other cases: We are sensible, perhaps, of a particular defect in our character a certain unbecoming and unchristian quickness of temper, we shall suppose a hastiness to take offence-a disposition easily fretted by disappointment, or irritated by petty provocations. This may be our besetting sin, our special infirmity, over which we have most occasion to lament. For we feel, it is presumed, the absolute necessity of getting the better of this infirmity, and it is no mere careless wish with us, but an earnest and anxious desire, to acquire that charity which beareth all things. We feel that this blemish, however trifling it might appear to a worldly eye, forms a serious barrier of separation between us and the love of God; that there can be no solid comfort to our souls, as long as this one sin prevails within us. Hence we turn our attention particularly to this most assailable point in our characters, this doubtful quarter, this, our weak and vulnerable side. We strive to fortify and secure it, by devout resolutions, by fervent appeals to God, by a holy and watchful jealousy of ourselves. Every day, as we rise in the morning, we determine to keep a stricter guard on our temper than before, and to let no earthly consideration overthrow our meekness, and our settled equanimity; and aware of our weakness in the hour of danger, and well remembering our many falls and failures in time past, we form our determination humbly and piously, in the shape of a prayer, rather than a vow, that so it may have a chance of being all the better kept.

Thus far all is well-thus wisely do we begin the day. But then, no sooner do we enter on its ordinary occupations, than we allow our minds to be absorbed in the busy tumult of society-to be hurried away by the engrossing eagerness of worldly hopes and fears. At intervals, perhaps, we pause one instant, to bestow a passing thought on our danger and our infirmity-to recollect the morning's resolution to repeat hastily the morning's prayer. But again we rush heedlessly on, and at the very moment, perhaps, when we fancy ourselves most secure when we have just successfully resisted some really severe trial of our patience, and are congratulating ourselves with soothing selfcomplacency on this flattering proof of our amendment, little grateful to Him to whose grace we owe it, and little dreaming that we are even then more in need of his grace than ever,-in such a proud moment of premature and unseasonable triumph, some trifling inconvenience, some accidental provocation, some petty annoyance, some slight domestic discomfort, scarcely worthy of a single serious thought, may gain an easy victory over our unguarded temper, and cast us down at once, from the height of our rash self-confidence, to the depths of mortified dejection and despair.

III. In illustrating this maxim, we may pass from the Christian's continual struggle with the sin that dwelleth in him, to the resolute stand which he is called upon to make against the evil that is in the world. Here our propensity to trust in our own

hearts finds much excuse in that vague and indeterminate generality with which God has seen fit to give us rules and directions in this particular. There is nowhere in his word-which is the only rule of our conduct-there is nowhere laid down, any distinct and well-defined line of separation between the things which are, and the things which are not consistent with our Christian profession. "Love not the world, neither the things of the world "-"Be not conformed to the world,”—are, indeed, emphatic commandments. But then our Lord himself came eating and drinking. He countenanced no useless austerity. He intended that his followers should not be taken out of the world, but should live and act, for his glory, in the world. We must join in the affairs of men, and we may be quite sure that we are not forbidden to join also in their pleasures. The point is, how far we may safely do so; and on this point much is necessarily left to the prudence and discretion of each believer.

Now, as this liberty is probably left to us, in part at least, for the very purpose of proving our wisdom, so, in the exercise of it, we find large oc casion for displaying our folly. Instead of walking humbly and fearfully with our God, in the midst of an evil generation, as a due sense of our frailty and our dependence would lead us to do, we seem rather disposed to give free scope to our desires of growing conformity to the world, confident in our supposed ability to stop short at any time, and say to our wildest passion, "Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther." In this too, as in the other instances, we are commonly betrayed, by gradual steps, into that confident pride which goeth before a fall. We begin, of course, very smoothly and plausilly-we make our first experiment with certain little liberties and compliances, in themselves very harmless, which interfere not perceptibly with the delicacy of our feelings, and the general regularity of our conduct. All seems as decent, and proper, and correct, as in the days of our most rigid and scrupulous precision. We are thus encouraged to unbend, yet a little more, the strict severity of our notions. For we must live as others do, we must accommodate ourselves, in some degree, to the views and practices of our associates. Still there is no very sensible diminution of our religious zea!-our devotion in prayer-our pious trust in God. We gather courage apace-presently we become liberal enough to smile at our former straitlaced scruples, and venture a sly remark on the conscientious but absurd and antiquated peculiarities of those whom we were wont to reverence. Still all seems well-we are merely growing more enlightened, and more free from narrowminded prejudices. We gradually change our tone;-and speak of human frailty,-not as once we did, with the view of humbling our pride, and confirming our watchfulness, and rendering our prayers more earnest for that grace which is made perfect in weakness-but as a palliation or excuse for what we call our trivial, and natural, and venial failings. We begin to regard with an in

ror.

dulgent eye compliances and offences from which once we would have shrunk in disgust or in horThus, imperceptibly, we lose our hold of the divine support, for we cease to care much whether we are supported or not. We tamper with temptation-we linger on the very verge of pollution, and become familiar with crime-we gaze on the forbidden region of delights, till our desire is kindled, we nurse and foster our desire, as nearer and nearer we advance, and stretch out our hand, to touch, to handle, to snatch a trembling joy; and still enlarging, and yet again enlarging, the circle in which we move, we retire to a greater distance from our Saviour's love, and make new encroachments and new inroads on the accursed border. Confessing that our corrupt inclinations still long for certain forbidden indulgences, we yet heedlessly loiter still, within sight and within reach of the glittering prize, though we feel our longing becoming daily more intense, and our power to resist it daily giving way. But why trace farther the ungrateful picture? The end may be too probably foreseen. We shall have to thank that love which we despise, and certainly not the strength of our own hearts in which we trust, if, by some seasonable interposition, we are roused to a sense of impending ruin, ere we are hurried on, as the holy David was, by the irresistible impatience and impetuosity of passion, from heedlessly yielding to the first irregular suggestions of appetite, to the crimes of adultery, and cold-blooded treachery, and deliberate and cowardly murder.

IV. One other instance of this folly we may mention: Our proneness to rely on the amount of our attainments, the sufficiency and the stability of our own conscious and confirmed integrity. For so perverse, so ingenious in its flatteries is our self-love, that the very experience which we may have had of the efficacy of divine grace, is made a reason why we should cease to trust in it; that those very attainments in goodness for which we confess ourselves to be wholly indebted to our God, furnish a pretence for imagining now that we can do without his help. We readily acknowledge, that except the Lord had been on our side, we could never have advanced so far. But then we think that all the difficulty is now fairly pastthat what remains of our course is smooth and easy-that the first impulse and the proper bias having been given, the ball will roll on, as of its own accord, to the appointed mark. So that, in the very same instant, we shall render thanks most humbly, for the past influences of the Holy Ghost, who has in part sanctified us, and yet secretly and practically cherish the delusion, that the work of our sanctification, thus auspiciously and promisingly begun, will, without any anxiety on our part, or any feeling of helpless dependence, naturally and quietly go on to perfection;-forgetting that still, to the very last, as it is God who must work in us both to will and to do of his good pleasure, so we must continue, while we work out our own salvation, to do so with fear and trembling.

It is thus that a little calm weather causes us to dwell securely, taking no thought of our crazy state, and making no provision for the storm that may be coming. The goodly summer show of our many Christian decencies deceives us, lulls us into negligence, and insensibly leads us to rely on what we are, and not on that grace which has made us what we are. No doubt, if our vigilance were still awake, we might see in our religious principles, strong as they seem, many symptoms of remaining frailty. But to such hints we are willingly blind. We easily forget the imperfection which adheres to our best services and our best qualities, and please ourselves with the idea, that some one favourite Christian virtue, at least, is now strong enough for any emergency. And from the very instant in which such an idea begins to prevail within us, that particular virtue may be pronounced the feeblest and the most precarious of all that we have. A slight change of circumstances some very trifling accident, unforeseen and unexpected-a new temptation suddenly assailing us-may lay the proud structure in the dust, and teach us how vain it is to trust in any degree of excellence, in any height of Christian perfection, and to lose sight of Him, from whom that very excellence derives all its stability, in whom alone we can hope to continue for a single hour free from deadly sin. It is in this way that the very best qualities of the very best men, become, in one sense, the means of their fall-when they become the ground of their self-confidence-when they beguile them into the rash delusion of trusting in grace already received, rather than in grace every instant promised. The zeal of Peter was no doubt sincere, when he said to his Master,"Though I should die with thee, yet will I not betray thee." Nor was it a cold or lukewarm zeal which would have called forth his sword in his Master's defence. Yet his assurance failed him in the hour of trial, for it rested on himself alone. Warned as he was, he rushed heedlessly into danger, and fell the victim of his folly in trusting in his own heart. Even the meekness of Moses-of him concerning whom we have divine testimony, that he was "very meek above all men which were upon the face of the earth"-even his meekness was not proof against all provocation. On one memorable occasion, at the Waters of Strife, his passion was kindled, so that he spake unadvisedly with his lips;-which one offence, we know, deprived him of the glory of leading the Israelites into the land of promise. And the single instance of the Syrian Hazael, who, when Elisha with tears foretold his future cruelties, with the honest indignation of conscious honour, repelled the charge, "Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this thing?" the recollection that this very man no sooner heard that he was destined to be King of Syria, than the lust of empire made all his goodness melt away, and turned him at once into a traitor, an assassin, and a tyrant,-this one instance were enough to convince us, that not the best of alb our good dispositions is in any case trust-worthy

the Chinese, a people who seem to have nothing in common with the Jew-we shall find a strange identity of superstition. The following extract is from "Abeel's Residence in China," an interesting little work:

"According to the superstitious custom of the Chinese, they have just been paying their annual visit to their departed relatives; repairing their tombs; decorating the surrounding spots with coloured papers; offering sacrifice to their manes, and attending to numerous rites, which they conceive to be becoming in the living, and not only gratifying to the dead, but quite necessary to their comfort. The more wealthy erect on these occasions booths on the hills, assemble their kindred, prepare a sumptuous entertainment, provide candles, incense, gold and silver paper, suits of clothes and other articles, which, being converted by the operation of fire into smoke, pass, they imagine, into the world of spirits. There they kneel and pray to this effect: We, a multitude of children, grandchildren, and other descendants, now, on such a day, have come hither to worship at our ancestors' tumuli. We pray, that by the protection of our ancestors, we may become prosperous, and that their descendants may be constantly supported. Even those who profess to believe the doctrine of spiritual annihilation or metempsychosis, are among the most scrupulous in their offerings to the dead. It appears to be a very prevailing opinion, that the spirit, or one of the spirits, as they believe in a plurality, continues in the vicinity of the dispossessed body; that the sympathy between them remains almost as perfect as before their separation; and that the comfort of the living agent is materially affected by the regard shewn to it, or to its decaying companion by earthly relatives. The idea of having none to sacrifice at their tombs, and supply them with such things as they are supposed to need in the invisible state, is abhorrent to a Chinaman."

Leaving the cemeteries of the Chinese, let us enter into the temples of the Roman Catholic all over the world, and still do we find the prayer ascending to the dead. Nay, there we find what we did not before, an assembled conclave of men, declaring, with an assumed tone of infallibity, "that the saints do pray for men, that it is profitable to invocate them, and to have recourse to their prayers and assistance." And further, hurling an anathema on those who say, "that their relies and sepultures ought not to be honoured."

Truly, Satan is "Prince of the Power of the Air," for his delusions spread wherever there is air for man to breathe. Ask the Jew, the Chinese, the Romanist, why he lifts up unholy hands in prayer to the dead, “intruding into those things which he hath not seen ?" The Jew will appeal to the Talmud, the Chinese to some Antediluvian lawgiver, the Romanist to tradition and the Church, as authorities for the practice, and perhaps they are all equally successful in the appeal. But might not an intelligent child point out a primary authority, whence these authorities derive all their information and all their power,-namely, the natural heart "led captive by Satan at his will," the fleshly mind which puffs up with vanity the poor children of darkness, ignorant of or despising, "the ONE Mediator between God and Man ?”

THE SOLEMN LEAGUE AND COVENANT. Ir gives us great pleasure to lay before our readers a spirited historical account of that act hallowed in the recollection of Scottish Christians, the signing of the Solemn League and Covenant. The account is taken

from a recently published work containing much valuable information, entitled, "The Life and Times of Alexander Henderson," by the Rev. John Aiton, Minister of Dolphinton. The narrative is as follows:

"Wednesday the 28th day of February, 1638, was a proud day for Henderson, and one of the most memorable mentioned in the history of that period. By this time the Presbyterians had crowded to Edinburgh to the number of sixty thousand; and, to give all solemnity to the occasion, a fast had been appointed to be held in the Church of the Greyfriars. All were astir by the morning's dawn; the Commissioners of Barons were early met, and about half-past eight, Rothes and Loudon joined them.

"It was agreed, that all the rest of the barrons and gentilmen that wer in toune sould meitt in the Greyfreer Kirk, be two hours in the efternoon, wher Rothes and Loudon sould meitt with them,' to sign the Covenant. This union, the great pillar of strength to the cause, having been thus effected with perfect harmony amid a world of difficulties, was the occasion of vast joy to all concerned.

"Long before the appointed hour, the venerable Church of the Greyfriars, and the large open space around it, were filled with Presbyterians from every quarter of Scotland. At two o'clock, Rothes, Loudon, Henderson, Dickson, and Johnston, arrived with a copy of the Covenant, ready for signature. Henderson constituted the meeting by prayer, very powerfullie and pertinentlie' to the purpose in hand. Loudon then, in an impressive speech, stated the occasion of their meeting. After mentioning that the courtiers had done every thing in their power to effect a division among the Presbyterians, and when thus weakened to introduce innovation, and that they should therefore use every lawful means for keeping themselves together in a common cause, he said, that in a former period, when Papal darkness was enlightened only from the flaming faggot of the martyr's stake, the first Reformers swore in Covenant to maintain the most blessed word of God even unto the death. In a later period, when apprehensions were entertained of the restoration of Popery, King James, the nobles, and people throughout every parish, subscribed another Covenant, as a test of their religious principles. The Covenant, now about to be read, had a similar object in view, and had been agreed to by the Commissioners. In conclusion, he, in their name, solemnly took the Searcher of Hearts to witness, that they intended neither dishonour to God, nor disloyalty to the King. The Covenant was next read by Johnston, out of a fair parchment, about an elne squair.' When the reading was finished, there was a pause and silence still as death. Rothes broke it, by requesting that if any one of them had objections to offer, he would now be heard. They were told, that if these objectors were of the south and west country, they should repair to the west end of the Kirk, where Loudon and Dickson would reason with them; but if they belonged to the Lothians, or to the country north of the Forth, they were to go to the east end, where he and Henderson would give them every satisfaction. Feu comes, and these feu proposed but feu doubts, which were soon reo'clock, when the venerable Earl of Sutherland stepped solved.' These preliminaries occupied till about four forward, and put the first name to the memorable document. Sir Andrew Murray, minister of Ebdy, in Fife, was the second who subscribed. After it had gone the round of the whole Church, it was taken out to be signed by the crowd in the churchyard. Here it was spread before them like another roll of the prophets, upon a flat grave-stone, to be read and subscribed by as many as could get near it. Many, in addition to their name, wrote, till death, and some even opened a Published by FRASER & CO., Edinburgh,

vein, and subscribed with their blood. The immense sheet in a short time became so much crowded with names on both sides throughout its whole space, that there was not room left for a single additional signature. Even the margin was scrawled over; and as the document filled up, the subscribers seem to have been limited to the initial letters of their name. Zeal in the cause of Christ, and courage for the liberties of Scotland, warmed every breast. Joy was mingled with the expression of some, and the voice of shouting arose from a few. But by far the greater portion were deeply impressed with very different feelings. Most of them, of all sorts, wept bitterly for their defection from the Lord. And in testimony of his sincerity, every one confirmed his subscription by a solemn oath. With groans, and tears streaming down their faces, they all lifted up their right hands at once. When this awful appeal was made to the Searcher of Hearts, at the day of judgment, so great was the fear of again breaking this Covenant, that thousands of arms which had never trembled even when drawing the sword on the eve of battle, were now loosened at every joint. After the oath had been administered, the people were powerfully enjoined to begin their personal reformation. At the conclusion, every body seemed to feel that a great measure of the divine presence had accompanied the solemnities of the day, and with their hearts much comforted and strengthened for every duty, the enormous crowd retired about nine o'clock at night. Well, indeed, might Henderson boast, in his reply to the Aberdeen doctors, that this was the day of the Lord's power, wherein we saw his people most willingly offer themselves in multitudes, like the dew-drops of the morning-this was indeed the great day of Israel, wherein the arm of the Lord was revealed the day of the Redeemer's strength, on which the princes of the people assembled to swear their allegiance to the King of kings.'

"Next day, 1st of March, some of the leading Presbyterians went to Tailor's Hall, where the ministers who had more recently come to town were met. Here again the doubts of every one were stated with freedom, and after having been removed by arguments similar to those already detailed, about three hundred of the clergy added their names. The Covenant was next carried round the city, and signed by many who could not attend the day before. On this occasion, it is said that a multitude of women and children followed it weeping and praying. Some of the nobles took a copy with them wherever they went, and solicited the subscription of those whom they met. On the Friday, a copy for signature was transmitted to every shire, bailiery, and parish. In the country, it was everywhere received as a sacred oracle. Much more than was necessary has been said on both sides, in an angry spirit of controversy, about children being allowed to subscribe. In answer to these imputations, Rothes expressly asserts, that only the hands of those who were admitted to the Sacrament were allowed to be put to the parchment. It has also been often asserted by the Court historians, and was complained of by the Marquis of Hamilton, that coercive measures were used to procure names; and that several who refused at Glasgow, St Andrews, and Lanark, were not only threatened, but beat into compliance. It cannot be denied, that some who had the management of the subscriptions in the country carried their preposterous zeal too far-that non-conforming ministers, who after exhortation still refused to subscribe, were dishaunted' by Presbyterians and that even personal compulsion was resorted to in some instances. In fact, both Rothes and Baillie lament that their good cause had been thus hurt by ungodly violence. But it is by no means true, that these disorders were encouraged by the leaders, or that they were even exercised to any considerable extent. The testimony of Rothes, Henderson, and Baillie, is surely conclusive on

this point. All classes of the community were admit ted, and public notaries were at hand to act for those who could not write; but so far from the unwilling being forced to subscribe, they were not, even after consenting, admitted to enjoy the privilege. Every body was not allowed to come forward. No distinction was made in point of rank or circumstances, but there was Some men, says in respect of character and conviction. Henderson, of no small note, offered their subscription, and were refused, till time should prove that they joined from love to the cause, and not from the fear of men. No threatenings were used, except those of divine judg ment; nor force, except that of reason. The matter was so holy, says Rothes, that they held it to be irreligious to use wicked means for advancing so good a work. Baillie says, that they had no remedy for such unhappy grievances, till the law was made patent. I was present,' says Livingston, at Lanark, and several other parishes, when on Sabbath, after the forenoon's sermon, the Covenant was read and sworn, and I may truly say, that in all my lifetime, excepting at the Kirk of Shotts, I never saw such motions from the Spirit of God. All the people generally and most willingly concurred. I have seen more than a thousand persons all at once lifting up their hands, and the tears falling down from their eyes; so that through the whole land, excepting the professed Papists, and some few who adhered to the prelates, people universally entered into the Covenant of God.' The writer of the Edinburgh Collections not only bears testimony in similar terms to the manner in which the Covenant was signed and sworn in the Greyfriars and College Kirks of Edinburgh, but he asserts that, on Sunday the 28th April, the Communion was solemnly given to the people in these two kirks, according as it was given before the Assembly at Perth, after twenty years interruption. same writer states, that there were about this time many Jesuits in Scotland, who laboured by argument and gold to make converts. One of them, called Abernethy, made an open recantation in the Greyfriars Church. On the day following that on which the Jesuit was converted, Lindsay, a minister from the north, who had long refused to subscribe the Covenant, preached in the same church. In the end of his sermon, he declared that for a long time he was in a great wrestling with the doubts of his own conscience; thereafter calling sundry times with fervent prayer to God to resolve his mind, he at length got resolution to his conscience to yield and subscribe, which he did. And he stated in his sermon, that since his subscription, he had such comfort in his mind as he was not able to express, and that for all the earth he would not turn back. All this he declared with tears in his eyes, attesting God for the verity of it, to the great consolation of all who heard him."

CHRISTIAN TREASURY.

The

Christian Light. There is a spirit of light and knowledge flows from Jesus Christ into the souls of believers, that acquaints them with "the mysteries of the kingdom of God," which cannot otherwise be known. And this spirit of knowledge is withal a spirit “of holiness;" for purity and holiness are likewise signified by this "light." He removed that huge dark body of sin that was betwixt us and the Father, and eclipsed Him from us. The light of his countenance "sanctifieth by truth;" it is a light that hath heat with it, and hath influence upon the affections, warms them towards God and divine things. This darkness here, is indeed the shadow of death, and they that are without Christ, are said, till he visit them, "to sit in darkness and in the shadow of death," Luke i. 79; so, this " Light is life," John i. 4; it doth enlighten and enliven, begets new actions and motions in the soul. The right notion that a man hath of things as they are, works upon him, and stirs him

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