and his poverty have returned as regularly as the seasons.

Robert has been well known to all the present generation of the village even from their infancy, and though he has not been quite the most conciliating African that was ever seen, yet he has always been treated kindly ; and now when he has become old and infirm, the young people are almost daily doing some little thing for his comfort and happiness. During a revival of religion in the place a few years ago, he was very anxious. The Holy Spirit had aroused him to a most distressing sense of his destitution of holiness, and his need of a Saviour; and many pious people thought that the negro's heart had, in his old age, become regenerated; that, at last, hopeless as he had so long seemed to be, the prayers of the older inhabitants of the village, who had one by one all gone down to their graves in peace, yet not till they had prayed much and earnestly for Robert, were now at last answered in the salvation of this old servant, who had for this very purpose outlived them all. His conduct, while his pension lasted, for these three or four years past, however, has shown but two plainly, that in his practice he was not much altered. We were now at the door of a miserable log hut, in a rocky and desolate place, a small distance from the road.

My companion opened the door gently, without knocking, for he knew that Robert was dangerously sick, and we discovered that the clergyman and his lady, with several young people from the village, having anticipated us in their morning visit, had all knelt down, and the clergyman, in a very low voice, was fervently interceding with the compassionate Saviour ; and as we knelt down with them, I heard him say, “ Show favour, and forgive him, whom Thou hast spared so long in life. May the prayers which our fathers have offered before Thee, come up in remembrance,-may his soul, which must so soon appear before Thy awful judgment-seat, be sanctified at this last hour, and appear there in peace; and may the Son of righteousness settle with a steady and an everlasting radiance upon it.” The prayer was short, for it was evident the old man could

He re

sot give his attention long, even to a prayer for him. self. When we had all silently risen from our worship, I noticed that the room and its furniture had the appearance of having been long familiar with extreme poverty. Many a tedious and unhappy year, I thought, Robert has contr ed to wear away in this wretched place; and now he is about to ascend from it, and enter the temple of everlasting felicity, or pass away down to eternal misery. After a short silence, in which, no doubt, we were all praying in our hearts, that mercy, even at the very last moments of so long a life, might bless the dying man, the clergyman said — Robert, da you now hope that you are prepared to die and to be happy? and can you say, “ Thy will be done?» plied with great difficulty, and it was all I heard him say, I hope I can give up the world.We all soon with. drew together; and as we walked slowly back, I thought, what has Robert to “ to give up” in the world? He has neither friends, nor possessions, nor honours to cling to, and if he had, he is too old to enjoy them. Life may be sweet to the young :-his feelings may be tenderly aliye to the interest of this world.

Even in poverty and obscurity, he may look fearlessly and triumphantly forward, and his imagination may sport in the prospect of respectability and esteem and happiness,—for though the world is to be a wilderness of disappointment and wretchedness to him, he sees them not-he fears them not. The rich may well enough, after a long and busy life, desire to be indulged with a few years, at the last, of luxury, of tranquillity, or of benevolence. The man of power may resign his dominion with the greatest reluctance, to lay his head low down beneath the clods of the valley. The man who has blessed the world with his studies, and acquired the reputation of a “great genius," may, like Gibbon, desire to live, that he may enjoy the applause and affection of the world. These characters may all have much of the world to give up,” however late and distant death may come. But what has Robert to “ give up?" The world cares not for him, for no. body has ever heard of him beyond his own village,he has no friend to alleviate his lonelinessno wealth

for either pleasure or enjoyments, no power to do the world either good or evil; and if he possessed all these, yet his extreme age would make him miserable in the midst of them, unsustained, as it must be, by any youthful feelings or prospects.

What, in all this busy world of happiness and suffer ing, of hope and disappointment, is there left, either of enjoyment or hope, for Robert to "give up ? Others have found it, and may still find it too hard for them to give up their real or expected earthly blessings, but he has drank off the bitter cup of poverty, obscurity, and degradation, to the very last dregs. Has not time robbed him of all, so that he has not the smallest thing left to give up? In the evening we heard that he had given up his spirit to God who gave it, and was no more a being of this world.

L L***

[For the Monitor,]



A revival of religion is the conversion of the impenitent in unusual numbers, or in the language of theory, the commencement of holy affections in their hearts. But it is a law of our nature, that no affections can be excited without the presentation of an object, and that these affections always conform to the moral character of the mind.

Accordingly, the holiness of God, contemplated by a holy being, uniformly calls forth the affection of holy love, while feelings of aversion are as uniformly excited in one destitute of holiness. And the more this truth, with all its loveliness, is made to bear on his moral vision, the more irksome it becomes, until absolute enmity begins to stir within him, and show itself in a thousand forms.

Here, then, is the natural effect of the best use of the best means in the power of man, toward producing

a revival of religion, and yet something totally opposite is the common result. Still revivals do sometimes fol. low the exhibition of divine truth. But to say the cause is the same when the result is opposite, is subversive of all uniformity in the relation of cause and effect, and therefore wholly inadmissible. The means and motives may be the same in both cases, but nothing can satisfactorily account for the difference of the result, but the supposition that man is the agent in one case ; in the other, God.

So philosophy decides. And inspiration, as usual, lifts her voice in perfect accordance, and declares that every genuine revival, or in her more graphic language, every turning unto the Lord,” is effected, not by the power of truth, not by the ordinary influence of God, but by the exceeding greatness of his power toward those who believe."

To say then, that all the reyivals abroad in the land, whose influence is as lasting, at least, as life, and as happy as the wranklings of enmity, exchanged for the sweetness of love, can be accounted for on the natural principles of sympathy, of nervous affection, or of animal magnetism, and that they are exemplified in political excitemets, in the enthusiasm of theatres, or in the uncontrolable fury of the mob; is to assign a cause altogether inadequate and unsatisfactory. For all these causes combined, though they may convulse society, and revolutionize kingdoms, can never produce holy affections in a sinful heart, or any thing like a genuine revival of religion. The nature of the case forbids it. Besides, the bible denies the efficacy of all such means, by asserting that the heirs of heaven are born not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.

To attempt to account for revivals of religion, then, on natural principles, is both unphilosophical and unscriptural, and betrays an unhappy ignorance of the character and effects of the phenomena in question, or something little short of absolute hostility to the progress of vital godliness among men.

H. S.

[For the Monitor.]


EVERY situation in life has its peculiar and appropriate enjoyments. The prince must be content in his participation of pleasure, to forego the retirement and tranquility of the cottage, and the peasant the sumptuousness and splendour of the palace. The one may amuse himself with the innocent prattle of his smiling children; the other may listen to the flatteries of his courtiers. The one may take pride in the management of his fields; the other in the government of his prov, inces. The charms of nature in her most retired and neglected state, may fascinate the one ; the displays of genius in the art which breathes, and the eloquence which burns, may animate the other. The one receives the caresses of a cheerful, happy family; the other the applauses of a flourishing and grateful nation. It would be difficult here to determine whose heart is best satisfied, and whose cup of enjoyment is fullest, that of the prince who reigns in the hearts of many, or that of the peasant, who reigns in the hearts of few. But it is not difficult to discover that their happiness must flow from


different sources. Thus with every intermediate state, from the highest to the lowest of human being, all move in different spheres, and experience emotions of pleasure, arising from different objects, with which they are conversant. It is, however, very uncommon to find those who are sensible of these truths. Every one is inclined to think that the condition of another is better than his own. The peasant desires to be a prince; and the prince, it may be, wishes he were a peasant. The man of the town longs for the green fields, the rural festivities, and the otium cum dignitate of the country; the man of the country covets the rích dwellings, the splendid equipage and the fashionable amusements of the town. Thus life, in every stage and condition, is a constant state of inquietude and desire of change. This arises partly from our uneasiness at the unsatisfactory nature of our

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