if you cannot give of your substance, you can give your prayers. O pray as Moses did, when, during the conflict with the Amalekites, his hands were upheld because they were heavy. It will gladden you in eternity, when all that has been effected by the prayers of the saints shall be fully revealed. Can you not spare even a mite, that yon may give it to the Lord? Not that he is in need of it; but it will be estimated by him according to the heart of the giver. O, dear hearers, the Lord is putting you on your trial in the matter of the heathen. If we put not our hand to this work, what if the Gospel be taken from us, and given to the heathen?

But this is not all. We must beware of imagining that, because we have given of our bundance, and have contributed to the adncement of the kingdom of God, we ourIves are necessarily in the light. That which was announced of old to the Jews-that which the apostles preached—that which is proclaimed to the heathen-is addressed to us; and I stand here to proclaim to every one amongst you, whether old or young, high or low, "Arise, for the light is cor, and the glory of the Lord is risen upo It may be, you have ought light in other things-in human wisdom, or in the praise of man--but have not und it, and are still in darkness. But

"The wisdom of this world below
Can ne'er give light to thee

Jesus alone, his glorious light

Thy light must ever be :
Jesus must be thy only sun;

There's light and life in him alone."

Ye who have hitherto loved the world, forsake its pleasures; and you will wonder because of the light that will arise over you, and be amazed as you advance from light to light, till you enter the everlasting mansions. And O, if there be any weary, heavy-laden sinners amongst you, to such would I call-

"O why with ever-weeping eyes

Wilt thou thy sins and sorrows view?

O why not rather look to Him Who shed his precious blood for you? Thy soul will ne'er find joy or light, Nor strength nor courage for the fight. Although with doubts and fears opprest, O come, and lean on Jesus' breast. Look forward to that home of joy Where Jesus reigns, and reigns for aye." Behold, thy Saviour comes to thee; light is risen upon thee: go forth to meet him. O that the light which has arisen over Jerusalem may arise in every heart! How often have we spoken of that light, and yet how many are still in darkness! How often have we spoken

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of Jesus, while many think we are speaking of one with whom they have nothing to do! How many are there who know him not, and who will not come unto him!

Dear Saviour! thou art the light of the world. Awaken us, that we may hear the call, "Arise, shine!" Lord Jesus! awaken us, and leave us not to remain in darkness, but give us grace to press forward to everlasting glory. Amen.

MEMORIALS OF THE INQUISITION.

NO. III.

BY THE REV. W. K. TWEEDIE, EDINBURGII. THE crimes of which the Inquisition took cognizance were heresy, and all that seemed to favour it, together with sorcery, witchcraft, and similar delinquencies. Fortune-telling and blasphemy were severely reprehended; and, as we have already seen, the whole weight of its power, and the whole malice of its cruelty, were brought to bear with relentless severity on the descendants of Abraham, on the Moors, and all who were not Romanists in every jot and tittle of their creed.

Instead, however, of entering into any abstract account of its general principles, we think it best to select some illustrative cases, as the briefest and most graphic mode of conveying right notions of this engine of oppression. We might dwell on the "Edicts of the Faith," or monitory letters, sent forth, promising indulgences for three years to all who should inform against persons heretical or suspected of heresy. We might expatiate upon the punishment that awaited those who read or kept prohibited books-excommunication, whipping, confiscation of property, imprisonment, or exile, were the awards of this crime. But, passing from these and similar topics, we draw attention rather to the following instances of ferocious cruelty, as exhibiting the doings of men whose religion stript them of every feeling of humanity, and led them to perpetrate enor

mities which make the ears of them that hear

it to tingle. Izarn, a Dominican missionary, employed poetry to inflame the minds of men against heretics, and fan the fires which the Inquisition had lit. The following lines, addressed to an obstinate heretic, embody at once the spirit and the logic of the Inquisition :— "As you declare you don't believe, 'tis fit that you should burn;

And, as your fellows have been burnt, that you should blaze

in turn.

And as you've disobeyed the will of God and of St. Paul, Which ne'er was found within your heart, nor pass'd your

teeth at all,

The fire is lit, the pitch is hot, and ready is the stake, That through these tortures, for your sins, your passage you should take."

The first illustration that we offer of the atrocities perpetrated by the Inquisition is the

case of Thomas Maynard, English consul at Lisbon in the time of Oliver Cromwell. He was accused of having said or done something prejudicial to the religion of Rome, and was immediately seized by the Familiars of the Inquisition. In the name of the Protector, the consul's liberation was demanded from the King of Portugal, who replied that it was beyond his power to comply with Cromwell's requestMaynard was in the hands of the Inquisition, and over it the king had no control. But the Protector was not thus to be baffled, and instructed Meadows, the representative of England at the Court of Lisbon, to inform the king that he must either declare war against the Inquisition or stand by the results. The king and the Inquisition were alarmed by the message, and opened the prison doors to Maynard. He refused, however, like the apostles before him, to go forth privately, and demanded a public liberation; which was granted. Had it not been for Cromwell's decision, the rack or life-long imprisonment might have become his portion.

But Maynard was not the only Englishman that suffered from the Inquisition. A man named Burton also encountered their vengeance as a heretic, and his case drew forth remonstrances from foreign powers, though they were long disregarded. He was at last burned alive, and another Englishman and a Frenchman were consumed at the same stake with him. So fierce were those priestly oppressors that even the English ambassador at Madrid could obtain only a personal exemption from the authority of the Holy Office-his attendants were obliged to go to mass. Foreigners who resorted to that kingdom as merchants, were often persecuted for their religion; among others, William Lithgow, the well-known traveller, was imprisoned and put to the torture at Malaga (1620); and in 1714, Isaac Martin, another Englishman, was subjected to the same treatment at Granada.

Nicolas Burton, already mentioned, was a seaman, and the freight of his vessel belonged to a merchant of London. When Burton was seized, he sent John Frampton of Bristol to Seville, in the hope of recovering his property, but the Holy Office both resisted the claim and persecuted the agent. He returned to England for more ample powers, and on his return was seized by two Familiars, conveyed in chains to Seville, and lodged in the secret prisons of the Triana, the central depôt of the Inquisition. Its agents, urged in this instance by cupidity as well as hatred to the truth, were unable to establish a charge against Frampton, but they insisted that he should clear himself of the suspicion of heresy, by repeating the Ave Maria. He omitted the words, "Mother of God, pray for us," and was immediately put to the torture. After enduring three strokes of the pulley, and while "he lay flat on the ground, half dead and half alive,"

he agreed to confess whatever the blood-hounds desired. On his confession, his property was 't confiscated; and he appeared as a penitent at the Auto-de-fe at which Burton and his companions were burned alive.

The most harrowing, however, of all the accounts that we have seen furnished by Englishmen regarding the Inquisition, is the following: In the year 1706, Mr. Wilcox, afterwards bishop of Rochester, was chaplain to the Eng. lish factory at Lisbon, and furnished Burnet, bishop of Salisbury, with the following account of an Auto-de-fe, at which Wilcox attended as a spectator. "Five condemned persons appeared," he says, "but only four were burnt-Antonio Travanes being reprieved after the procession. Heytor Dias and Maria Piņteyra were burned alive, and the other two were strangled. The woman," says Wilcox, "was alive in the flames for half an hour, and the man above an hour. The king and his brother were seated at a window so near as to be addressed for a considerable time, in very moving terms, by the man as he was burning; and though he asked only a few more faggots, he was not able to obtain them. Those who are burned alive," Wilcox' continues, " are seated on a bench twelve feet high, fastened to a pole, and above six feet higher than the faggots. The wind being a little fresh, the man's hinder parts were perfectly roasted; and as he turned himself, his ribs opened before he ceased to speak, the fire being recruited only so far as to keep him in the same degree of heat. All his entreaties could not procure for him a larger allowance of wood to shorten his misery and despatch him."

Now all this was done by a tribunal founded to preserve the purity of religion, and uphold the cause of the Prince of Peace! All this is part of the practices of a Church which at this day holds the same dogmas, avows the same convictions, and glories in the same unchanging principles, as when these atrocities were openly perpetrated in thousands.

It would be endless to narrate the instances in which the Holy Office has thus usurped the province of the Eternal, and trampled on the consciences of men. An English ship on one occasion arrived at Cadiz, and was visited by the Familiars and searched for contraband religion, as men now search for contraband goods. Several English persons on board were seized and thrown into jail; among others, a youth ten or twelve years of age, the son of the owner of the vessel. He had in his possession the Psalms of David in English, and that was the ostensible reason of his seizure. The ship was confiscated, the child and the other captives were carried to the prison of Seville, where they lay for six or eight months, till the dampness of the cell, and the wretchedness of the fare, superinduced disease. After various hardships, the boy lost the use of both his limbs,

Yea, it is death! for woman's heart
No middle feeling owns or knows,
And once its tendrils torn apart,
No other tendril grows.

The livelong night that mother's prayer
Went up to Christ above,

That as for her the cross he bare,

Her cross for him she too might wear,
Supported by his love.

O! how she kissed them as they slept,
And sobbed that prayer each kiss between,
And closer, closer to them crept

When the first light was seen.'

Morn came. She led them to the strand,
And pointed o'er the main.

It was almost too much to stand,
And clasp in her's the little hand
She ne'er might clasp again:
It was too much to see the face

That she had pillow'd on her heart,
Turned up to plead for her embrace,

And tell them they must part.
One burning kiss-one wild good-bye!
Put off-put off from shore-
In mercy to the mother fly,
And swiftly waft them from her eye,
For she can bear no more!
She knelt and cried, as o'er the sea
Faded their forms like sunset ray,
"O Saviour! I do this for thee !"

And sobbing, turned away.

Lov'st thou thy Lord? Ask of thine heart
A sacrifice like this:

And when thon dar'st with such to part-
Though scalding tears unmaster'd start,
And wild farewell and kiss,

'Till thy dear heart-strings bursting be-
O blest art thou, if thou can'st say,
"My Saviour! I do this for thee!"
And turn, to tread His way.

SPENCER WALLACE CONE.

DAVID HUME. NO. II.

BY THE REV. JOHN G. LORIMER, GLASGOW.

37, Another leading feature in Hume's character, more prominent than those which have been noticed, was his VANITY. A philosopher might be supposed to be superior to its temptations-it is often associated with the weak and the vulgar-but it was quite a ruling principle with Hume, nay, it was the parent of much of his philosophy. Though the vanity connected with family is one of the weakest of vanities, against which philosophy has often powerfully directed its shafts, yet our philosopher was far from insensible to its charms. He defended the love of family descent in his own case by the example of Europe, and had no hesitation in filling up gaps in the succession on

principles of evidence which would have found little favour in his eyes if applied to the proof of a divine revelation. But literary vanity was his idol. To raise up a great name for himself to be quoted and spoken of in after ages, was the chief end which he proposed to himself. Ample evidence of this can be traced from youthful days, through active life, down to his bed of death, where he regretted that he was about to be taken away just when his fame was breaking out, and new editions of his works were called for. His biographer, speaking of him at the age of twentythree, says, "that his lot should be cast among that of ordinary mortals with good physical health, and common-place abilities, appeared to him the most awful calamity which fate could have in store for him." Writing of the same period Hume himself says: "Here lay my greatest calamity; I had no hopes of delivering my opinions with such elegance and neatness as to draw to me the attention of the world, and I would rather live and die in obscurity than produce them maimed and imperfect." Again: "I resolved to regard every object as contemptible, except the improvement of my talents in literature." In the earliest work which he published, he incidentally confesses: “I feel an ambition to arise in me of contributing to the instruction of mankind, and of acquiring a name by my inventions and discoveries." And what a striking, proof did the work itself afford of literary vanity and ambition! A young man before he is twenty-five writes "A Treatise on Human Nature," which, according to his own language, is to innovate on all the sublimest paths of philosophy; in other words, which is to subvert all established belief in metaphysics, morals, and religion! Such is his self-confidence and vain-glory that not one confidential adviser is admitted to his counsel; no eye sees it but his own. It is brought out in London, and the youthful author waits with astonishment, wondering and mortified that his work does not upset the world. What an exhibition of vanity! But perhaps this was a juvenile dream of vainglory. No; we find the same spirit to the end, unchecked by the mortification to which it was repeatedly subjected. At the age of forty-three, referring to his History, he quotes with approbation the saying of Boileau," the misfortune of a book is not the being ill spoke of, but the not being spoken of at all." What is this but the sentiment of intense vanity, which will rather be blamed and abused, than not enjoy notoriety? His biographer, referring to this period. confesses that he was greedy of fame, "and what would have been to others pre-eminent success, appears to have in his eyes scarcely risen above failure." Hence he was continually inquiring of his bookseller about sales of his books, and seems never to have been satisfied, though the prosperity was far beyond what their intrinsic value or the safety of society warranted.

Under the moral government of God, the proper restraint on, and punishment for, vain-glorious ambition, are failure in notoriety, with obscurity and neglect. This, accordingly, was the discipline meted out to Hume; but he does not seem to have been aware of it at least it did him no good. Very diffe rent ought to have been the result. Of the "Treatise on Human Nature," his first production, he himself

tells us, "that never was literary attempt more unfortunate. It fell dead-born from the press, without reaching such distinction as even to excite a murmur among the zealots;" in other words, the Christians. Ten years later he published his " Inquiry concerning the Human Understanding;" but he tells us that at first it was little more successful than the former. He adds, in the spirit of true vanity, "On my return from Italy I had the mortification to find all England in a ferment on account of Dr. Middleton's 'Free Inquiry,' while my performance was entirely overlooked and neglected." Of the first volume of his History, again, published six years later, he tells us that, thinking he was the only historian who had at once neglected present power, interest, and authority, and the cry of popular prejudices, he "expected proportional applause; but miserable was my disappointment. I was assailed with one cry of reproach, disapprobation, and even detestation." After referring to the various parties who opposed him, he adds: "And, after the first ebullition of their fury was over, what was little more mortifying, the book seemed to sink into oblivion. Mr. Millar (the London bookseller) told me, that in a twelvemonth he sold only forty-five copies of it." So deeply was Hume wounded, that, had it not been for circumstances, he intended to have retired, he tells us, to France, to have changed his name, and never more to have returned to his native country! There was only one of his works, his "Political Discourses," which was successful on its first publication. The one which he himself considered incomparably the best came, according to his own account, "unnoticed and unobserved into the world."

Such righteous moral discipline should have taught the writer wisdom-should have led him to subdue his vanity, and entertain more sober thoughts of himself and more just thoughts of others; but philosophy was too weak to work any cure. He continued the vain-glorious man to the end; and, though before the close of life he was regaled with the incense of applause, yet the incense never reached the standard which his greedy appetite demanded; and, since his death, though there have been many editions of his different works, there has also been a withering exposure going forward, particularly of late years, of the most popular of their number, till the authority of Hume's History, on many interesting political and religious questions, is reduced pretty much to the standard of a romance. Such is the retribution which has tracked his steps.

Some may think the vanity of Hume, like the vanity of many authors, too absurd and ridiculous to be treated soberly. We would not only remind such persons that Hume was no common author-that he not only was the head of the Infidel school, not only the intended reformer of the morals and religion of the world, but that there was a strict connection between his vanity and Infidelity. We have little doubt that his Infidelity nursed his vanity. A man who denied an eternal world must, to gratify the secret longings of the human soul, try and make an eternity out of time, by providing for himself present and posthumous fame. But there can be as little question that the

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vanity created the Infidelity. The Word of God expressly attributes unbelief to a desire of the praise of men. Why did Hume become the Infidel, and such an Infidel? Was it in an earnest though mistaken search for truth, and out of genuine love to man-man borne down by superstition and error? No; the other parts of his character and conduct contradict the interpretation. The only explanation is furnished by his biographer, when speaking on another point he says: "His ruling object of ambition, pursued in poverty and riches, in health and sickness, in laborious obscurity and in the blaze of fame, was to establish a permanent name,resting on the foundation of literary achievements, likely to live as long as human thought endured and mental philosophy was studied." (Vol. i., p. 18.) In order to accomplish this selfish object, and at the same time gratify a love of subtile speculation, Hume stood forth the sceptic, attacking all the foundations of human belief, and labouring to introduce universal doubt. In no way could he more easily or more certainly attain for himself a permanent name in the world; but what a name of selfishness and cruelty, to sport with the faith and hope of multitudes-a rich man at his ease to rob the poor man of his only consolation amid the sorrows of life; and all merely to gratify personal vanity, and provide that he himself should be spoken about, attacked and defended to the end of time; praised as a very clever man, or condemned as a very dangerous one! How serious is vanity, when it assumes such a form as this! It ceases to be ludicrous-it becomes cruel. The union of Infidelity and vanity has been noticed by various acute observers. Robert Hall, in his celebrated sermon on Modern Infidelity, expressly enumerates vanity among the leading aspects of modern unbelief, and dilates upon its operation with great power. And Sir Samuel Romily, who visited France during the period of the French Revolution, states, that nothing struck him more in the character of general society there, than the anxiety of the young men to distinguish themselves and be spoken about, no matter how extravagant or wicked the proceeding which brought them into notoriety; in other words, their vanity goaded on their Infidelity. Let all, and especially the poor man, understand this let him remember that Hume did not care one farthing about him in all his sceptical writings that he was not seeking his enlightenment or freedomthat what he was bent upon was his own selfish name and notoriety, and that but for this he would never have been a sceptic. Should any-particularly generous youth-think favourably or well of an Infidelity which originates in selfishness, and which is pursued at the reckless sacrifice of the happiness of man, and the happiness of those who most need consolation and hope? To the young followers of Hume we would say: "Do not cast away your hope to please Hume's vanity. If you are to be an Infidel, be one for a worthy reason, and not to gratify another man's selfishness."

Here, as on former heads, we may remark, that it was not possible for a man of the intense and incorrigible vanity of Hume, to appreciate the Word of God, which inculcates the denial of self, and the sup