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his father that Mr. Benton, a neighbour, had seen the drunken man, and made him go away. One lie, you know, makes twenty. Mr. Benton was not in the habit of coming to the house of George's parents, but it happened that his cart broke down near their gate, and he stepped in for assistance. George's father said to Mr. Benton, "I thank you, neighbour, for helping my little boy the other day." As you may suppose, the good man knew nothing about the affair, and thus George's sinful conduct was all exposed. Was he punished? Yes, severely; but who can tell how grieved his parents were? They shed bitter tears over his sin. Do you ask if he repented? In one sense he did; he sincerely regretted that he had behaved wrong, and made himself liable to punishment, but whether that was the right sort of repentance, I leave you to determine. Soon after this, George lost his father. What a loss is a pious father, especially to a boy who needed so much guidance and control as did this one!

As you sail up one of our southern rivers, away off to the right, rises a gloomy building; it is the State Penitentiary. Among its miserable inmates is a youth of respectable appearance, sad, pale, and degraded; it is poor George. -New York Observer.

A VICTORY.

THE joy-bells peal a merry tune
Along the evening air;
The crackling bonfires turn the sky
All crimson with their glare;
Bold music fills the startled streets
With mirth-inspiring sound;
The gaping cannon's reddening breath
Wakes thunder shouts around;
And thousand joyful voices cry,
"Huzza! huzza! a victory!"

A little girl stood at the door,
And with her kitten played;
Less wild and frolicsome than she,
That rosy prattling maid.
Sudden her cheek turns ghastly white;
Her eye with fear is filled,
And rushing in-of-doors, she screams,
"My brother Willie's killed!
And thousand joyful voices cry,
"Huzza! huzza! a victory!"

A mother sat in thoughtful ease,
A-knitting by the fire,

Plying the needle's thrifty task

With hands that never tire.

She tore her few grey hairs, and shrieked, "My joy on earth is done!

O! who will lay me in my grave?
O God! my son, my son!"
And a thousand joyful voices cry,
"Huzza! huzza! a victory!"

A youthful wife the threshold crossed,
With matron's treasure blessed;
A smiling infant nestling lay

In slumber at her breast.
She spoke no word, she heaved no sigh,
The widow's tale to tell;

But, like a corpse, all white and stiff,
Upon the earth-floor fell;
And thousand joyful voices cry,

"Huzza! huzza! a victory!"
An old weak man, with head of snow,
And years threescore and ten,
Looked in upon his cabin home,

And anguish seized him then.
He help'd not wife, nor helpless babe,
Matron, nor little maid;

One scalding tear, one choking sob-
He knelt him down and prayed;
And thousand joyful voices cry,
"Huzza! huzza! a victory!"

NOT INVITED.

A FEW weeks since a superb party was to be given in Bourbon Street; the elite of the city was there, and many high dignitaries of the State honoured the soiree with their presence. As may be supposed, there was a great fluttering among the fashionables, and a terrible demand existed for "invitations." Divers young ladies were in great trepidation lest they should not be bidden, and staid "mamas" lost much of their matronly dignity in trying to ensure due attention to their children. I am not able to say how many were chosen out of the mass to make up the blaze of a fashionable saloon! Nor do I know the number of aching heads and hearts which involuntarily testified next morning that all was "vanity and vexation of spirit," though they would not own it. either to themselves or others; but I do know of ' one beautiful creature, whose heart was and still is in a vexed and humiliated state, because she was not invited!

How much she lost! Lost temper, self-respect, and charitable feelings. These are a great loss, but think you she missed these? Not at all. She missed only the glare of the ball-room-the crashing music-the noisy chattering crowd - the dance the talk, and the supper. She was overlooked-she was not invited she was not permitted to be at Mrs. -'s ball.

Let us see the other side of this picture. Sabbath last was the occasion of administering the communion of the Lord's supper. A solemn time it was (and this I say who am a sinner), and one which impressed me to tears even with my hardened heart.

The followers of Christ separated from the followers of the world, and, with beating hearts and swelling bosoms, prepared in prayer and silence to partake of the body and blood of

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ILLUSTRATIONS OF INFIDELITY.

their "departed Lord." It was, or should have been, to an impenitent sinner an awful scene, only to be surpassed by the judgment, when, in like manner, the goats shall be separated from the sheep.

This young lady, dressed in the extreme of fashion, blooming in health, and buoyant with gaiety, was at church. Again there was a rich entertainment-a noble company-a lordly host -a delicious banquet, and music which entered the soul; and still she was not invited! She received no call"-she was neglected! Was she troubled, vexed, humiliated this time? Oh no! She arranged her veil, smiled sweetly, left the church, and was glad to get away! May God change her heart!-N. O. Protestant.

"A CERTAIN POOR WIDOW."

WE have not so much as her name to call her by.
But we have what is better-her deed. She was
poor. How poor? Was she one of that class of
paupers who have money in bank, money for market
and shop, money for concerts and journeys, but
Was she one of
nothing in the world for charity?
those who are impoverished by the "so many calls"-
who are drained by the mere appeal to give, though
they give next to nothing-who have "nothing at
present ?" Did she belong to one of those congrega-
tions who are too poor to pay for their place of wor-
ship, or to sustain the means of worship creditably,
though they dwell in well-furnished and high-rented
houses?

But how poor was the widow? We have the appraisement of all the living that she had. The sum was precisely two mites-or to speak of it in the largest terms it admits of, one farthing.

There was a treasury for the receipt of contributions to the Lord's house in Jerusalem. A constant income was necessary to repair the buildings and maintain the worship. Did the poor woman pass by the treasury and shake her head, saying she had nothing to give? or that what she had was too trifling to offer-too small to be entered on the subscription book? Or did she say, Let the rich throw in much-they can afford it-my gift would be worth nothing?

No. The certain poor widow gave nobody the trouble of calling on her, or of listening to her polite apologies. She took her farthing in her hand, and went up to the great temple, and when she saw some of the rich throwing in their handfuls of shekels, or their minas, she was glad she had two pieces to add to the collection, and the brass mites were as cheerfully dropped as any gold or silver that went into the treasury that day.

Yes, and they were as cheerfully received. For the Lord of the temple was sitting over against the treasury at the time, and declared that inasmuch as she had, in the fulness of her heart, bestowed all that she possessed, she had done more than all others.

And the same Lord has his eye upon every disciple who has now the privilege of contributing to his cause. He knows who gives and who withholds; he discerns the cheerful and the grudging giver; he estimates the gift, not by its intrinsic amunt, but by the proportion it bears to the means of the donor. A farthing may represent more in his view, and be more abundantly recompensed, than the thousands or tens of thousands which men emblazon when they are given, though they scarcely diminish the heap from which they are taken.-Presbyterian.

DEATH OF THE FIRST-BORN.

BY WILLIS G. CLARK.

YOUNG mother, he is gone!

595

His dimpled cheek no more will touch thy breast;
No more the music tone

Float from his lips to thine all fondly prest;
His smile and happy laugh are lost to thee--
Earth must his mother and his pillow be.

His was the morning hour;

And he hath passed in beauty from the day,
A bud, not yet a flower-

Torn, in its sweetness, from the parent spray;
The death-wind swept him to his soft repose,
As frost in spring-time blights the early rose.

Never on earth again

Will his rich accents charm thy listening ear,
Like some Æolian strain,
Breathing at even-tide serene and clear;
His voice is choked in dust, and on his eyes
The unbroken seal of peace and silence lies.

And from thy yearning heart,
Whose inmost core was warm with love for him,
A gladness must depart,

And those kind eyes with many tears be dim-
While lonely memories, an unceasing train,
Will turn the raptures of the past to pain.

Yet, mourner! while the day
Rolls like the darkness of a funeral by,

And hope forbids one ray
To stream athwart the grief-discoloured sky;
There breaks upon thy sorrow's evening gloom,
A trembling lustre from beyond the tomb.

'Tis from the better land!

There, bathed in radiance that around them springs,
Thy loved one's wings expand;

As with the choiring cherubim, he sings;
And all the glory of that God can see,
Who said on earth to children-" Come to me."

Mother, thy child is blest;
And though his presence may be lost to thee,

And vacant leave thy breast,
And missed a sweet load from thy parent knee;
Though tones familiar from thine ear have passed,
Thou'lt meet thy first-born, with his Lord, at last.

ILLUSTRATIONS OF INFIDELITY.

THE DEATH-BED OF HUME.

HAVING endeavoured to exhibit the leading fea

tures in the character of Hume as these respect himself-his fellow-men-his Maker; having also shown some of his leading inconsistencies and selfcontradictions; also, the uncertainty, vanity, and misery of his infidel philosophy; we might here well draw our observations to a close; but his disciples and admirers might complain of us if we made no reference to his death. They make a boast of the calmness and cheerfulness of his dissolution. They

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say, "Judge of the man's character and system by his death. See how superior he is, in point of patience and tranquillity, to many professed Christians. Surely Infidelity cannot be so fatal a thing as you represent, when it sustains in comfort through a long and lingering illness, and enables the sufferer to look at death with ease and satisfaction, and even desire." It is necessary, therefore, that we consider and form some estimate of the closing scene of this celebrated Infidel.

There can be no question that the friends and followers of Hume make use of his death as an argument in behalf of the harmlessness, if not the advantage, of unbelief. Dr. Cullen, the well-known physician, giving an account of it a fortnight after the event, says: "It was truly an example of great men dying with cheerfulness; and to me, who have been so often shocked with the horror of the superstitious on such occasions, the reflection on such a death is truly agreeable." Dr. Adam Smith deemed the event so important, that he published a full account of it shortly after, and concluded with the eulogium, "I have always considered Mr. Hume, both in his lifetime, and since his death, as approaching as nearly to the idea of a perfectly wise and virtuous man as perhaps the nature of human frailty will permit." Bishop Horne was so impressed with the progress of Infidelity, shortly after Hume's death, and with the mischievous influence of his reported death, as well as writings, that he addressed an anonymous letter to Dr. Smith, signed by " One of the People called Christians ;" in which, says the editor of his "Letters on Infidelity," he "endeavoured to undeceive the world with respect to the pretended cheerfulness and tranquillity of the last moments of the unbelieving philosopher; and overthrows the artificial account given in Mr. Hume's Life, by allusions to certain well-founded anecdotes concerning him, which are totally inconsistent with it." This at least shows that Infidelity made use of the character of Hume's death as an argument in its favour; and that, in the belief of intelligent Christians, it was of service to it. Hence the propriety of neutralizing this unhappy influence, which may be revived by the picture presented in the elaborate "Life and Correspondence" now published. Besides, admitting the death-bed of Hume to have been all that his friends describe, there are important lessons which Christians may draw from it. It is desirable to see Infidelity from first to last, through its entire course. It is possible that Providence may have so ordered events in the case of Hume, as to show forth Infidelity in its very best form, living and dying, that His people might be the more thoroughly guarded against its snares, and not be tempted by inferior

cases.

Professed Christians, too, are apt to entertain mistakes in regard to death-beds in general, as to what they teach, as well as other things; and hence need counsel, if not caution. On these different grounds we propose to make a few remarks on the DEATH-BED OF HUME.

We need scarcely remind the reader, that the nature of a death-bed, whether dark and gloomy, or bright and cheerful, cannot affect the truth of a moral

and religious system; that truth stands upon ground altogether independent. Death-beds may prove the tendency of systems, and the sincerity of the parties, unless strongly tempted to support a character and deviate from truth-but this is all. They are no infallible standard of truth. With regard to the death of Hume, if we are to receive the statements of his friends, and such of his own as have been published, few men could have died in greater tranquillity or unconcern about futurity. He spoke of the death of friends, and frequently and familiarly of his own, with perfect calmness, and in full possession of all his faculties. There was time, too, for consideration, as his sickness stretched over the greater part of eighteen months, though it was only in the latter three that suffering was decided. Four months before his death, he recorded in his autobiography the following account of the state and prospects of his health: "I now reckon on a speedy dissolution. I have suffered very little pain from my disorder; and what is more strange, have, notwithstanding the great | decline of my person, never suffered a moment's abatement of my spirits, insomuch, that were I to name the period of my life which I would most choose to pass over again, I might be tempted to point to this latter period. I possess the same ardour as ever in study, and the same gaiety in company. I consider, besides, that a man of sixty-five, by dying, cuts off only a few years of infirmities: and though I see many symptoms of my literary reputation breaking out at last with additional lustre, I know that I could have but few years to enjoy it. It is difficult to be more detached from life than I am at present."-There is no trace here of any idea of futurity. As a matter of course, it is taken for granted that, at sixty-five, death only cuts off a few years of infirmities. It is never imagined that it may possibly conduct to an experience far more serious than ten thousand bodily infirmities.

The record of an excursion to Bath, a few months before his death, in company with Mr. John Home, the dramatist, who had once been a professed minister of Christ, has been preserved, in which the nephew says: "His spirits are astonishing. He talks of his illness, of his death, as matters of no moment, and gives an account of what passed between him and his physicians since his illness began, with his usual wit, or with more wit than usual." On one occasion, speaking of his burial-place, his nephew desired him to change the discourse. He adds, he did so, "but seemed surprised at my uneasiness;! which, he said, was very nonsensical." Looking back upon the same excursion, Hume himself says: "Never was there a more friendly action, nor better planned; for what between conversation and gaming, not to mention sometimes squabbling, I did not pass a languid moment." Gaming! strange occupation for a dying man, with one who had once been a minister. Dr. Adam Smith, describing the scene still nearer its close, says: "His cheerfulness was so great, and his conversation and amusements ran so much in their usual strain, that, notwithstanding all bad symptoms, many people could not believe he was dying." In illustration of this, he busied himself in

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ILLUSTRATIONS OF INFIDELITY.

597

Taking the most favourable view of Hume's case

reading Lucian's Dialogues of the Dead, and indulged in a fanciful conversation between himself and Cha--with no disposition to make the unhappy man ron,

the one stating, and the other repelling, reasons in Hume's case for continued life; the result of which is, that the philosopher had no reason for prolonged existence, and did not wish for it. Five days before his death, he wrote to the Countess de Boufflers, "I see death approach gradually without any anxiety or regret. I salute you with great affection and regard for the last time." Dr. Black, the day after the event, decribing it, says: "He never dropped the smallest expression of impatience; but when he had occasion to speak to the people about him, always did it with affection and tenderness. He died in such a happy composure of mind, that nothing could exceed it." On opening his will, a codicil was found, written three weeks before, in which he makes some jocular bequests.

There can be little question, then, of Hume's tranquillity and even cheerfulness in death, and as little that he retained his Infidelity to the last. In his will he made provision for the publication of his Dialogues on Natural Religion. This was done after retaining the work by him for thirty years, out of deference to what he would call the prejudices of friends. So injurious did they account the work, that one after another to whom he had spoken on the subject previously to his death, refused to have any hand in giving it to the public. Apprehensive that this book might be doomed to silence, he took effectual steps for the publication. Nothing can better proclaim his determined Infidelity, and that to the very end.

And now what is the reader's judgment of the death-bed of Hume? Is he disposed to regard it as a strong recommendation of Infidelity; and to contrast it with the gloom and apprehension which sometimes cloud the last moments of the Christian? If any such sentiments be ready to arise in his heart, let it be remembered that this is not the ordinary experience of Infidelity, as the death-beds of Voltaire, and Paine, and many other leading unbelievers, can testify. Then let it be remembered that this is the deathbed of the very prince of sceptics-of a man naturally of uncommon coolness and pleasantry. Let it be remembered farther that Hume had committed himself in his writings, again and again, to the nothingness of death-that he had a character to support in dyingthat the vanity of a name among men clung to him to the last. Moreover, let it be remembered, that if Hume really believed (and there is no reason to doubt his sincerity) that this world is the whole of man, and that he perishes for ever in the grave, there is nothing wonderful in his peace and calmness; that the matter of amazement is how he should have brought himself to this belief; not that, having once reached it, he should be tranquil and at ease. It is not strange, as Dr. Cullen seems to think, that men should be alarmed at the approach of death. Holding the faith of a futurity, and uncertain about its issues, or doubtful whether there be a futurity at all -perhaps thinking, with the sceptic poet, that there may be dreams in Death's sleep-it is not superstitious, it is perfectly natural that there should be concern and anxiety.

worse than he was-it must be admitted by every thoughtful and candid mind that his closing scene was deeply melancholy. Apart altogether from Christianity, this must be his judgment. Here is a most powerful mind-at the moment of its greatest maturity and vigour-in opposition to the convictions of the greatest minds of all ages, deliberately believing, and rejoicing in the belief, that itself now perishes, and perishes for ever with the beasts. Here is a mind which sports and amuses itself with foolish Pagan Dialogues at a moment when it is about to solve a tremendous mystery-a mystery which, however confident its anticipation of nothingness and annihilation, may (it is impossible to prove the reverse) turn out to be an awful reality on the wrong side. In such circumstances as these, is it philosophical or natural to be sportive? There may be calm thoughtfulness; but are amusement and wit becoming when engaged in parting with friends for ever, and when there is no absolute certainty but that there may be unwelcome life and eternity beyond the grave? No one can say that this is natural or reasonable. It is the reverse. Hence the forced and artificial air which overhangs Hume's death-bed, and which has led many to believe that he was acting a part, or that his friends and biographers, while giving a part, have not given the whole truth. On his own principles, it was an unsuitable and unworthy close to the life of a philosopher of the eighteenth century. To be going back upon the dialogues of a poor Pagan, instead of calmly stating grounds of reason and conviction!

We have no desire to make out this particular Infidel's death-bed to have been worse than his biographers describe. It does not affect our estimate of his philosophy, what was its precise character. The Word of God nowhere declares that the death of unbelievers shall always be miserable. On the contrary, it teaches us, as a general experience, that "the wicked"-wicked in the sense of Scripture-the irreligious and ungodly-" have no bands in their death." But it is no more than just to state a current report given in detail by the London Christian Observer (vol. xxxi. p. 660), that while Hume was so calm and cheerful in the presence of his literary friends, he was in his latter days very uneasy and disturbed when left alone with his domestics. The statement is alleged to rest on the authority of the nurse who attended him -a nurse who was so much distressed with the spectacle which she witnessed, that she declared her resolution never to watch over the death-bed of another Infidel. It might be possible to harmonize the two statements. Certainly the latter would be more consistent with real philosophy and nature than the former; but, as we have already said, we have no desire to make out that Hume's death-bed was a miserable one. Its mirth and jocularity are sufficiently melancholy. Let the reader peruse the following note, written by Colonel Edmonstone to Hume within a few days of his death, and say whether there be aught in the closing scenes of Infidel philosophy to recommend it to the acceptance of man's sympathy and heart. We have repeatedly borne testimony to Hume's general

kindness and warm friendship. He was certainly a contrast to the French Infidel school, in whose society he rejoiced. They could not bear the thought of death, and hence the moment that a friend died there was immediate, and studious, and perpetual oblivion. Sometimes, the better to obliterate the thought, there was a gay party of pleasure on the day of the death, or of the funeral! It was not so with Hume. He was concerned to hear of the death of friends. There were tears at parting; but see how Infidelity, instead of soothing, aggravated the stroke. The more amiable the infidel, the greater his wretchedness. The last interview always terminated with an "eternal adieu"-reminding us of "the eternal sleep" of the bloody Revolution which followed.

"My dear, dear David,-My heart is very full. I could not see you this morning; I thought it was better for us both. You can't die; you must live in the memory of all your friends and acquaintances, and your works will render you immortal. I could never conceive that it was possible for any one to dislike you or hate you. He must be more than savage who could be an enemy to a man of the best head and heart, and of the most amiable manners. The note closes with a few French verses, which a friend of poetic taste and talent has thus translated, keeping strictly to the original.

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Woman's delicate love in the heart's hidden scroll,
With the strength of man's friendship combin'd.
Yes, David-soon, soon cruel fate

Cometh, sternly asunder to tear
Bonds the sweetest of mortal estate,
Relentless to grief's idle prayer.

And despite of our cries, and our wishes. so vain, An ABSENCE ETERNAL must seal up our pain: Fare-thee-well, then, for ever!-wE MEET NOT AGAIN." What can be more melancholy? Cultivated minds warmly attached, in the hour of their greatest strength and attachment, take an eternal farewell of each other, believing that they perish as the brutes at their feet-that there is no substantial difference between them and the meanest and most loathsome reptile! What a poor attainment is Infidelity! How little does it bestow upon its votaries! Rather, what a bitter thing is sin, which drives men from God, and encourages them to take refuge in such hopelessness and degradation! Any thing is better than the face of an angry God. What a contrast to the prospects which revelation opens up in the Old Testament as well as the New! How different the happiness of the devout disciples of the word! Instead of "eternal adieus," there is everlasting union and friendship in the presence of God and of the Lamb. "I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day on the earth; and though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God;whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another". "The Lord is my shepherd... though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me, and thy rod and staff they comfort me "— "We know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God,

an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens ""I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand; I have fought a good fight; I have finished my course; I have kept the faith: henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of | righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day; and not to me only, but unto all them also who love His appearing."

Has Infidelity, then, any ground of boasting? Is, there anything in the death of Hume, though calm and cheerful, really to attract? To be sportive when all men, whatever their creed, should be serious-to be amusing amid eternal separations from much loved friends-is this amiable? does this recommend unbelief? What would have been thought or said of Christianity had this been its character?

THE GLACIER.

"POETS and philosophers have delighted to compare the course of human life to that of a river; perhaps a still apter simile might be found in the history of a glacier. Heaven-descended in its origin, it yet takes its mould and conformation from the hidden womb of the mountain which brought it forth. At first soft and ductile, it acquires a character and firm- | ness of its own, as an inevitable destiny urges it on its onward career. Jostled and constrained by the crosses and inequalities of its prescribed path, hedged | in by impassable barriers which fix limits to its movements, it yields groaning to its fate, and still travels. forward, seamed with the scars of many a conflict with opposing obstacles. All this while, although wasting, it is renewed by an unseen power-it evaporates, but is not consumed. On its surface it bears the spoils which, during the progress of its existence, it has made its own; often weighty burdens devoid of beauty or value-at times precious masses sparkling with gems or with ore. Having at length attained its greatest width and extension, commanding admiration by its beauty and power, waste predominates over supply, the vital springs begin to fail; it stoops into an attitude of decrepitude; it drops the burdens one by one which it had borne so proudly aloft its dissolution is inevitable. But as it is resolved into its elements, it takes all at once a new, and livelier, and disembarrassed form; from the wreck of its members it rises another yet the same ' -a noble, full-bodied, arrowy stream, which leaps rejoicing over the obstacles which before had stayed, its progress, and hastens through fertile valleys towards a freer existence, and a final union in the ocean with the boundless and the infinite." - Projessor Forbes.

This is an exquisite passage both in conception and in expression. But has not the author omitted one point worthy of being noticed in the comparison which he has instituted? Is it not to be remembered that alike over the law-bound progress of the glacier, and the freer and still more mysterious movements of the human life-stream, there presides the agency of that mighty Being who sits behind the machinery of the universe, and controls its every change? What saith the Book? scattereth the hoar frost like ashes; HE casteth forth "HE giveth snow like wool; HE his ice like morsels; who can stand before his cold? HE sendeth out his word and melteth them; HE causeth his wind to blow and the waters flow; Hɛ. showeth his word unto Jacob, his statutes and his judgments unto Israel. Praise ye the Lord." "Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amainTorrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,

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