love and Christian fellowship, while they travelled together Zion ward.

grace for a time of revival of refreshing from the presence of the Lord. Several little parties of them, by mutual consent, set apart some days for private fasting and prayer, sending up their united supplications to the Hearer of prayer, for the downpouring of the Spirit, in his awakening and converting influences on sinners around them. They kept several such days for nearly a twelvemonth before the commencement of what is generally called, "The Revival of Religion in Arran." In these devotional exercises, some of them enjoyed uncommon nearness to God, and great freedom at a throne of grace, when pouring out their hearts in earnest supplication for the manifestation of divine power and glory in the sanctuary, especially in the congregation with which they were themselves connected. Their minds were much stirred up to press after these things in secret, and at their fellowship meetings, and also when attending public ordinances. They seemed, indeed, to be animated by the spirit of him who said, For Zion's sake I will not hold my peace, and for Jerusalem's sake I will not rest, until the righteousness thereof go forth as brightness, and the salvation thereof as a lamp that burneth."

While this little flock of Christ, and their pastor at their head, were thus engaged, and about the beginning of March 1812, the Lord began to work in an unusual way among them, in a way of which they had not till this time any expectation, and which, accordingly, caused some surprise. It was at this time that the outcrying commenced, which was afterwards so common for a considerable time. It began at first in some private meetings, but afterwards extended to the public assembly under Mr M'Bryde's ministry. What made the thing the more remarkable was, that it made its first appearance among the people of God. Yea, the most tender, humble, and spiritual-minded among them were the first affected in this manner, and it continued for a short time among thein only. But the influence which appeared first moving on them, in this unusual way, was soon extended to others; and the next subjects of it were those who had been before seriously disposed, or who had been at one tine or other under serious impressions. But soon after it was extended to the gay and thoughtless, the moral, and the openly wicked. Persons of almost every description and age, from nine years or under, to that of sixty or upwards, were affected; but the number of old people was small com

while confined to the people of God-was attended with very little bodily agitation; but after others were affected, it was generally attended with these, such as panting, trembling, and other convulsive appearances.

These circumstances, however, affected the tender heart, and stirred up the pious zeal of Mr M'Bride, and led him to be even more earnest in his warnings and remonstrances from the pulpit and otherwise against abounding iniquity. The little flock of tender-hearted Christians scattered throughout his parish, were, at the same time, moved with a sense of the prevalence of sin and the desolations of Zion. They felt an increased concern for the conversion and salvation of sinners, and a deeper interest in the prosperity and enlargement of the kingdom of Christ. They began to be more frequent and earnest in their supplications at a throne of

The writer of these pages did not reside in Arran till about six months after the commencement of this revival; but he enquired particularly concerning the beginning of it, from such as were best able to inform him, and is satisfied in his own mind, that the Spirit of the Lord was at work in preparing for it-that his mighty power was revealed in the commencement of it

and that he had a gracious and merciful design in ordering the circumstances of it. Although this revival did in some measure degenerate latterly, through the weakness and folly of men, yet the beginning of it was truly the doing of the Lord and marvellous in our eyes. Some, who were among the first affected, told the writer, that they had not the most remote idea of crying out before they were constrained to do so. So much was this the case, that they said they could not have refrained, even if they had been threatened with instant death. They added, that their outcryings and bodily agitations arose entirely from the state of their minds, when powerfully impressed and affected with a sense of divine truth. But it is proper to observe, that the writer is here speaking only of such as were lively exercised Christians previous to this revival. On exa