supplied to his family by a pious orphan, Louisa Schep- | ler, whom he had educated, and who being now twentythree years of age, begged, in the most affectionate manner, to be allowed to take the management of his household affairs and his children, asking only one return for her faithful services, that she might be permitted to take the name of Oberlin.

The arrangements of Oberlin's house were exactly of such a kind as might be expected from his character. On the door of every room he had some pasteboard fastened, containing a verse from the Bible, or some useful moral maxim; and to all his visitors he gave, as a welcome, a printed text, such as "Abide in me, and I in you," or, "Seek those things which are above." His walls were covered with engravings, portraits of eminent characters, plates of animals, drawings of minerals, and, in short, with everything calculated to convey to the mind definite ideas of objects in natural history. His meals were always at early hours, exact at the time, and consisted of the simplest possible articles; and during the repast, he frequently engaged in useful discourse, having a very happy talent of improving every occurrence. There was one room in his house, where he was most frequently to be found, and that was his workshop, where he kept his tools, and where he made many things for his people with his own hands. He had there a turning-lathe, a printingpress, and a press for bookbinding. His mechanical turn made nothing come amiss to him; and everything he could think of for the comfort of the poor, and the temporal improvement of the people, he prepared at his own expense, and with his own hands, in that workshop. At the breaking out of the French Revolution, Oberlin was attached to its principles; and his son, who entered the service as a volunteer, fell almost in the first campaign a loss which he bore with the greatest resignation. Like the rest of the clergy, at that dreadful period, he was deprived of his scanty income, but it was in some measure supplied to him by the heads of bis parish, who made an annual collection for him, by going from house to house; but from the increasing disasters of the times, that precarious revenue was diminished from year to year. And yet his equanimity and his trust in God never forsook him amid his own and his family's distress. One consolation was left him, that while in the Reign of Terror that then prevailed, every kind of worship was prohibited, and men of talent, learning, and influence, were thrown into dungeons, he was allowed to prosecute his labours without molestation a liberty, however, which he owed not to the clemency of the Government, but to the remoteness and poverty of his situation. His house consequently became an asylum to persons of all creeds, and to individuals even of the most distinguished rank, to all of whom he opened his hospitable door, without regarding the personal risk to which his generosity exposed him. Nor was he ever molested, for, with the exception of one occasion, when he was falsely accused of having excited his people against the existing order of things, and from which charge he was speedily dismissed, the well-known integrity and Christian principles of this great man procured for him an alLost solitary exemption from the miseries to which men of public character were then subjected. From the failure of his income, he was reduced to the necessity of providing some means of maintaining his family; and as soon as the fall of Robespierre and other circumstances enabled him to carry his plans into effect with safety, he announced his intention of taking ten or twelve pupils into his house. The sons of several distinguished foreigners were soon put under his ere, and he had then in a short time in his power an income, which enabled him once more to indulge his benevolent dispositions. He publicly declared to his flock, that he would release them from the duty of con

tributing to his support, although every contribution they chose, and found it convenient to make for him, he would still cheerfully accept as a mark of their goodwill; but he desired that they would still continue to contribute, whether in the shape of goods or money, for the schoolmasters, and for every other charitable object established among them. He himself, with the assistance of Louisa Schepler, superintended the distribution of whatever was thus contributed, keeping an exact account of every article disbursed, whether on his own account, or for the public good, as it was a constant maxim with him to " do all things in order," and to owe no man anything." It may appear surprising, how a man, with so slender an income as Oberlin, could have any thing to spare, much less to carry on his numerous plans of public usefulness.

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His ability arose, not certainly from the abundance of his resources, but from his habits and principles, for, having been early impressed, through the writings of Moses, with the laws concerning tithes, he resolved to observe them, and devoted three tithes of all he possessed to the service of God and the poor. The same habits he had impressed upon his people, and the plan was this, he kept three boxes, on each of which suitable texts of the Mosaic law were inscribed. The contents of the first were assigned to the erection and repair of the churches and schools, to the support of masters and mistresses for the latter, to the purchase of Bibles and religious books, and to the advancement of every thing connected with the worship of God and the extension of the Redeemer's kingdom. The second box was for receiving funds appropriated to the improvement of the roads that led to the churches and schools, for dinners to the poor, and for repairing of injuries. The contents of the third box were for the service of the poor, and for compensation of losses by fire, which were frequent in the district. So scrupulous was he in discharging his obligations to these boxes, that whenever he heard that the sum was not sufficient for any one of the above purposes, or when he was under the necessity of taking any thing out for a time, he kept a debtor and creditor's account between himself and the box; so that by the small sums put from time to time into these boxes, he and his people, who were taught to imitate his example, had almost always funds at command for any useful or charitable object.

The extraordinary exertions of Oberlin for the public good had long attracted attention; and when at the restoration of the Bourbons, the French Government was settled, his claims to some public tribute were brought under the notice of Louis XVIII., who sent him the ribbon of the Legion of Honour. The Royal Agricultural Society of France voted him a gold medal; and what was a greater, and to him more valuable, honour, the British and Foreign Bible Society made him their first foreign correspondent, and forwarded to him a large donation of Bibles. In the full enjoyment of health and domestic happiness, he saw his children respectably married and placed in honourable stations; and with a mind immoveably resting on the sure Foundation, this venerable man, at the age of fourscore, looked calmly forward to the hour of his departure. Nevertheless he did not abate in his public labours; he went continually about among his people as much as his increasing infirmities would allow. When he left home, he always wore a cocked hat and the red ribbon he had received from his Sovereign. On the Sabbaths he officiated in each of the five churches in his parish by turns; and one of the people of the hamlet where he was to preach, brought a horse for him, on which he rode in his pastoral robes, some of the principal farmers of the district meeting him, each agreeing to enjoy in rotation the honour of entertaining their beloved pastor at dinner. The intervals of public worship were passed in dining with the bourgeois, and afterwards visiting some

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of the old and excellent men and women of the place. On his return to his family, the evening of the Sabbath was spent in reading the Scriptures, and edifying conversation, concluded by a French hymn, in which all the household joined. His public services in the way of preaching were not confined to the Sabbath, for, every Friday evening, he conducted worship in German for the benefit of people of the neighbourhood who were better acquainted with that language than French." His congregation on a Sunday consisted of about 600 persons, but on the week days, of about 200 persons; and Oberlin, laying aside all form, seemed on such occasions, more like a grandfather surrounded by his children and grandchildren, to whom he was giving suitable instruction, than the minister of an extensive parish. In order that no time might be lost, he used to make his female bearers knit stockings during the service, not indeed for themselves or their families, but for their poorer neighbours, as he believed that this charitable employment would not distract their attention, nor interrupt the devotional spirit which pervaded the evening assemblies. When he had pursued for half an hour the strain of his reflections upon the portion of Scripture which he had just been reading, he would often say to them, "well, my children, are you not tired? Have you not had enough? Tell me, my friends?" To which inquiry, his parishioners would reply," No, Papa, go on, we should like to hear a little more;" though on soine occasions, with characteristic frankness, the answer was," Enough, we thank you, for one time;" and the good old man would leave off in the midst of his discourse, or wait a little, and afterwards resume it, putting the same question again at intervals, until he saw that the attention of his congregation began to flag, or until they, perceiving that he spoke with less ease, would thank him for his instructions, and beg him to conclude. Nor was it to the pulpit alone that this indefatigable minister of Christ confined his spiritual labours. He used to go frequently among the people on pastoral visits, during which he carried with him a book, in which be marked down his observations, as to the character and condition of each, under distinct heads, such as the class of "idlers," "bad managers,' "promising," "decidedly religious," &c. Another method he took, was to make his remarks on the state of his congregation under the Ten Commandments. And on all these occasions of pastoral visitation, he entered in the most familiar and affectionate manner into converse with the humblest.

Oberlin's last illness was sudden and of short duration, and be evinced the same placid resignation and composure of mind which his previous life had manifested; on the most trying occasions, exclaiming at intervals in broken sentences, "Lord Jesus, take me speedily. Nevertheless, not my will, but thine be done." His funeral was attended by crowds from all quarters, anxious to pay the last tribute to the memory of Dear Papa, as he was always styled, and to look on his venerable countenance, which they were enabled to see through a glass lid which covered the coffin. As the funeral procession left the house, they placed on the coffin the clerical robes of the late pastor, along with his Bible, and to the pall was fixed the decoration of the Legion of Honour. Ten or twelve young females joined in a hymn at the grave. The oldest inhabitant carried an inscription for the tomb, bearing the words, "Papa Oberlin." And after the procession had reached the church, and the coffin was placed on the altar, beneath which it was to be buried, the Rev. M. Jaeglè mounted the pulpit, pronounced the funeral sermon, and concluded by reading a paper in the handwriting of the deceased, which he had addressed to all his parishioners; and its affectionate and earnest exhortations tended greatly to increase the regret and lamentation for the loss of so apostolic a minister.

THE CONVERSION OF AN INFIDEL.

WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.

[The narrative which follows, is extracted, by permission, from a work, consisting of authentic accounts of the power of Divine Truth, as exemplified in various cases which have actually occurred both in the army and navy. The work, which bears the name of a highly respectable Baptist minister in Edinburgh, Mr INNES, is entitled, "The Church in the Army;" published by Waugh and Innes.]

"I should premise, that ever since I was seventeen years of age I had been an open infidel and deist, having been made so at that early age by an old greyheaded gentleman, who attacked me one night at his house in Hereford, where I was spending the evening with his son. The old man, thinking I was an artless easy prey, commenced the subject after tea-warily and artfully, lest I should be shocked and frightened away. He tempted me, just as the devil did Eve, by casting suspicious doubts and evil surmises into my mind, till he excited my eager curiosity to hear all he had to say, telling me it was true wisdom and knowledge, and that I and all Christians were blinded by priesteraft, &c. As I knew nothing of the arguments in proof of the authenticity of the Scripture and truth of the Christian religion, he, in the course of a couple of hours, so powerfully tempted me-exciting in me every bad passion, particularly my pride to gain this knowledge and be wiser than the Christian world at large, and that I might be above all law to God, and sin with impunity

that I stretched forth my hand, and did pluck of the forbidden tree and eat. Instantly the poison began to work and corrupt within me; for I left him late, and on going home, finding my sisters had gone to bed, I thought I could not rest till morning to attack them as I myself had been attacked; and when I gained opportunity, endeavoured, by rant, boldness, and boasting, to poison them with the same abominations I had now imbibed.

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"I continued in this state, a proud infidel boaster, till I went to a place called Mohill, in the county of Leitrim, in Ireland, on detachment; having, alas ! ere this, corrupted many a young man with the poison of infidelity: for I had learnt all the jargon, cant, sophistry, and impudence of this system of the devil; and to be thought a clever fellow, and to raise a laugh, I used to ridicule Christ and his religion-but I own it was more out of sinful pride and vanity, than from disrespect in my judgment, or enmity to the character of Christ and his religion. However, I did not, and could not, in any sense, believe His religion or the Bible to be true. I had never read any arguments or books of evidences of the truth of Christianity, nor would I read them; but I had greedily devoured all the infidel writings I could meet with. The fact is, I did not wish to be convinced of the truth of the Bible and the Christian religion. I was an infidel from the love of sin, that I might indulge therein with impunity and liberty, and without fear of evil consequences; and for the same reasons would have been an open professed atheist, but I could not. And I believe in my soul that every infidel and atheist is so solely from the same motives; and I am persuaded that most of this class of men feel as I did, if they would but tell the truth-but they are ashamed to do so-for, although I launched into all the pleasures and sins of the ungodly world, I was miserable; and, like Milton's Satan, carried a hell within me, from which, no more than from myself, could I escape by change of time, or place, or scene. I knew there was a God, omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent, holy, righteous, and true. I could not but believe and deeply feel, though I denied it, that there was a judgment-day to come a heaven, and a hell. These truths I never could shake off, and I was, therefore, at times, when not in the intoxication of pleasure and revelry, miscrably wretched. There were some simple arguments which, from their reasonableness and truth, always tor

other Christian people's society, (who used to meet together for social prayer and reading the Scriptures,) and by reading good books and tracts, I gradually became influenced, I trust, by the truth as it is in Jesus. As I heard and read the primary fundamental truths on which all real Christians of all denominations agree, I learned to pray earnestly to Jesus Christ, under a sense of guilt, now deeply felt, for pardon and salvation, regeneration and holiness; and I do trust the good work of grace was then begun in my regeneration and conversion of soul to God; for I was sincere and zealous at that time among all my friends and relations, endeavouring to lead them into the truth, so far as I experimentally knew it.

"When I was led to see the true nature and grounds of a sinner's justification before God; that it was not conditional, but unconditional, and through the righteousness of Christ imputed by faith-that is, that the sinner upon believing pardoned, accepted, and invested with a title to eternal life, for the sake of the infinite merits of Jesus Christ, (who died, the just for the unjust, to reconcile us to God,) through the mercy and sovereign grace of God the Father:when I understood and received this blessed truth, I was quite overwhelmed with that joyous grief which ever accompanies true repentance not to be repented of.' I now saw clearly that a repenting, believing sinner is completely and eternally justified, through faith, without the deeds of the law; even through the righteousness of God, who can be (or appear) just, as well as merciful, while 'the justifier of him which believeth in Jesus; so that to him that worketh not, but believeth on him that justifieth the ungodly, his faith is counted to him for righteousness. Now I plainly saw the meaning of, heartily embraced, and rejoiced in, these blessed passages, and multitudes more of the same nature throughout the Word of God. They now appeared as with a sunbeam; and I was only amazed at myself in being so sinfully blind and obstinate as not to understand and receive them before; and that I could have been so long bewitched as to resist or oppose their plain and obvious meaning.

"The immediate effects of this change wrought in me by the Holy Spirit were great. My load of uncertainty, legality, self-righteousness, and unhappiness was removed entirely, and my soul filled with peace and joy. I was brought as into a new world of being; looked upon the Word of God, religion, and all things in the kingdoms of nature and providence, as well as of grace and glory, through a new medium; old things, indeed, in many important senses, had passed away, and all things had become new. And as to love to God in Christ, not only for mercies generally, but these sure, eternally sure mercies, my heart was ready to burst its bounds; and now in deed and in truth I felt powerfully the words of Jesus to Mary, Her sins, which are many, are forgiven her; therefore she loveth much.' Full assurance of faith and hope filled my soul, and I felt as already in heaven. Now I could say, with Paul, I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord: and do count them but dung, that I may win Christ, and be found in him; not having mine own righteousness, which is of the law, but that which is through the faith of Christ, the righteousness which is of God by faith. Now I felt I had power, through Christ strengthening me, to rush into the midst of the battle against the world, the flesh, and the devil, and to give a helping hand to others. Oh! truly they say falsely who affirm that these are doctrines tending to laxity of moral and spiritual conduct and life: surely they who have felt their power, (and they only can give an opinion,) can testify to the very reverse, and assert that they inspire (under the Spirit's teaching) the Christian soldier's heart to begin and continue to fight the good fight of faith unto

THIS maxim of the wise man is justified by the description which the prophet Jeremiah gives: "The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked; who can know it?" For, if it be indeed such as it is there represented, assuredly the heart cannot be very trust-worthy. And that it is so, that the prophet's description is but too correct, must appear abundantly evident to all who have ever sincerely and seriously engaged in the difficult task of self-examination. The very difficulty of the task (and who that ever tried it in earnest, has not found it difficult?) proves how full the heart which is the subject of it must be of treachery and of secret vice; and how true it is, that we can scarcely hope to gain that complete knowledge of it, which alone could warrant our placing any confidence in it. For, however we may think ourselves fixed in our attachment to holiness, and our dislike of every thing that has even the appearance of sin, can we tell how much of this specious goodness is the result of it, on the other hand, is due to the mere force of religious principle in the soul; and how much of circumstances, the restraints of society, the absence of temptation? Can we be sure, that no alarming symptoms, no latent tendencies to crime escape our cursory observation? Do we scrupulously watch over every unhallowed passion in its birth, and check the slight and seemingly insignificant beginnings of evil? Do we detect, in each loose desire, the rage and violence of unbridled appetite, in every word and look of causeless anger, the very spirit of the murderer? Can we guard against those enemies within us, which may rise in a sudden hour of weakness and of trial, and prevail over all those holy principles and holy resolutions which seem now to be so sure and strong? If we can thus thoroughly ascertain the whole amount of our strength, and the real extent of our infirmities, in that case, perhaps, it may be wise, and prudent, and safe, to trust in our own hearts. But if not; if it be so hard a task to search and know our own thoughts, and motives, and habits; if we are apt continually to be deceived or mistaken; if there be in our secret souls, a depth of depravity which we can never fathom; then, assuredly, the wise man's maxim is sagacious and sound, and he who trusteth in his own heart, must be indeed a fool.

But, not only is this maxim founded on a just

I. One striking proof of the proverb in our text, we have in our proneness to relapse into sins, of which we fancied, perhaps, that we had long ago fairly repented. When the sinner is first convinced of his sin,-when he is, by some signal warning, or some special call, arrested in his thoughtless career, and awakened to reflection, and made keenly and bitterly sensible of the guilt and danger of his evil practices or his evil passions; then, with emotions of deep contrition, and in faithful dependance on that God whose grace has disposed him to repent, the sinner-fleeing to the cross of Christ, and seeing there his sin's exceeding sinfulness, and hating it, and turning from it to the God of love-determines, by a vigorous exertion of self-denial and holy resolution, to renounce for ever the habit which has hitherto tyrannised over the powers and affections of his soul. He makes at once his prompt, yet firm choice, between God and the world. He lingers no longer in reluctant hesitation. He seeks no excuse, no compromise. He pleads not even for delay. But at once and for ever, he consents to break off all connection with the world's temptations, and to remove his feet as far as possible from the fair, but fatal paths, in which before he was wont to go astray. He feels his own weakness too, and therefore, industriously avails himself of all the means of grace. By holy meditation,-by frequent retirement, by the reading of the Scriptures,—by unceasing prayer, he strives to fortify his still feeble resolution, and to keep out of his mind all thoughts, and all desires, in the least connected with his former evil course. He shuns his old companions, and attaches himself to persons of sound religious views. He avoids every place, every amusement, every pursuit, which may tend, however Jemotely, to remind him of former liberties, and excite again the lusts of his unrenewed nature; and he labours so to busy himself in works of holy obedience, as to leave no leisure for his inclinations to wander. He starts at the slightest approach to excess. He is always watchful, always on the alert, and being ever sensible of his liability to relapse, he never, for an instant, loses his devoted reliance on the Saviour, never forgets to look to Him, who alone can carry on the good work begun in his soul.

Thus warily, thus humbly, thus devoutly trusting nothing to his own good dispositions, trusting all to Him who delivers from evil-thus does he for a time go on, and so long does he continue to walk both wisely and safely.

But soon his evil heart of unbelief tempts him again to depart from the living God. He finds that by divine grace, his rigid self-discipline and his pious care have been in some degree successful. He finds, or fancies he finds, his character to be now completely and fairly changed. He thinks, therefore, that he may now calculate somewhat un the sincerity of his repentance, on the sound

acquired taste for the beauty of holiness; his newly formed habits of self-government and selfcommand. His conversion has been fully tried and proved; he has ceased to do evil, he has learned to do well. What need, then, he asks himself, of all that timid caution, which might be prudent, perhaps, in the infancy of his religious convictions, but which may surely be dispensed with now, when these convictions have attained their full and vigorous maturity? Why should he still be so very careful and scrupulous? There cannot, he may flatter himself, there cannot now be much danger of his yielding tamely to the slightest solicitations of appetites which he has learned to subdue, or pleasures which he has been brought to abhor, or companions whose friendship he has long ago renounced. There seems, too, to be something weak and cowardly in his thus timorously confining himself within so narrow a circle of formal entrenchments and defences; why not venture boldly to cast aside his reserve, and go forth and mingle a little more freely with the world, and so boldly put to the test his repentance and his faith?

Thus, the penitent is unwarily betrayed by the very speciousness of his penitence, and that feeling of false shame, which is weak man's weakest point. He begins to relax at times his vigilance; to approach a little more nearly and less timidly the scenes and the circumstances of his former sinful pleasures. And as, perhaps, no immediate or serious harm may follow, he is fatally encouraged to venture still more confidently. He gradually and almost insensibly diminishes the fervour and the frequency of his devotions,-the pure sincerity of his single trust in God; and step by step he proceeds, from caution to negligence, from negligence to rashness, till the feeble barrier is at last broken down, and one sad moment serves at once to prove the madness of his high and proud self-confidence, and to blast the fruits of all his watching and his prayers. He finds his old enemy-the evil habit, the unruly passion which once subdued him, and which now, he thought, he had at last subdued-he finds it still much stronger than he imagined; lurking insidiously within him, even when he seemed to have wholly rooted it out; ready to take advantage of the least departure from strict discipline, and to start up again as fresh and strong as ever. He finds, that however fair the show of reformation might be, yet, when he trusted in his own heart, he was indeed a fool.

II. Another practical and experimental proof of the wise man's assertion in our text, we have, in the various turns of the believer's struggle with indwelling sin. The sins under this head referred to, are not, as in the former instance, sins apparently forsaken, into which the penitent may relapse, but rather sins which we may be even now vainly struggling to forsake the sins which do most easily beset us. Thus, to select one example, which may easily be applied to