so that the brighter their discoveries of the Divine glory are, like Isaiah and Job, the more they deplore their uncleanness, and abhor themselves; but there, not the least taint of moral defilement shall remain ; their hearts, as well as their garments, shall be without spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing. In our present worship, we assemble only with a few of God's people. Though the iron rod of persecution does not scatter us apart, as it did our forefathers, and limit our devotions to the private parlour, or the prison-house, yet the conveniences of our habitations, and the requirements of animal life, render the congregations of the saints but little flocks. Eras keep us asunder, we cannot walk with God in company with Enoch ; nor join with David in the procession to the tabernacle; we cannot unite with the apostles in their prayers in the upper room in Jerusalem, or accompany the strains of the martyrs who sung their hosannas as they embraced the stake. Place divides us from each other. We know that divine worship is paid to the Lord by thousands in Europe, and that Asia and Africa are laying their tribute at his feet; but long intervening tracts of land and sea forbid us uniting with their assemblies. Variety of religious sentiment, too, gives rise to different congregations. We, as yet, see through a glass darkly, and know only in part, and prophesy only in part; but in heaven the assembly shall consist of a number that no man can number. All that have loved the Saviour shall form one glorious band. There, an Abraham and an Owen, a Watts and a David, a Pearce and a John, a Daniel and a Henry; there, the Hindoo and the American, the European and the Negro, the Hottentot and the Greenlander—there the Methodist and the Episcopalian, the Presbyterian and the Baptist, shall, with hearts and with voices for ever united, sing, “ Worthy is the Lamb that was slain.”—Late Rev. Dr. Staughton, of Philadelphia.

CONNUBIAL FELICITY. If a happy marriage has given and ensures to man peace at home, let there be no dread of the caprices of chance ; his happiness is sheltered from the strokes of fortune. A wife, gentle and affectionate, sensible and virtuous, will fill his whole heart, and leave no room for sadness. What will he care for the loss of property when he possesses this treasure ? Is not his house sufficiently magnificent, as long as she commands respect to it-splendid enough, as long as her presence adorns it ? A cottage where virtue dwells, is far superior to a palace; it becomes a temple.

If he were deprived of a highly valuable office, he would scarcely notice it ; for he occupies the first and best place in the heart of her he loves. If he be not separated from her, banishment cannot become to him an entire exile ; for in her person he views the image of his country.

Through her exertions order reigns in his household, as well as peace to the soul. If injustice or ingratitude irritate or grieve him, her caresses will appease, and her smiles console him.

Her commendation is his glory : she too resembles his conscience; he thinks himself good when he raises her affections, and great when she

admires him. He sees in her reason personified, and wisdom in action, for she feels all that the philosophers of every age have only thought.

As modest as the violet, she shuns display, and diffuses in the shades around her the perfume of virtue and happiness.

Labours, pains, pleasures, opinions, sentiments, and thoughts, are in common between them; and if she never expresses more or less than what she feels, he reads at a glance her thoughts, her gestures ; and even in her eyes, he can apply to her what used to be said of Pompey, when young: “ The thought was uttered before the voice had sounded."

If he be ill, the double balm of love and friendship come to his aid : numberless delicate and affectionate attentions dispel uneasiness, and waken hope; pain itself smiles upon tenderness, and again knows pleasure.

If poverty should compel him to work for a livelihood, if the fatigues of war, or state affairs, should have exhausted his strength, or enfeebled his health, she alleviates the toil by sharing it.

How easy and short does the voyage of life appear with such a companion! As in the fortunate isles, he always finds at the same time buds, flowers, and fruits ! His summer has retained and preserved the charms of his spring; and old age has drawn near without his perceiving its approach.


[Often have we heard persons criticise and find fault with the sermons they hear, forgetting the high privilege they enjoy in being permitted to hear the Gospel of Jesus Christ at all. The fol. lowing sermon, which has been frequently printed, is copied from the British Magazine for 1750; it will af. fectingly show the state of religion in many of the English pulpits in former times, and prove the necessity which then existed for the production of the Homilies. We hope it will make our readers farther grateful for the blessings they now enjoy, Editor.]

“ Fight the good fight,” &c. 1 Tim. vi. 12.

Beloved, we are met together to solemnize the funeral of Mr. Proctor; his father's name was Mr. Thomas Proctor, of the second family, his brothers name also was Mr. Thomas Proctor, he lived some time at Burston Hall, in Norfolk, and was High Constable of Diss Hundred; this man's name was Mr. Robert Proctor, and his wife's was Mrs. Buxton, late wife of Mr. Matthew Buxton; she came from Helsdon Hall, beyond Norwich.

He was a good husband, and she a good house-wife, and they two got money ; she brought a £1000 with her for her portion.

But now, beloved, I shall make it clear by demonstrative arguments. Ist, He was a good man, and that in several respects ; he was a loving man to his neighbours, a charitable man to the poor, a favourable man in his tithes, and a good landlord to his tenants; there sits one Mr. Spurgeon, can tell what a great sum of money he forgave him upon his death-bed, it was four-score pounds. Now, beloved, was not this a good man, and a man of God, and his wife a good woman? and she came from Helsdon Hall, beyond Norwich. This is the first argument.

Secondly. To prove this man to be a good man, and a man of God, in the time of his sickness, which was long and tedious, he sent for Mr. Cole, Minister of Shimpling, to pray for him. He was not a self-ended man, to be prayed for himself only; no, beloved, he desired him to pray for all his relations and acquaintances, for Mr. Buxton's worship, and for all Mr. Buxton's children, against it should please God to

send him any; and to Mr. Cole's prayers there he sits; gave him a vast portiori he devoutly said, Amen, amen, amen. with her, and the remainder of his estate

Was not this a good man and a man he gave his two daughters. of God, think you, and his wife a good Now, was not this a good man and woman? and she came from Helsdon a man of God, think you, and his wife Hall, beyond Norwich.

a good woman and she came from HelsThen he sent for Mr. Gibbs, to don Hall, beyond Norwich. pray for him, when he came and prayed Now, beloved, if you remember, a short for him, for all his friends, relations, and time since, I preached at the funeral of acquaintances, for Mr. Buxton's worship, Mrs. Proctor, all which time I troubled for Mrs. Buxton's worship, and for all you with many of her transcendent virMr. Buxton's children, against it should tues, but your memories perhaps may please God to send him any, and to Mr. fail you, and therefore I shall now reGibbs' prayers he likewise devoutly said, mind you of one or two of them. Amen, amen, amen.

The first is, she was a good knitter Was not this a good man and a man as any in the county of Norfolk. When of God, think you, and his wife a good her husband and family were in bed and woman? and she came from Helsdon asleep, she would get a cushion, clap Hall, beyond Norwich.

herself down by the fire, and sit and Then he sent for me, and I came knit; but, beloved, she was no prodigal and prayed for this good man Mr. Proc. woman, but a sparing woman, for to tor, for all his friends, relations, and ac- spare candle, she would stir up the coals quaintances, for Mr. Buxton's worship, with her knitting pins, and by that light for Mrs. Buxton's worship, and for Mr. she would sit and knit, and make as Buxton's children, against it should good work as many other women by please God to send him any, and to my daylight. Beloved, I have a pair of prayers he devoutly said, Amen, amen, stockings upon my legs, that were knit amen.

in the same manner, and they are the Was not this a good man and a best stockings that ever I wore in my man of God, think you, and his wife a Life. good woman ? and she came from Hels. Secondly. She was the best maker don Hall, beyond Norwich.

of toast in drink, that ever I ate in my Thirdly and lastly, beloved, I come life ; and they were brown toasts too, for to a clear demonstrative argument, to when I used to go in a morning, she prove this man to be a good man and a would ask me to eat a toast, which I was man of God, and that is this ; there was very willing to do, because she had such one Thomas Proctor, a very poor beggar an artificial way of toasting it, no ways boy; he came into this country upon the slack, nor burning it; besides she had back of a dun cow; it was not a black such a pretty way of grating nutmeg cow, nor a brindled cow, nor a brown and dipping it in the beer, and such a cow; no, beloved, it was a dun cow. piece of rare cheese, that I must needs Well, beloved, this poor boy came a beg- say that they were the best toasts that ging to this good man's door ; he did not ever I ate in my life. do as some would have done, give him a Well, beloved, the days are short, and small alms and send him away, or chide many of you have a great way to your him, and make him a pass, and send him habitations, and therefore I hasten to a into his own country; no, beloved, he conclusion. took him into his own house, and bound I think I have sufficiently proved him an apprentice to a gun-smith in this man to be a good man, and his Norwich ; after his time was out, he wife a good woman; but fearing your took him home again, and married him memories should fail you, I shall repeat to a kinswoman of his wife's, one Mrs. the particulars ; viz. first, his love to his Christian Robertson, here present, there neighbour; second, his charity to the she sits ; she was a very good fortune, poor ; third, his favourableness in his and to her this good man gave a consi. tithes ; fourth, his goodness to his tederable jointure. By her he had three nants ; fifth, his devotion in his prayers daughters; this good man took home the in saying Amen, amen, amen, to the eldest, brought her up to a woman's es. prayers of Mr. Cole, Mr. Gibbs, and tate, married her to a very honourable myself. gentleman, Mr. Buxton, here present ;



Time was—but I have spent the past
In hopes that bloom'd to fade as fast,
In idle dreams of happiness,
In vanity, in nothingness.
And Retrospection's eye, when cast
O'er the drear ocean of the past,
Sees, in perplex'd confusion tost,
Weeks, days, and hours, and moments

While Memory, on her height sublime,
Sits brooding o'er the wreck of Time !
Time is—the only gem we save,
The single pearl from life's dark wave,
Which they who wisely seize, shall cast
No sad remembrance on the past.
Oh, timely happy, timely wise,
They who the present moment prize,
Who gladly 'scape the troubled sea
Of perilous uncertainty,
And, spurning Folly's specious vow,
Cling to the Rock of safety-now!
Time shall be-but the future lies
Beyond the ken of mortal eyes.
No seer attends its temple pale,
And none may pierce or lift the yeil.
Ah! woe is he, whose clouded eye,
Fixed only on mortality,
Sees not Time's dark and narrow sea
Fast rolling to eternity,
But haunts its solitary shore,
And waits till-Time shall be no more.


Where Fancy's reign is o'er,

Does sweet Religion's sway Mind's temper'd powers restore, And lead them now to soar

From earth, from sin away?
When Feeling's thrill is past

On trifles light as air,
Is now its lustre cast
On hopes, sublime and vast,

To glow and kindle there?
Once wild excursive Thought

Aerial flights pursued, -
Are now its musings sought
On themes with glory fraught,

Calm, holy, and subdued ?
Oh! my oft-drooping soul!

From cares and woes of earth, Turn to that high control, Which makes the wounded whole,

Child of celestial birth !
On Him who changeth not,

Repose thy heart's fond trust;
Safe in His chosen spot,
To Him confide thy lot,

The Merciful! the Just !
On uncreated might,

Let thy young spirit rest ; His grace shall guide its flight Through regions of delight,

Pure, passionless, and blest. On excellence divine

Let thy high gaze be riven; So glorious gleams shall shine, Of joys that may be thine,

When safely moor'd in heaven. Thus, from earth's faded flowers

Thine eyes may smiling rise ;
And fix on Eden's bowers,
On bliss of countless hours,

The treasure of the skies !
Wake, then, to life sublime !

Rise from th' entombing sod!
For hopes, unchanged by time,
Joys, ever in their prime,
Fruits, of perennial clime,
Turn to the throne of God!

A. W. M.

Fancy has had her day,

And gilds my path no more;
Yet, if her brilliant ray
Lent charms to Error's sway,

Adieu, ye days of yore !
I would not mourn your loss,

If better things ye leave ;
Your pathway spread with moss,
Scenes, rich in summer's gloss,

For these I would not grieve.
Yet, when I pause and view

These early beauties dead,
I ask, what fairer hue
Hath risen to renew

The blooming verdure shed ?
Where earthly flowers arose,

Luxuriant as the morn,
Do blossoms now unclose
Of heavenly growth, like those

Which Sharon's bowers adorn ?


PSALM CXXXVII. By the rivers of Babylon we sat down

and wept, With our harps in loneliness lying, On the boughs of the willows that grace

fully waved O'er the waters—in peacefulness sigh


This world's deep shades of pain and


We wept—when we thought on the land

of our birth, And the visions of happier times; Yea, we wept, far away from those whom

we loved, Doom'd to suffer in different climes. And they who had dragg'd us as captives

from thence, Loaded on us reproaches and wrongs; In mirth and derision they scornfully

said, “Sing to us now one of Zion's sweet

songs." But how could we sing that song to a

strangerHow could we sing in a country un

knownAnd how could we tune our lone silent

harps, Except in the land which we hail'd as

our own? Oh Jerusalem ! we cannot forget thee, Though threatening dangers encompass

thee round, But fresh in our hearts, endearing as

ever, The name of our land engraved shall be found.


With light, and effort, and relief.
Ah! rouse to this inspiring tone

Thy slumb'ring, useless lyre !
While aught of power is yet thy own,
Bid it for languor past atone;
Nor let thy little gift be thrown

Neglected, to expire Where torpor, with her blighting breath, The mildew sheds of mental death. Wake to the high and pure reward

Of effort-aim divine !
While wealthier hands rich gifts afford,
Thy little all do thou accord,
And to the treasury of thy Lord

Thy widow's mite consign:
Nor will that mite be scorn'd by Him
Who watches from the seraphim.

D. M.


AND MORAL EFFORT. Retire, vain dreams of wild Romance !

No more I court your spell ; Come, Thought, and o'er thy pure ex

panse Let Mind's serene, benignant glance Excursive range, in loftier trance,

And to this bosom tell Of themes than Fancy's flights more

high, Themes form’d for immortality: Of hopes that reach the boundless heaven,

In their clear tranquil flight;
Of peace from life's pure fountain given,
Joys, that in sorrow's soil have thriven,
Faith, that with earth's deep woes have

And let their power unite,
To form a wreath around thy lyre,
Worthy of poet's loftiest fire;-
Of bright Philanthropy's wide aims

To soften life's distress ;
Of Duty's holy, earnest claims,
Of Thought and Feeling's blending

flames, O'er all the schemes which Virtue frames,

To comfort and to bless

IS IT WELL? SELF INQUIRY FOR NEW YEAR'S EVE. Another year has pass'd away,

And borne its record up on high ; And ev'ry month, and week, and day,

Are witnesses beyond the sky. And now, my soul, I'd have thee tell,

What has the past year done for thee; Say, with thy conscience Is it well?

Thy heart from condemnation free? Say, has each month, that now has roll'd

Into the deep abyss of time, Told of thy thoughts and words controll'd

By precept and command divine ? Its weeks and days, for ever gone,

What have they done for Him above? Were they employ'd in making known

Thy Maker's praise, thy Saviour's love? When the bright morning sun arose,

Wast thou before the throne in prayer? Again at dewy ev'ning's close,

Didst thou perform thy homage there? And all its hallow'd Sabbath days,

Seasons of grace to mortals given, Shedding on earth their gentle rays,

To guide the weary soul to heaven : Say, have they been to thee indeed,

Times of refreshing from the Lord?" Didst thou delight to hear and read

The true, the everlasting word ? In thee did sorrow meet relief,

The poor and needy find a friend ? Was 't thine to dry the tear of grief,

Did love with all thy actions blend ?

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