sesses them. Cain's feelings were earthly and selfish: it is evident, that he was afraid of an invasion of his birthright; and his jealousy on this subject was not allayed even on the assurance of God, who said to him, "unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him."

What was the cause of this jealousy? We can only conjecture; yet, I think, there are tolerable grounds for forming an opinion. Great, beyond conception, must have been the misery and disappointment of Adam and Eve, when they witnessed and felt the terrible consequences of their transgression; which they must have felt with a degree of acuteness which never can be experienced by any of their descendants. We cannot know the miseries of sin as they did, for it is inherent in our nature from the commencement of our existence, and its power is increased and strengthened chiefly by its insidiousness in concealing its malignity. But our first parents had known the happiness which results from perfect innocence, when there was neither sin, nor sorrow, nor pain; and they had enjoyed uninterrupted communion with God, which we can taste only for short periods and at distant intervals. All these advantages they lost by the fall; but they could not lose the recollection of them; and this recollection would tend to embitter their misery. One promise, however, was given them to support them under the miseries of the fall; and that promise was, that "the seed of the woman should bruise the head of the serpent." We may naturally suppose that they would consider their first son as the promised seed; and this supposition is confirmed by the name which Eve gave to her first-born, whom she called Cain, (which means gain, or acquisition,) saying, "I have gained a man from the Lord."

This child of their hopes, and expected conqueror of the serpent, would be made acquainted with their expectations, and would grow up in the confidence of effecting their emancipation from the misery which sin had brought into the world. In process of time, therefore, when the two brothers had attained to such an age as authorised them to worship God by sacrifice, Cain took the lead, by the prerogative of birth, to present an offering unto God. Abel followed his example, but with a different spirit, and with a very different result to his services, for they were accepted, whilst Cain's were rejected. How dreadful must have been the disappointment of the latter! The cherished hopes, the fond anticipations, the ambitious aspirings instilled by his parents' instructions, and eagerly embraced by his own mind, were laid prostrate in the dust, and he stood as a rejected suppliant, in the presence of a brother, his inferior by birthright, but now a formidable and favoured rival.

I dwell not on the tragical consequences which followed these transactions, my object being merely to direct attention to these first recorded acts of religious worship. I do not, however, suppose that they were the first sacrifices that ever were offered. There is strong presumptive evidence that Adam sacrificed before the birth of Cain and Abel; and that his offering was of the same kind with that of the latter, viz., a propitiatory sacrifice made by blood. This may be inferred from the following circumstances :-Immediately on their fall, our first parents "knew that they were naked, and were afraid." To hide their shame, they sewed fig leaves together, and made themselves aprons.' Gen. iii. 7. This was a simple and an elegant contrivance ; and after their example, all their descendants have so covered their defects by decorations, as to make their very infirmities the foundation and ground-work of vanity. But God taught them a different lesson. Immediately after pronouncing the sentence against them, it is said, "Unto Adam also, and his wife, did the Lord God make coats of skins, and clothed them;"

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that is, he directed them to employ this species of clothing. Now, whence had they those skins? The permission to eat animal food had not then been granted to man; and we cannot suppose that the animals were killed, merely for the purpose of furnishing clothing to the first human pair,-that is a refinement of comparatively modern times, when the innocent animals are persecuted into the remotest wildernesses and fastnesses of the earth, merely for their skins, to furnish trappings of vanity to the luxurious and the wealthy.

But Adam and Eve were clothed in the skins of animals which had been offered in sacrifice; that, in the death of the victim they might see the heinousness of sin, and, in the shelter and comfort which they derived from wearing their spoils, might learn, that, instead of being clothed with sin, as with a garment, they could derive security and hope from the blood of atonement.

No ordinance can be conceived so effectual for preparing the world for the doctrine of atonement through the blood of Christ, as the institution of sacrifices. Had such a practice been unknown, the doctrine of atonement, through Christ, would have appeared strange and startling, and it would have been said, "how comes it that nothing similar to this has been heard of since the foundation of the world?" But when we find the doctrine of atonement by blood forming a fundamental article in all Religions, whilst human reason could give no adequate explanation of the practice, and then perceive the extraordinary nature of the Christian sacrifice, both in regard to its evidence and its efficacy, we have no difficulty in recognising sacrifices as symbolical prophecies, published and read among all nations, to prepare them for trusting in that great sacrifice, which alone can take away the sins of the world.

We must not imagine that the heathen nations derived their practice of sacrificing from the Jews; no people on earth had less influence than they in disseminating the doctrine and practice of sacrifice over the world. The sacrificial regulations were given to them when they sojourned in the wilderness, and when they were expressly forbidden to hold intercourse with the surrounding nations, with which they were in a state of constant hostility. But this was not the commencement of the practice among them, it was merely an authoritative republication of an ordinance which had existed throughout the world, ever since the fall of man, that the Jews might recognise its divine origin, as coming to them through the hands of their great leader and legislator, who was guided, in all his proceedings, by the dictation of heaven; and we shall find that the sacrifices under the law, were the same as those which were in use before the law was given, with the exception of a few, such as the Passover, which had an immediate reference to the history of the Jews. Cain and Abel, for instance, offered the fruits of the earth, and the firstlings of the flocks, and these were recognised offerings, not only under the law of Moses, but among all the heathen nations. The next sacrifice, of which we have any account, was offered by Noah, when he was rescued from the waters of the flood; he "builded an altar unto the Lord, and took of every clean beast, and of every clean fowl, and offered burntofferings on the altar.' Gen. viii. 20. These were considered as acceptable sacrifices among all nations. Abraham is the next person, renowned for piety, who is recorded as worshipping God by sacrifice; for he built an altar at Bethel," and called upon the name of the Lord:" this place became sacred to him and his descendants; they delighted to repair to it to offer sacrifices unto God; and well might they do so, when God honoured it so far as to call himself "The God of Bethel!" Abraham, by the direction of God, offered the very same sacrifices which were afterwards enjoined by the law of Moses. He took a heifer, and a she-goat, and

a ram,

But it may, perhaps, appear a little remarkable, that nations decidedly hostile to the Israelitish people, should, nevertheless, offer the same victims, and observe the same rites of sacrifice. Balaam, and Job, and David, though living in different countries, and in different ages, and under different dispensations, nevertheless, offer the very same sacrifices unto God. When David went to bring the ark from the house of ObedEdom, the event was celebrated with the greatest solemnity and the king, and the Levites, offered seven bullocks and seven rams unto the Lord.-1 Chron. xv. 25, 26. The same sacrifice was offered by Job, in behalf of his friends: "Take unto you now seven bullocks, and seven rams, and go to my servant Job, and offer up for yourselves a burnt-offering.”—Job xlii. 8. This offering by the man of Uz was, perhaps, prior even to the giving of the law to Moses; for the book of Job has all the marks of the very highest antiquity. He lived at a period when the paternal and the priestly characters were combined; and he offered up regular burnt-offerings in behalf of his children. This proves that he either lived before the law was given, or, at least, that he had no connexion with the commonwealth of Israel. If it is alleged that he was a good man, and that God imparted his will to him, the fact is admitted; but then, I infer from this that neither sacrifice, nor the rule of sacrificing, ever were invented by man; and that, wherever the practice and the rites existed, they were both dictated by God. Hence the general uniformity which prevailed on these points among all nations; and hence Balaam, a wicked man, who was reluctantly withheld from cursing Israel, did not venture to deviate from the prescribed rule, except by attempting to make his conformity more conspicuous by a sevenfold number of altars and victims; conceiving, as the ignorant and superstitions have always done, that there is merit in excess where the end and object are considered to be good. On this principle, he said to the king of Moab, "Build me here seven altars, and prepare me here seven oxen and seven rams. -Num. xxiii. 1.

From the facts that have been stated, we see the antiquity, and the universality, and the general uniformity of sacrificing which prevailed among the early branches of the hunian family; whilst it is impossible to say which (or whether any of them) borrowed from the others. It was, in fact, a primeval rite, appointed by God, to keep open an intercourse between man and his Maker, and to typify that great sacrifice offered by Him "who is the way, and the truth, and the life," through whom alone we can come unto God. distinction of animals into clean and unclean, which prevailed before the flood, must have been made en

The

There is every probability that Job lived even before the time of Abraham, and, therefore, could not have borrowed the practice and rule of sacrificing from him. We may judge of the period when he lived, by the longevity which he attained. There was a gradual curtailinent of the extent of human life after the flood, till it sunk down to its present standard. Abraham reached the age of 175 years, and we know of none who came after him who exceeded that age, except Isaac, who lived to 180. But we have reason to think, that Job must have been considerably older: we know not what his age was when he was in the height of his prosperity, the richest man in the East, with seven sons and three daughters; but we are informed, that after all his misfortunes, when a family and possessions were again given to him, he lived in the enjoyment of these blessings for 140 years.-Jou. xlii. 16. The Septuagint makes Jub to have lived 210 years. We may infer from these facts, and the data mentioned above, that he both lived longer and earlier than Abrahain.

his descendants to eat the flesh even of clean animals; and all those which were used in sacrifice, were also used for human food, to intimate, that both soul and body should be pure; or, as it is expressed in Scripture, "that we should cleanse ourselves from all filthi ness of the flesh and of the spirit; and perfect holiness in the fear of the Lord." And, moreover, the offering of clean animals to God was intended to teach us that we must serve God with our substance, that we must be ready to part with a portion of that which he has allotted for our food, as a token of gratitude, and a confession that all that we have is his, and that it is only of his own that we are giving unto him. We may, therefore, recognise in the universal practice of sacritice the intimation of a universal law, binding on all mankind, to surrender a part of their substance for the service of the altar, and the worship of God; and another reason for offering only clean animals was this, that the offerers themselves partook of the sacrifices, as a token of their communion with the Deity, to whom the offering was presented; and hence, they were not permitted to offer on the altar what could not be used by themselves as food.

The distinction of animals into clean and unclean is not purely arbitrary; it is founded in nature, and has a meaning and a moral. That it is founded in nature is apparent from this, that the animals themselves re cognise distinction by their habits and instincts; and it is rare that a beast of prey will choose to feed on a animal of its own class or kind: the clean graminivor ous and frugivorous beasts and birds are almost univer sally selected as food by the rapacious tribes, whilst they shun those of their own kind and character. Since, then, the animals used in sacrifice from the beginning i the world, and generally among all nations, are only the meek, gentle, and useful, we are entitled to infer, that mildness, gentleness and benevolence are the quali ties which God requires in his worshippers: and as the rapacious and blood-thirsty animals are rejected ia sacrifices, so the man of violence, cruelty and blood, is an abomination in the sight of God.

Even the rites and ceremonies, then, of the sacrificial law, read us an important moral and religious lesson; and as Moses was enjoined to form the visible tabernacle according to the pattern which he had seen oa the Mount, so we may be certain that every part of the altar service was intended to convey an important lesson to mankind. Hence, in reference to the sacrificial animals, we are enjoined to imitate the meekness of the lamb, and the gentleness of the dove; whilst the murderous strength of the roaring lion, and the savage cruelty of the ravening wolf, are employed as figures, to represent the qualities in human nature most abhorrent to God. We see, then, the moral congruity of offering to God the animals which his word authorises us to consider as emblematical of the mild, peaceable, Chris tian virtues; and of rejecting those whose habits are characteristic of violence, impurity, or guile. The sow was rejected as the utmost abomination, on account of its filthy habits, to show that indecency is an odious deformity in a being bearing the image of Christ; and that want of decency is more than want of sense, as it is the sure sign of moral turpitude, and of a grovelling earthly mind.

tion is from the creature, and the work of God is laid | upon it. Pleasure, profit, and honour are the natural man's trinity, and his carnal self is these in unity. It was our first sin to aspire to be as gods, and it is the greatest sin that is propagated in our nature from generation to generation. When God should guide us, we guide ourselves; when He should be our sovereign, we rule ourselves; the laws which he gave us we find fault with, and would correct, and, if we had the making of them, we would have made them otherwise; when he should take care of us, (and must, or we perish,) we will take care of ourselves; when we should depend on him in daily receivings, we had rather have our portion in our own hands; when we should submit to his providence, we usually quarrel at it, and think we could make a better disposal than God hath made; when we should study and love, trust and honour God, we study and love, trust and honour our carnal selves. Instead of God, we would have all men's eyes and dependence on us, and all men's thanks returned to us, and would gladly be the only man on earth extolled and admired by all. Thus, we are naturally our own idols. But down falls this Dagon, when God does once renew the soul. It is the chief design of that great Work to bring the heart back to God himself. He convinceth the sinner that the creature can neither be his God, to make him happy, nor his Christ, to recover him from his misery, and restore him to God, who is lis happiness. God does this, not only by his Word, but by providence also. This is the reason why affliction so frequently concurs in the work of conversion. Arguments which speak to the quick will force a hearing, when the most powerful words are slighted. If a Sinner make his credit his god, and God shall cast him to the lowest disgrace, or bring him, who idolized his rices, into a condition wherein they cannot help him, cause them to take wing and fly away, what a help here to this work of conviction! If a man make pleare his god, whatsoever a roving eye, curious ear, a greedy appetite, or a lustful heart could desire, and God should take these from him, or turn them into gall er wormwood, what a help is here to conviction! When God shall cast a man into languishing sickness, and indict wounds on his heart, and stir up against hiin Ls own conscience, and then, as it were, say to him, Try if your credit, riches or pleasure can help you. Cathey heal your wounded conscience? Can they Tow support your tottering tabernacles? Can they ep your departing soul in your body, or save you on mine everlasting wrath, or redeem your soul from tal flames? Cry aloud to them, and see now wheer these will be to you instead of God and Christ." how this works now with the sinner! Sense acknowbges the truth, and even the flesh is convinced of the ature's vanity, and our very deceiver is undeceived. -BAXTER.

Where is Satisfaction to be found?—The hungry cravlag soul that would fain be happy, but knows not how, zeed not spend its days in making uncertain guesses and tless attempts and trials: It may fix its hovering Thoughts, and upon assurance here given, say, I have Tow lound at last where satisfaction may be had; and Love only this to do, to bend all my powers hither, and tead this one thing, the possessing myself of this blessdrest; earnestly to endeavour and patiently to wait t. Happy discovery! Welcome tidings! I now ow which way to turn my eye and direct my pursuit. I shall no longer spend myself in dubious, toilsome wanings, in anxious vain inquiry: I have found, I have Und! blessedness is here. If I can but get a lively, Puracious sight of God, I have enough,-shew me the ther and it sufficeth. Let the weary wandering soul bethink itself and return to God. He will not mock thee with shadows as the world hath done. This is eternal life, to know him, the only true God, and Jesus

Christ, whom he hath sent. Apart from Christ, thou canst not know nor see him with fruit and comfort, but the Gospel Revelation (which is the Revelation of God in Christ), gives thee a lovely prospect of him; his glory shines in the face of Jesus Christ.-Howe.

Whom have I in Heaven but Thee?-Yea, but you will say, how might David truly demand, "Whom have I in heaven but thee?" Is there none to be had in heaven but God? Are there none that walk in the streets. of the celestial Jerusalem that are paved with gold? Do none dwell in those glorious tabernacles that are not made with hands? Do those twelve precious gates serve only to beautify the holy city? Do none enter in at them? Surely, if those dark and low rooms are so well filled, it is not likely that those large, fair, and lightsome upper rooms are void! The sky is not more richly decked with glistening stars, than the throne of God with celestial lights. Beyond question, there are innumerable armies of cherubim and seraphim, archangels and angels, saints and martyrs; yet the faithful soul hath none of these, or rather none of these have her, but he whom they all serve, who hath vouchsafed to make her his spouse: in none but him hath she affiance, him she serveth as her lord, obeyeth as her king, honoureth as her father, and loveth as her husband, and in this respect may truly say, "Whom have I in heaven but thee?" When Cyrus took the King of Armenia, and his son Tigranes, their wives and children, prisoners, and, upon their humble submission, gave them their lives and their liberty, on their return home, as they all began to commend Cyrus, some for his personage, some for his power, some for his elemency, Tigranes asked his wife, what thinkest thou? is he not a comely and a proper man, and of a majestic presence?

Truly," said she, "I know not what manner of man he is, for I never looked on him!" "What!" inquired he, "where were thine eyes all the while? Upon whom didst thou then look?" "I fixed my eyes," said she," all the while upon him (meaning her husband,) who, in my hearing, offered to Cyrus to lay down his life for my ransom! In like manner, if any question the devout soul, whether she be not captivated with the cherubim and seraphim, angels, or saints, her answer will be, that she scarcely ever east a look on them, because her eyes were never off him, who not only offered, but laid down his life for her, and ransomed her with his own blood.-FEATLEY.

On the Efficacy of Affliction.-Many who have waited year after year on the preaching of the word; who have looked on communion after communion, while the blessed symbols of redemption have been distributed among the faithful, who have gone away from these holy things with minds uninstructed and unmoved, whom the fetters of inattention have bound; in whom every power and sensibility has been benumbed, "who have had ears, but heard not; eyes, but saw not; many such have often experienced, how effectually even a single visitation of calamity becomes the means of dissolving the bands of this sinful torpor. How often has the threatening of death served to cast the light of such a convincing commentary on the doctrines of repentance and faith, as not even the highest eloquence of human illustration could ever elicit. And attendance on a sick-bed, and the sight of an expiring friend, and the hearing of those last breathings of Christian faith, which raise the departing soul above even the mortal struggle; those words which would soften the grief of separation, by expressing the sad hope of the meeting hereafter; how often have these brought religion forward to the most careless eye, in all its native importance and solemnity. What an incalculable power does the call to repentance, and the proposal of mercy receive, when the near view of the eternal world teaches the need of divine forgiveness, and the value of divine favour.—MUIR,

SACRED POETRY.

A MOTHER'S DEATH.

BY THE REV. STEVENSON M'GILL, D.D., Professor of Theology, University of Glasgow. FAR from each busy scene, I meditate,

Sad, yet not sorrowing, on the hour of deathThe death of thee, my parent, lost so late

Thy death so sweeten'd by thy Christian faith! And thee, O world! I gladly leave behind,

To seek retirement's calm and silent road; Sublimer thoughts engage my chastened mind;

And, from the grave, my soul ascends to GodAscends through Him, on whom I place my trust, Who heals the wound by which my heart was torn ; And, while my tears fall o'er my Mother's dust,

My mind is soothed-I weep-but do not mourn. Yes-sweet the thoughts which fill my glist'ning eye; Soft as the dew-drops are the tears I shed; And, while I feel affection's broken tie, I love to think on the departed dead. No anguish'd thought attends my Mother's grave; Past days remind me only of her love; And, through her faith in Him who came to save, I see her now among the bless'd above. And with her there, I hope my Lord to join,

Free from my griefs and all my worldly cares; Her hope, her path, her portion, shall be mine; Nor vain for me shall be her dying prayers. She was through life my fond but faithful friend; More than myself, she felt my griefs and joys; Yet still she kept before me life's great endThe Christian's calling, and the Christian's prize. Lofty, though tender, was her virtuous mind;

Upright and generous, candid as the day; True while she loved, unflattering while kind— To noblest aims she pointed still my way. In youth's sweet days she heard her Saviour's voice; With deep devotion gave herself to God; Through chequer'd life, felt still religion's joys; Through good and ill, still held the heavenly road. Her course was long-in peace she saw its end,

And look'd beyond the vale with lively faith; She saw the glory of the promised land,

And feared no evil in the shades of death.

Low in the grave I laid her honour'd head,
And thought of all the scenes thro' which she pass'd;
The young and aged number'd with the dead-

The valued friends with whom I once was bless'd.

I felt myself a stranger on the earth;

Saw Jordan's gloomy waves before me rollEternal things in all their speechless worth

And solemn grandeur, rose before my soul. Prostrate I fell before the sacred throne;

With humble prayer, renewed my sacred vows; And, trusting in my Saviour's grace alone,

Look'd to the mansions of my Father's house. And now I love the calm and silent shade;

To rise in faith beyond the bounds of time;
With softened heart, to think upon the dead,
And elevate my soul in thoughts sublime.
Yet, while I see the wond'rous ages roll,

The plan of grace fulfilling all its ends;
With every scene which rises on my soul,
I see the forms of my DEPARTED FRIENDS.
The weary traveller in a trackless land,

The sea-toss'd mariners where'er they roam,
Think of the country where their wanderings end,
And see their friends in every thought of home.

MISCELLANEOUS.

Submission to the will of God.-Fenelon, Archbishop of Cambray, when his illustrious pupil, the Duke of Burgundy, lay dead in his coffin, and the nobles of his court, in all the pomp of silent sadness, stood weeping around, came into the room, and fixing his eyes on the corpse, broke out in these words: "There lies my beloved prince, for whom I had the affection of the tenderest parent; nor was my affection lost he loved me with the ardour of a son! There he lies, and all my worldly happiness lies dead with him; but, if the turning of a straw would call him back to life, I would not, for ten thousand worlds, be the turner of that straw, in opposition to the will of God."

Providential Escape.-There was a small court between St Antholin's Church, and that part of the rectory-manse, in which the late Henry Venn's father's study was situated. This had been roofed and tiled over; and here he used to play, when he was able to say his lessons, till his father was at leisure to hear him. One day, being perfect in his lesson, he, as usual, asked leave to play, but was refused; as this leave had rarely before been denied, and his father did not appear to be at leisure to bear him, he concluded that his request bad been misunderstood, and again asked permission to play, but was immediately and peremptorily refused. Soon after, his mother came into the room, and seeing him looking out of the window, while his father appeared deeply engaged in writing, she asked, of her own accord, whether he might not be allowed to play, but her request was also refused. She thought this extraordinary, but her surprise was changed into astonishment and gratitude, when, a few minutes after, the whole roof fell in, and would have crushed her child to death, had he been playing there, as was requested. His father acknowledged that he had no particular reason, at the noment, for denying the wonted permission, but, having once refused, thought it proper to persist in the refusal.

Danger of Daubing with Untempered Mortar.—In a very interesting and instructive little work, entitled, "African Light," published by Waugh and Innes, Edinburgh, the author, Mr Campbell, the South African traveller, gives the following illustration of Ezek. xi. 10 and 11, where the prophet speaks of the danger arising from daubing with untempered mortar. 64 In countries destitute of coal, bricks are only either sun-dried, or very slightly burnt with bushes and branches of trees, laid over them and set on fire. Such are ready to moulder if exposed to moisture, and entirely to melt away if exposed to heavy rain dashing against them. To prevent such a catastrophe, all the houses in the Cape colony are daubed, or plastered, over with fire mortar, made from ground sea-shells. Should only a small hole remain unnoticed in the plaster, a powerful rain will get into it, and probably soon be the destruction of the whole building. Well do I remember one deluge of rain that turned a new house of three floors absolutely into a mass of rubbish, and brought down the gable of a parish church, besides injuring many other buildings."

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