And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge! Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?GOD! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, GOD!"

-Alexander's Switzerland.

THE CHURCH NOT CONSUMED. THE long existence of the Christian Church would be pronounced, upon common principles of reasoning, impossible. She finds in every man a natural and inveterate enemy. To encounter and overcome the unanimous hostility of the world, she boasts no political stratagem, no disciplined legions, no outward coercion of any kind. Yet her expectation is that she will live for ever. To mock this hope, and to blot out her memorial from under heaven, the most furious efforts of fanaticism, the most ingenious arts of statesmen, the concentrated strength of empires, have been frequently and perseveringly applied. The blood of her sons and her daughters has streamed like water; the smoke of the scaffold and the stake, where they wore the crown of martyrdom in the cause of Jesus, has ascended in thick volumes to the skies. The tribes of persecutors have sported over her woes, and erected monuments, as they imagined, of her perpetual ruin. But where are her tyrants, and where their empires? The tyrants have long since gone to their own place; their names have descended upon the roll of infamy; their empires have passed, like shadows over the rock; they have successively disappeared, and left not a trace behind!

But what became of the Church? She rose from her ashes fresh in beauty and might; celestial glory beamed around her; she dashed down the monuPental marble of her foes, and they who hated her fled before her. She has celebrated the funeral of kings and kingdoms that plotted her destruction; and, with the inscriptions of their pride, has transmitted to posterity the records of their shame. How shall this phenomenon be explained? We are, at the present moment, witnesses of the fact; but who can unfold the mystery? The book of truth and life has made our wonder to cease. "The Lord her God in the midst of her is mighty." He has betrothed her, in eternal covenant, to himself. Her living Head, in whom she lives, is above, and his quickening Spirit shall never depart from her. Armed with divine virtue, his Gospel, secret, silent, unobserved, enters the hearts of men, and sets up an everlasting kingdom. It eludes all the vigilance, and baffles all the power, of the adversary. Bars, and bolts, and dungeons, are no obstacles to its approach; bonds, and tortures, and death, cannot extinguish its influence. Let no man's heart tremble, then, because of fear. Let no man despair (in these days of rebuke and blasphemy) of the Christian cause. The ark is launched, indeed, upon the floods; the tempest sweeps along the deep; the billows break over her on every side. But Jehovah-Jesus has promised to conduct her in safety to the haven of peace. She cannot be lost unless the pilot perish.-Dr. Mason.

PRAYER-MEETING ON HORSEBACK. DURING the heat of last summer, the seminary among the Nestorians, in which are about forty young men in a course of education, was removed from the valley of Ooroomiah to the heights of Mount Seir. The students, who had before found it difficult to find places of retirement for the performance of their private devotions, were often discovered, at their new place of residence, communing with God in secret among the rocks and the hills of Mount Seir. On a previous occasion, as some of the Nestorian converts were travelling from village to village, they held uninteresting mode of social worship; showing that a prayer-meeting on their horses a novel, but not when religion takes hold of the heart, times, and places, and circumstances, are made to contribute, with wonderful facility, to promote the work of God in the soul.

RELIGION AT ROME.

WHAT IS PENANCE?

SOME friends informed us that a ceremony of no small interest was to be witnessed every night at a particular church which they described to me. We mentioned the subject to our valet-de-place, and requested him to conduct us to the spot. He gave that peculiar shrug of the shoulders, which to be understood must be seen, and which none but an Italian, I believe, can fully enact, and said he was there once, and never wished to go again. It seems that some of the professedly self-inflicted penance had been misdirected, and had fallen upon Luigi, the bare recollection of which made him cringe. However, he consented to conduct us to the door, and wait for us there till the fearful devotion was over.

When we arrived we found one single light glimmering near the altar; the church itself seemed badly kept, compared with most Roman churches, and the worshippers appeared coarse and squalid. None but men were admitted, for a very good reason, as the reader will presently see. Everything around looked suspicious, and if some of our countrymen had not been there before us and described the scene, we might have supposed ourselves in dangerous circumstances. For myself I passed back of some broken forms that lay near the wall, behind which I entrenched myself at a little distance from the theatre of action. The door was then bolted. The single candle was then carried to a small temporary platform, beside which stood a crucifix, and a palmerlike gloomy ecclesiastic ascended and commenced an impassioned harangue, the tenor and burden of which were the sufferings of Christ, and an exhortation to the people to be willing to suffer with him; that as Christ was chastised and suffered for their sins, much more should they be willing to chastise themselves for their manifold transgressions. The solitary light was removed, and in the midst of Egyptian darkness the tragedy commenced. It was as though you had suddenly been ushered into one of the chambers of Pandemonium. The first thing we heard after the extinguishing of the light was the cracking of whips or thongs, and the sound of scores of simultaneous lashes well laid on. Then followed the most

bitter groans and wailings, as from miserable wretches writhing under the torture. The sounds became commingled the strokes fell thick as hail-and groans and howlings filled the temple. It was an awful scene! After it had continued for several minutes there was a pause, and the same voice resumed the exhortations to the assembly. It was perfect darkness still, and the sharp voice of the preacher, keyed up almost to a falsetto, rung through the invisible arches of the church, and died away in the distance. He paused, and again the flagellations and howlings were resumed. At the second pause the light was restored-a person went round and collected the thongs or ropes, to preserve them, I suppose, for future penance, and the assembly broke up. Whether they lashed themselves, or each other, or the floor, I cannot say. I had intended, when the flogging commenced, to have put myself in a situation to have received some of the blows, being willing to run some risk of a lash or two to determine for myself whether the blows were laid on with effect or otherwise. But the light was extinguished unexpectedly, and I had made no arrangements that would have enabled me, situated as I was, to make the experiment satisfactorily. I can only say there were blows enough, and they were sufficiently loud to have done good execution; and they were accompanied by enough of wailing and of woe, to have indicated an indescribable amount of suffering--and this is religious worship! in a Christian assembly, and at the very seat of the infallible Church!-Dr. Fisk.

OUR FRIENDS IN HEAVEN. THE expectation of loving my friends in heaven, principally kindles my love to them on earth. If I thought I should never know them, and consequently never love them, after this life is ended, I should number them with temporal things, and only love them as such. But I now delightfully converse with my godly friends, in a firm persuasion that I shall converse with them for ever; and I take comfort in those that are dead or absent, as believing I shall shortly meet them in heaven; and I love them with a heavenly love, as the heirs of heaven, even with a love that shall there be perfected, and for ever exercised.-Baxter.

THE TOMB OF WHITEFIELD.

IN a late journey through New England, I stopped at Newburyport to see the tomb of Whitefield. The visit will always be memorable to me. It suggested reflections impressive and profitable.

His remains are deposited in a vault under the Federal Street Church-a church in which he has often preached, and in sight of the house in which he expired. As we passed near the altar our attention was arrested by a massive marble cenotaph, erected by the town.

The sexton having lighted his lantern, led us into a little vestry behind the pulpit, in the floor of which is a small trap door. This he opened and we descended into a dark apartment, much like a common cellar. On one side of this apartment is a door opening into the vault, which extends under the

pulpit. The faint light of our lantern gave a solemn gloom to this dark but hallowed resting-place of the great modern evangelist. Three coffins lay before us, two containing the remains of ancient pastors of the church.

The lid of each was open sufficiently to show the head and chest, and the skeleton faces stared us in the countenance with ghastly expressions as we held over them the dim light. Our footsteps and our subdued voices called forth a faint and trembling echo, and even this tomb of glorified saints seemed filled with the gloom and dread of death, reminding us of the doom of the fall.

A slight depth of black mould covered the bottom of Whitefield's coffin, and on this lay the bare bones. I took his skull into my hands and examined it with intense interest. What thoughts of grandeur and power had emanated from that abode of the mind, and stirred with emotions the souls of hundreds of thousands-emotions which will quicken their immortality! I held it in silence, but my mind ran over the history of the "seraphic man," and started and endeavoured to solve a thousand queries respecting' the attributes of his character and the means of his wonderful power.-Zion's Herald.

NEVER BE HAUGHTY.

A HUMMING bird met a butterfly, and being pleased with the beauty of its person and glory of its wings, made an offer of perpetual friendship.

"I cannot think of it," was the reply, "as you once spurned me, and called me a drawling dolt." "Impossible!" exclaimed the humming bird. "I always entertained the highest respect for such beautiful creatures as you."

"Perhaps you do now," said the other, "but when you insulted me I was a caterpillar. So let me give. you a piece of advice; never insult the humble, as they may some day become your superiors.

USES OF ADVERSITY.

SWEET are the uses of adversity! In God's hand in-" deed they are; when he puts his children into the furnace of affliction, it is that he may thoroughly purge away all their dross. A great writer has spoken with great beauty of the resources which God has placed within us for bringing good out of evil, or at least for greatly alleviating our trials in the cases ing grain of sand," he says, "which by accident or inof sickness and misfortune. "The cutting and irritatcaution has got within the shell, incites the living inmate to secrete from its own resources the means of coating the intrusive substance. And is it not, or may it not be, even so with the irregularities and unevenness of health and fortune in our own case? We, too, wonderful are the wisdom and mercy of God in makmay turn diseases into pearls." But how much more ing the spiritual temptations and distresses of his people their necessary discipline for their highest good, the means for the greatest perfection and stability of their characters! This, indeed, is a wonderful transmutation. "God," says the holy Leighton, "hath many sharp cutting instruments and rough files for the polishing of his jewels; and those he especially esteems, and means to make the most resplendent, he hath oftenest his tools upon."-Cheever.

"inheritance" that is "incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away" (1 Pet. i. 4), is yours; you have little in the stream, but all in the fountain. God is yours, and in him all is yours.

O are these things true? Certainly; then you have no reason to complain or to be discontented because of your poverty. Pray, under heart-risings because of this, turn your thoughts upon what hath been hinted, work these and such like considerations home upon your hearts, be intent upon them, weigh them thoroughly; and I hope this will very much settle and quiet your spirits under the lowness of your estates.

ILLUSTRATIONS OF INFIDELITY.

GENERAL LESSONS.

WE conclude with a few general lessons suggested by the biography of Hume, and the parties with whom he was associated.

1. One may see how vain and absurd is the plea on which many, under the Gospel dispensation, rest their hope of forgiveness and heaven. They say they expect salvation, because they are free from gross vices, and have always been kind and friendly. What does the case of Hume show? That even Infidels can often plead the same. We have no reason to doubt that Hume was correct in his private morals; and though there were strange and bitter quarrels between him and several of his friends, such as Blacklock, Oswald, Rousseau, yet we have no cause to question the statements of his biographers, that he was very friendly and much liked that he was inoffensive, obliging, instructive. Now, is it to be imagined that professed Christians are saved on grounds altogether independent of Christianity, which are equally valid and good, whether such a revelation as Christianity had been vouchsafed? Is it to be imagined that scoffing Infidels, denying God's providence and existence as well as his word, and rejoicing in death as the annihilation of their being, are equally safe as the most devout, and holy, and useful believers, simply because they did not happen to be immoral, and were amiable and friendly in the intercourse of social life? Does this not disparage Christianity, and exalt Infidelity in a way which would make most professed Christians tremble? And yet, do not multitudes rest their hopes for eternity substantially upon this ground? Surely that cannot be the way of salvation which is equally good for Christians and for Infidels-which makes no distinction in creed-which treats those who believe in God and those who deny him as the same, equally acceptable.

2. We are reminded of the danger of indulging vanity and sceptical speculation. There can be little question that vain-glory was the root of Hume's system of universal doubt and flagrant Infidelity. He may not have intended at first to become an Infidel bordering on Atheism; but, to gratify his vanity

by attracting attention, and awakening the surprise, astonishment, and talk of his cotemporaries and posterity, he yielded to speculations which carried him from step to step, till he was landed in universal scepticism; while the same vanity forbade him, after he was once committed, to retract any of his statements, however untenable. This is no more than what Scripture would have led us to expect. The desire of the glory of men is numbered by the Saviour among the causes of Infidelity among the educated men of his day; and the apostles guard against unbelief and apostasy. The late excellent Dr. Marfalse philosophy and vain speculations, as tending to tin, minister of Kirkaldy, a man of no common acuteness, relates, in a record of his experience during a severe and protracted sickness, that for a season he was visited with the most painful darkness and universal doubt. He explains it by stating that when a young man, and long before he had ever heard of David Hume, or read any of his writings, he had indulged in the same sceptical speculations; so that in reading Hume, he found himself familiar with the thoughts and arguments. Like a devont and penitent believer, he explained his mental darkness and dubiety long after, as a chastisement for the indulgence of scepticism in youth. While this is fitted to deprive Hume's admirers of their boasting, inasmuch as it shows that others, and persons of much less pretension, could hit upon the same thoughts (and the same might be added of many young Hindus on the banks of the Ganges, in regard to Hume's speculations on miracles), it is fitted to warn good men, and especially the young, against indulging a spirit which the Scripture condemns.' Harmless as their speculations may often seem, the unhappy effect may appear in seasons of weakness and suffering. The great adversary of man's peace may strike in, and feather his darts with what was once a mere speculation, and had been almost forgotten. Such was the judgment of good Dr. Martin, founded on experience; and though he was happily, ere long, released, the result may be more serious with others. Hence the need of caution. Those who are at once metaphysical in their taste, and vain-glorious in their temperament, require to be specially guarded. Youthful vanity and thoughtlessness may lay the foundation for serious conflicts at a season when the soul would most desire tranquillity.

3. Another suggested lesson is the insufficiency of mere knowledge-literary, historical, philosophical to prevent crime, or to secure stable happiness. It is well known how confident many men are in regard to the reverse of the proposition. They think ignorance the great source of all evil, and general knowledge the sure and universal remedy for its ills. But what is the testimony of experience? Were Hume or his French Infidel friends happy, in the best sense of the term? or were they armed against sinful temptstion? We have already made full allowance for the advantages of natural temperament and social position, of which Hume could boast. After all, we have seen that his happiness was very limited and qualified-that he was the advocate of sin and crime;

while in regard to his French friends it is notorious, amid all their gaiety and wit, there was a vast amount of real misery, combined with gross immorality and corruption. Yet who can question that these parties were familiar with varied knowledgefar more knowledge than the mass of society, by all schemes of mere secular education, can ever hope to reach? and how vain, then, is it to expect that mere knowledge, distinct from divine knowledge, will regenerate and rejoice society? If it has failed in the hands of Hume and of his friends, is it likely to be more successful with others? Nay, may it not be feared that much at least of their knowledge, instead of contributing either to the purity or happiness of man, will, and must, have the very opposite effect? Who can question that the tendency of Hume's moral philosophy is to the relaxation of moral ties? and who can doubt, with the example of the French literati of Hume's days and of subsequent revolutionary times before them, that knowledge, disjoined from divine revelation, is not only weak as a restraint against evil, but may prove an encouragement to sin? Let none, then, deceive themselves and society with vain hopes. Where the Scriptures of truth are unknown, general knowledge may be rendered subservient, by Divine Providence, to moral restraint and usefulness; but where God's revelation is despised and rejected, he is almost pledged to show the vanity of any substitute of man's devizing, by allowing even philosophers to fall into moral degradation. 4. Our last remark respects the responsibility of the Christian Church for the Infidelity of the world. We apprehend that Hume stood so much upon independent ground of his own-was so much under the influence of vain-glorious selfishness, in his scepticism, that scarcely any condition of the Christian Church would have made much difference on the state of his personal convictions, or brought him nearer to true religion; but we are strongly persuaded that the state of Christianity in his day, and his own experience of professed ministers of Christianity, were well fitted to deepen and perpetuate his personal Infidelity, and to give it strength and currency, through his works, on society. The footing on which Hume stood with Robertson, Blair, Jardine, Carlile, Home, and other ministers-their consenting to be silent on religion-the warmth of their friendship, though he was busily subverting the foundations of all religion, natural and revealed their sneers at the more serious and godly part of the brethren in the ministry-the freedom which they allowed him to use in his correspondence with them, and the service which they expected and received from him, in connection with the distribution of Church patronage must all have given him a very unfavourable impression of the reality of their belief, or of religious principle at all. What could Hume have thought of Christianity, when a minister of Christ could write him in such terms as: "The society at Paris," says Dr. Blair, "to one who has all your advantages for enjoying it in its perfection, is, I am fully convinced, from all that I have heard, the most agreeable in the whole world." The ungodly, infidel, immoral society of Paris, with which Hume was sur

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rounded, is pronounced by a professed minister of the Gospel, the most agreeable in the whole world! Another (Jardine), writes him: "The enemy had kindled such a flame, that the old burning bush was like to have been consumed altogether. I know it will give you pleasure to hear that my endeavours to preserve her have been crowned with success." What could an Infidel think of such sentiments and language from a minister of Christ, who perfectly knew his character and views?

"The

Such notices in the Correspondence, and others could be given, indicate, to say the least, a miserably low religious tone-a blending of Christianity and Infidelity which could have no other result than to harden the sceptic and the scoffer. What effectual remonstrance could either Blair or Jardine, or any clergyman of similar spirit, present to the progress of Infidelity? Their greatest strength must have been very weakness. Accordingly, there is a visible growth of Infidelity in society through the lifetime of Hume. At his starting, there was the greatest resistance; as he advanced it lessened. In 1744, when aiming after a professorship of moral philosophy, Hume says: accusation of heresy, deism, scepticism, atheism, &c., &c., was started against me, but never took, being borne down by the contrary authority of all the good company in town." Eight years after, in 1752, when appointed, after a contest, librarian of the Advocates' Library, he says: "What is more extraordinary, the cry about religion could not hinder the ladies from being violently my partisans. I owe my success in a great measure to their solicitations." Twelve years after, 1764, Blair writes: "The taste for French literature grows more and more amongst us." No one can question that such Infidel literature as the French literature of that day could not increase in its popularity apart from the previous and simultaneous spread of Infidelity; while the popular interest and homage discovered at the Infidel's interment, and connected with the sepulchre, where, "on a Sunday evening, the company from a public walk in the neighbourhood flocked in such crowds to the grave, that Mr. Hume's brother actually became apprehensive upon the unusual concourse, and ordered the grave to be railed in with all expedition," bespoke the same unhappy progress.

There can be little question that the degeneracy of the Church, or rather the Churches of Christ for, with slight exceptions, the decay was general had an important share in the creation and dissemination of the Infidelity of the age. Had the Church been evangelical and her ministry faithful and consistent, humanly speaking, the tone of society could never have sunk so low. It is a melancholy fact, that the only man who seems to have written to Hume on his death-bed, on the subject of religion-and the letter, considering the party to whom it was addressed, was well fitted to awaken serious thought-was not a minister, but a layman at a distance, Mr. Strachan, the London bookseller. The letter was probably too late to reach the dying man; but the fact, that it seems to have been the only effort which was made to recall his mind to the idea of an unseen world, and that upon his own prin