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truly thankful for everything. We see this, joined with fervent prayer, in St Paul. He had a thorn

not remove it. He began to pray. He prayed thrice. The thorn remained, but not as a thorn, but as a blessing, for which he had to be thankful. He says: "Most gladly, therefore, will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ's sake." Thus it is we get from everything tokens for good. All things show God's love to us, prepare us for our future glory, increase our conformity to the likeness of Christ, and awaken thanksgivings to the Father of mercies. Ever, then, join thanksgiving with prayer.

enced what a comfort it is to be able to spread your cares and griefs before a wise, kind, and sympathizing friend. The very open-in the flesh It was very trying to him. He could ing of your heart takes away much of your grief. So the very act of real prayer to God thelps to relieve the mind of its cares. But this is far from being all. God himself has made it the appointed way in which He will, in his wonder-working providence, give you the things which will relieve you of your cares. The promises of this are very numerous, and they are all "yea and amen in Christ Jesus." "Ask, and it shall be given you. Whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive. Call upon me in the day of trouble, I will deliver thee; and thou shalt glorify me. Call unto me, and I will answer thee, and show thee great and mighty things which thou knowest not. Whatsoever ye shall ask in my name, that will I do." These glorious promises are more precious than all the wealth of this world. They are from the God of truth-they cannot be broken.

Oh, then, that when anything troubles you, when any cares rise up in your mind, you would

take it at once to God!

Tell him all your wants. Do you mean, the reader may ask, even my temporal wants? Surely such common things are beneath his notice. They who are wise in their own eyes may object, "It is degrading to the dignity of religion;" and the spiritual in their own esteem may say, "It is not for a spiritual man to mention such things. He is above them." But this is not God's view of the matter. He says in everything. Let that "everything" answer all your doubts. As the nothing is inclusive of all care, so the everything is comprehensive of prayer for all that gives you a moment's anxiety.

The moment a care rises up in your mind, transfer it to Him that careth for you. Remember David's advice: "Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee; he will never suffer the righteous to be moved."

But, remember, thanksgiving is ever to be joined with prayer, and it should be as free and as large as our prayer: "In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you. Giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ." This can only be done through that strong faith which realizes the love of God, as specially manifested to us in trials, and making all things work together for our good. A faith that realizes this, can be

The BENEFIT of such prayer and praise is, that "the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus." What a blessing must this be! The form of the promise deserves attention. It is not merely peace from God. Anything from him bestowed on his people is full of goodness. But it is the peace of God, which promises a share of the same blessed tranquillity which God himself enjoys. We are called to be heirs of God-to inherit all that he is and has, to make us blessed. We are called to joy in God himself as our portion. And in harmony with these hopes, the promise here is not a mere declaration of security that gives us peace; but it is having a portion of that calm, holy, heavenly equanimity, composure, and rest of mind, which the great Creator ever enjoys. We know that He who made heaven and earth loves us, because He gave his Son to die for us. We know that He is our friend. Hence, as he is Lord of all, the issue of all his dealings with those who come to him by Christ Jesus, must be the fullest and greatest gooda good that passes all understanding, as God himself is infinite, and his bliss perfect, boundless, and everlasting. What exultation this causes when it is made clear to the mind! "Behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us. The Lord God is a sun and shield: the Lord will give grace and glory: and no good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly."

This is a peace that garrisons both heart and mind as with complete and full security from all cares. The man who possesses it "shall not be afraid of evil tidings: his heart is fixed, trusting in the Lord." No disquieting fears need torment his breast.

His understanding, also,

fully approves of this course. It is founded on the infallible Word of God, a sure rest for the mind amidst all the disquieting scenes of this transient world, according to the promise: "Commit thy works unto the Lord, and thy thoughts shall be established."

This peace can, however, only flow to us through Christ Jesus. Lose sight of him, and no prayers will give you peace. He is the only giver of peace. It is his legacy to his people : "Peace I leave with you: my peace I give unto you." 66 Being justified by faith, we have peace with God, through our Lord Jesus Christ." Our God makes every good to flow in this channel, that Christ may daily be increasingly precious to us, and we may be more and more simply dependent on him, and filled with his love.

Thus I have endeavoured to lead the reader to more constant prayer. Let me urge it upon you, then, by the freedom to be attained from care on the one hand, and the peace to be enjoyed on the other. Ask first for the spirit of adoption, to cry, Abba, Father, that you may with full believing and joyful confidence say, "Our Father," and then have all a dutiful child's simple and entire confidence in a parent's care and love. O, how our children may shame us and instruct us in this matter! They are never weighed down with care, and their minds clouded with doubts and suspicions, lest their parents should not think of them or provide for them. Not one moment's uneasiness on this point fills their minds. "He is my father; he knows all I want." This answers every fear. They do not suspect his love or his means. Even when the father chastens, they reverence and obey. Shall not we much rather be in subjection to the Father of spirits, and live? Let us have entire confidence in the love of our God, as proved beyond controversy by the gift of his Son. Let us go to Him at once with everything that troubles us, and spread it, as Hezekiah did his letter, before the Lord. Let us delight ourselves in the Lord our God, and we shall find, in our happy experience, that he gives us the desire of our hearts.

wonderful book is susceptible of would be, a wellwritten life of its author. This is not what we propose, but we shall select a few passages from the marvellous than the book—which it appears to us history of Bunyan--and the man is scarcely less Bunyan had in his eye while sketching some of the

more memorable scenes in his immortal work. This is the true key wherewith to unlock the various compartments of this cabinet of glory-the true plummet wherewith to sound the depths of these great waters.

Art has lent her aid to illustrate the pages of Bunyan. It might have been foreseen that the attempt would be fruitless. Where is the pencil which can equal, much less excel, in graphic power the pen which it rather presumptuously undertook to aid? When did the colours of the painter glow like the words of Bunyan? when was the canvass crowded with figures so life-like? and when did it wear hues so brilliant, and at the same time so true to nature, as the pages of the "Pilgrim?" Yet on a field which appeared so inviting, it is not surprising that Art should have been tempted to make trial of her powers; and the very limited success with which, as will be generally acknowledged, we think, her efforts have been attended, makes it very obvious, not that mate of the jail at Bedford was immeasurably greater; her skill was small, but that the skill of the poor inand that the genius which produced the immortal allegory had higher resources at command than those which mere genius can wield, and had access to deeper fountains of thought, and illustration, and imagery, than any which mere Art is privileged to approach. Art has done her best, we say, to represent and body forth in lines and colours, all the tion; the winged steps wherewith the pilgrim hasted more striking incidents in the great work in quesaway from the city of Destruction; the great burden on his back, whose insupportable weight made his knees to shake, and, ever and anon, wrung the most doleful sighs and groans from his heart; the joy that kindled on his countenance, radiant and serene as day-break, so soon as he found himself safe within the exceeding fierce looks of the lions which guarded the wicket; the wonders of the interpreter's house; the path; the frowning steeps of the Hill Difficulty: the terrors of that sore combat in which Apollyon straddled quite across the whole breadth of the way, and swore by his infernal den that he would make an end of Christian; the clouds of confusion which

hang day and night over the Valley of the Shadow and the brutal violence of Vanity Fair-"no newof Death; the juggling shows, the coarse ribaldry, erected business, but a thing of ancient standing;" the dark dungeons and brazen gates of Doubting THE LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN THE BEST Castle; the green slopes, and the clear springs of ILLUSTRATION OF THE "PILGRIM'S PROGRESS."

BY THE REV. J. A. WYLIE,

Author of "The Modern Judea," &c., &c. MANY a commentary has been written on the "Pilgrim's Progress," but the best exposition which that

the Delectable Mountains, whence a very distant and faint view might be had of the Celestial gate; the gardens, and the fragrant orchards of the Land of Beulah; the black river, through whose cold waters lay the path of the pilgrims; the city beyond, whose foundations are above the clouds, and whose glory no one can conceive or know till he has passed over the river and gone in at the gate. Of all the scenes which we have now named, we have been presented

THE LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN, &c.

with representations; but we must bear in mind, that in the hands of Bunyan himself these descriptions are but pictures-not the things themselves: he did not intend they should be taken for that; but when Art comes forward and presents us with a picture of what itself is but a picture, it need not surprise us that the image grows more and more faint, just in proportion to our distance from the thing itself—that as we recede from the sun, the body which is designed only to reflect the light should shine with a continually diminishing splendour.

But when we turn from the pen of the commentator, and the pencil of the artist, to the history of the author himself-not his outward, but his inward history-we find we have approached the true source of every good illustration of this singular book. A new light dawns upon its pages. We are admitted behind the scenes, not to have the enchantment dissolved, but increased tenfold. The stately palace, whose noble and graceful exterior we admired before, and which was all we were able to behold, we are now privileged to enter. We pass on, with the key in our hand, through the spacious edifice, lost in wonder at its numerous and sumptuous apartments; its rich furniture; its vessels of gold and silver; its walls so curiously emblazoned with the symbols of heavenly things; and its "chamber of peace," to use Bunyan's own image, with its windows that opened towards sun-rising. We soon become convinced that it is no scene of enchantment we are surveying-that it is no unreal and illusory fabric that stands before us, called from the earth by the enchanter's wand, and destined to pass away, with all its walls, and towers, and gorgeous splendours, without leaving a trace where it stood, the moment the genius that created it ceases to act upon our minds. We are made to feel that it is real, and substantial, and true, and that in a sense in which few things on earth can be said to be true.

To how many thousands has the work of Bunyan been a piece of fiction, and nothing more! It was no fiction to the man who wrote it. As one who sails on a summer sea, and is delighted and enchanted by its lovely islands, its pearly bays, its shining shores, and the beauty of the skies which are mirrored on its placid surface, but never once thinks of the mighty deeps below him; so many have perused the immortal allegory, satisfied and pleased with the varied and enchanting beauty of its surface-its incidents, characters, and scenery-without making any attempt to sound the great depths of its meaning, or to realize a single one of the many mighty truths which its similitudes present. The truth which the " Pilgrim's Progress" embodies is truth of the highest order-truth of so substantial a kind, and of so solemn an import, that the literal truth would be but as a fable in comparison. Although all the descriptions of this book were actual verities though all its characters were real men, and all its incidents real events-though there was, in some remote region of the earth, a city of Destruction, and a Celestial city, with a narrow path running from the one to the other, with pilgrims going to and fro upon it, or crossing it by the lanes and by

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paths that intersect it, and affording to those who travel that way, the sight of the villages, cities, and countries which Bunyan has placed in its neighbourhood; leading up at its commencement to the wicket gate, the "shining light" over which might be seen as far as from the city of Destruction, and from thence running straight onward in the direction of the Celestial city; never becoming circuitous to avoid this doubtful quagmire, or this dangerous steep, or this slippery descent, or this gloomy pass, or this enemy's castle, though passing within bow-shot of its walls; now leading by the door of the interpreter's house; now by the foot of the cross; now up the Hill Difficulty; now down into the low Valley of Humiliation; now through the thick gloom and darkness of the Valley of the Shadow of Death; now through the town of Vanity Fair, with its motley crowds and noisy buffonery; now by the lands of Giant Despair; now over the green slopes of the Delectable Mountains; now through the drowsy air, and the entangled soil of the enchanted ground; and last of all, and just before terminating on the brink of the river, through the Land of Beulah, whose orchards stood open to solace the pilgrims, and where there was the continual singing of birds, and where, being on the borders of the Celestial country, a never-setting light, like a beautiful celestial dawn, rested on its fields;-though all the scenery, moral and physical, of this wonderful tale, had actually existed-though all its personages had lived and journeyed, as Bunyan narrates, from the city of Destruction to the country beyond the river-how small a matter would that be, how insignificant the interest and importance of the tale, compared with the grandeur which it is seen really to possess, whenever we are enabled to look through its shadows to its mighty verities-whenever we are enabled to regard the city of Destruction as being the earth; the straight and narrow way from it, as the path that leads upwards through the skies; the shining light over it, as the Bible which God himself has kindled amidst the darkness that broods over our lower region, to tell men that there is a brighter world above, and to guide them into the way that leads to it; and the Celestial city, as the land of immortality, and of immortal men-the seat of boundless splendour, and of unfading blessedness.

But though the great depths of the work begin now to be known, we find that we have made a mighty advance as regards our ability to sound these depths, so soon as we have made ourselves familiar with the soul-struggles of the man who wrote it. Great as we may have accounted it before, we now account it much greater. Of Bunyan it cannot be affirmed with the same truth that he invented, as that he described. His facts and illustrations were not so much produced by the fiat of his imagination, as drawn from the store-house of his experience. He had been all that he describes his pilgrim. He had gone every footstep of the way along which he leads Christian. He knew all its by-lanes and cross paths. There is not an enemy upon it whom he had not fought with, nor a danger belonging to it with which he was not familiar. All the toils, burdens, and perils incident to it he had borne. He had

shared beyond most in its sorrows; and his, too, and that in no stinted measure, had been its ravishing delights-the joy known only to those who find the narrow way. The city of Destruction was to him no imaginary place. Many days and nights, full of dreadful apprehensions, had he passed within its walls. His eye had marked the black clouds, edged with red, which lower continually upon it; and his ear had caught the distant mutterings of that furious tempest which is destined one day to break above it. He could tell in truth that it is no easy matter to find the strait gate, but a blessed thing to be safe within it. He had stooped and groaned beneath his great burden; but when it rolled down from his back, he had leaped for very joy. He had tasted sweet sleep in the "chamber called peace,” and awaked to see the morning breaking in the east. He had wrestled not only against flesh and blood, but against powers and principalities. He had walked in darkness, and had no light; and trusted in the name of the Lord. He had had trial of cruel mockings; nay, moreover, of bonds and imprisonments, in the town of Vanity Fair. Many, many days had he languished in the dungeons of Doubting Castle; but, plucking the key of promise from his bosom, he had seen the iron gates of that dismal place fly open, and taking heart, he had gone forth to solace and invigorate himself in the clear air, and by the pure springs of the Delectable Hills. Thus ever as he went on he began to enjoy more of that which he knew he should enjoy in full at the end of his journey. At last he left the Valley of the Shadow of Death and the towers of Doubting Castle far behind; and being now on the borders of the better country, his path began to shine more and more with the reflection of the splendours of that city to which he was drawing nigh, and his heart to be ravished by the melodies which came floating towards him-the distant echo of the songs of those with whom he knew he should dwell for ever.

This, we are satisfied, is the true key to the "Pilgrim's Progress"-Bunyan's own life. No one need wonder why this work is so immeasurably superior to every other work of the kind; why it awakens in every bosom an interest so deep and enduring; why there is such life in its pictures, such power in its imagery, and so much of nature and truth in the actors it brings upon the stage; why the delineation of their characters is so faultlessly correct, and yet characterized by such perfect freedom, that the conception and execution of them appear to have cost the author not the smallest effort; why there is such an irresistible force in its least words; why the writer is so prodigal in every line of the treasures of his genius, and is apparently all the while perfectly unconscious of the riches he is scattering around him; why, among mortal books, this book occupies the first place, and is inferior only to the Bible in point of its combined simplicity and grandeur; and why, in fine, as we pass on, we come, at every short distance, to openings by which we are let see into another world-why it is all this, no one need, or can wonder, who considers what the author was. This we shall endeavour to make good in our next paper.

EXTRACTS FROM FRANCIS QUARLES.

THE STRICKEN IN HEART.

The arrow-smitten hart, deep wounded, flies
To th' springs, with water in his weeping eyes:
Heav'n is thy spring; if Satan's fiery dart
Pierce thy faint sides, do so, my wounded heart.

COMFORT.

My soul, cheer up! what if the night be long? Heav'n finds an ear when sinners find a tongue; Thy tears are morning show'rs: Heav'n bids me

say,

When Peter's cock begins to crow, 'tis day.

I AM NOT MY OWN.

My heart!-but wherefore do I call thee so?
I have renounc'd my int'rest long ago:
When thou wert false and fleshly, I was thine;
Mine wert thou never, till thou wert not mine.

EXPOSTULATION.

Canst thou be sick, and such a doctor by?
Thou canst not live, unless thy doctor die :
Strange kind of grief, that finds no med'cine good
To 'suage her pains, but the physician's blood!

THE SINNER'S MIRTH.

What ails the fool, to laugh? Does something please

His vain conceit? Or is't a mere disease?
Fool, giggle on, and waste thy wanton breath-
Thy morning laughter breeds an ev'ning death.

THE SINNER'S CARE FOR HIS BODY.

What need that house be daub'd with flesh and blood?

Hang'd round with silks and gold? repair'd with food?

Cost idly spent! That cost doth but prolong Thy thraldom. Fool, thou mak'st thy jail too strong.

THE INQUISITION.

SOME years ago Llorente published a History of the Inquisition in Spain. He enjoyed peculiar advantages for the composition of such a work. Sources of information were accessible to him from which the public have been generally excluded. He was secretary to the Inquisition at Madrid during the years 1789-90-91; and during the years 1509-10-11, when it was suppressed in Spain, all the archives and records were placed in his hand; and from these authentic materials he compiled his History.

It has been supposed that the Inquisition was first introduced into Spain in 1477 or 1483. Llorente is of opinion that it existed there so early as the thirteenth century. Preparations were made. for it, as against the Albigenses, as far back as 1203; and it was finally established by Gregory IX. in 1227, about two years before laymen were first prohibited, by the Council of Toulouse, from reading the Scriptures in their vernacular tongues. At the time of its intro

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duction into Spain, that country was divided into for the purpose of eliciting confession. In the course four distinct kingdoms-Castile, Arragon, Navarre, of his trial a prisoner never saw his accusation, nor and Portugal: and in each it was vigorously opposed knew his accusers: the evidence against him was not at first by many of the nobles, and even magistrates made known, except a few extracts from the declaand bishops; but their opposition was overwhelmed ration of witnesses, which were sufficient to alarm by the perseverance and boldness of the Inquisition, him, but which left him in total ignorance of the real who, being chiefly of the orders of Dominican and state of the suit against him. In these circumstances, Augustinian Friars, were independent of the bishops, it was safer for an innocent man to confess heresy and subject only to the will of a foreign power. and abjure it at once, than to run the hazard of a They held of the Pope alone. The princes, nobles, trial. If, after confession, he relapsed or was again and parochial clergy, as well as the laity, were sub-suspected, he was again subjected to torture, or given ject to this tremendous engine of tyranny-the only over to be executed or burnt. persons exempted from its jurisdiction being the Pope, his legates and nuncios, and the officers and familiars of the Inquisition itself.

Its professed object was to detect and suppress heresy; but, in practice, it was not confined to heresy openly avowed and capable of direct proof, but embraced the mere suspicion of heresy: and the symptoms or indications which it recognised as sufficient warrant for prosecution, were infinitely various, and often ludicrously absurd. Thus the absence of a right faith was inferred from blasphemy, sorcery, divination, demonology-from abuse of the sacraments, or neglect of them-from absolution not being asked by a man under censure for a year-from schism, or denial of the Pope's authority-from abetting or concealing heresy-hiding those chargeable with it, or not denouncing them to the Holy Officefrom any manifestation of repugnance to the Inquisition itself from the refusal to expel heretics from their estates on the part of the nobles-from the refusal to repeal statutes that were offensive to the Pope on the part of princes-from professional advice rendered to heretics by lawyers-from permitting heretics or suspected persons to be buried in ecclesiastical ground-from a refusal of evidence when any one was summoned before the Inquisition as a witness from any thing in the work of an author that seemed to encourage or palliate error. All these were held to be grounds of suspicion; and it is easy to see how many persons might in this way be involved in a charge of heresy, who were in all essential respects attached to the Popish Church.

The method of procedure was somewhat different in the old than in the more modern Inquisition; but the latter was most severe. On being appointed, an inquisitor demanded a mandate from the king or magistrate, requiring the tribunals to arrest suspected persons: if the magistrate refused, he was excommunicated. When he went to a particular station, the inquisitor preached in public, and then read an edict requiring all heretics to confess, and all having any knowledge of such persons, to come forward and accuse them, on pain of excommunication. If persons came forward confessing their heresy within thirty days, they received absolution in public, and were reconciled, but subjected to certain penances and penalties such as being forbidden the use of gold, silver, pearls, silk, and fine wool. If they confessed after the thirty days' grace, their goods were confiscated. If they did not confess, but were accused, and proved to be guilty, there was no alternative, but either to abjure the heresy, or to be punished: in the case of a semiproof being established, torture was had recourse to,

After burning Hebrew Bibles and other books, from 1490 to 1523, the Inquisition took measures for preventing the circulation of such works as were distasteful to them. In 1539 the University of Louvar was ordered to make up an index of prohibited books: in 1549 it was augmented by the inquisitorgeneral; in 1550 it was again published with additions, including translations of the Holy Bible! nay, in 1558, theologians were required to give up the Hebrew and Greek Bibles! and by a law of Philip II., those who should buy, keep, read, or sell books thus prohibited by the inquisitor, were subject to the penalty of death and confiscation. In this same year, Paul IV. addressed a brief to the inquisitor-general Valas, commanding him to prosecute all schismatics and heretics-" to deprive all such persons of their dignities and offices, whether bishops, archbishops, patriarchs, cardinals, or legates; barons, counts, marquises, dukes, princes, kings, or emperors!"

The horrible results of this system of tyranny and persecution are thus stated by Llorente. From 1481 to 1809, under forty-four inquisitors-general, there were, in the Peninsula alone

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The Spanish Inquisition was suppressed by Napoleon in 1808, and by the Cortes in 1813. But it was restored by Ferdinand in 1814. Pius VII. expressed an intention to ameliorate it, by prohibiting torture, and by confronting the witnesses with the accused.

In 1820 the Inquisition was thrown open, by order of the Cortes of Madrid. Twenty-one prisoners were found in it, not one of whom knew the name of the city in which he was, nor the precise crime of which he was accused. "One of these prisoners had been condemned, and was to have been executed on the following day. His punishment was to be death by the pendulum. The method of thus destroying the victim is as follows: The condemned is fastened in a groove upon a table, on his back-suspended above him is a pendulum, the edge of which is sharp, and it is so constructed as to become longer with every movement. The wretch sees the instrument of destruction swinging to and fro above him, and every moment the keen edge approaching nearer-at length it cuts."

This, let it be remembered, was a punishment of the Secret Tribunal in 1820!

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