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vidual before us: there was in him no lethargy, no apathy, no indolence. He trembled from head to loot; the bed shook beneath him. My heart was rent with his lamentable entreaties for supplication on his behalf. He desired me not to pray lor his recovery; he seemed afraid lest time should be wasted on such petition,— time, which to him was now too short and too precious, to be spent in asking that which could not be obtained; but earnest were his bescechings to plead for the salration of his soul. It was just u case in which one could have wished to forget every other call upon compassion, and to have kneeled by his bedside while ebbing life remained, helping him to pray; or to have gone from him only to " weep in secret places," and plead with the merciful One, if haply his sins might have been forgiven ere his term of grace expired. It was cruel to be torn away, to be forced, by the wants of many others, to tear one's self from him who was most of all, perhaps alone of all, alive to his own wants. And such our separation literally was. When I rose to bid him a last farewell, he seized my hand in his long bony fingers, and trembling in every limb, besought me not to forget him at a throne of grace; nor would he let me go, till at length with great difficulty I extricated myself from his agonizing grasp.
I had witnessed one of the most airecting scenes that the world presents,—an awakened sinner summoned into judgment; and doubly affecting to me, in the removal of an object of much solicitude, of mingled fear and hope. Had I seen him for the first time, I should probably hav« regarded him as a child of the kingdom encountering tlie last enemy under the hiding of his Father's face, and wounded by such " fiery darts of the wicked One," as for the moment he could not quench. Or had I learned his character, such as the world would have given it, I ilii uld have hoped that, having been a sinner, he was one saved in the eleventh hour, a death-bed penitent. And as it was, I cannot but cherish the persuasion that he may have been saved " yet so as by fire," and that in the last hour his prayer may have been heard,—his chain have been broken,—his spirit set free. Still, in so far as man could judge, his dying repentance was not different from the many repentances of his life, which themselves "needed to be repented of." He was indeed shut up as he had never been before; there was no future time into which his thoughts might run in vague resolutions of amendment; life was done, it was all behind, death and judgment wee before. So situated, his convictions of sin were more distressing, his fear of punishment more overwhelming, his desire for deliverance more intense. But the effect was simply this, that his mind was more dreadfully distracted than ever, and he could not fix it for a moment on any one object of thought ; yet the returning and prevailing emotion seemed to be " a certain fearful looking for of judgment and fiery indignation." His life declared that a thorough change of heart required to be wrought j that he had never truly discerned Christ and him crucified, nor trusted in him j that his repentance had been legal and self-righteous. "Sin would not have hud dominion over him, if he had been not under the law but under grace." There was then this great transition to be made; the being born agnin; the being set free with the liberty of the children of God. His death gave no evidence that such a change had been produced; for any difference discernible between this and his former repenting*, he might have risen from that bed the slave of sin as before. There was " no returning of the soul unto quiet rest," no becoming like a little child, no peace of conscience, no sweet and placid reliance on the Hope of Israel. His soul was still " like the troubled sea which cannot rest;" his sun set in glooiuv darkness unbroken by one perceptible streak of light.
In conclusion we subjoin these two remarks:
J. If wc were better acquainted with the mental
history of men, we should probably find that many fop. posed death-bed repentances are the mere renewiil of similar repentings during life; the fruitless working of minds that are " ever learning and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth," seeking to enter in but never prevailing, because they do not strive. Such a death as that we have just narrated may surely well enforce the exhortation, "Strive to enter in at the strait gate; for many will seek to enter in and shall not be able." 2. We cannot conceive two characters more different, in many respects, than is the one we have now been re. viewing, from that described in our last. The one a blasphemer, and dead to every thing like a sense of sin; the other a man who trembled at the Word ol God, and was feelingly alive to his guilt. Their dying hours were not less dissimilar; the one closing his eyes on this world with his mouth full of cursing and bitterness, the other, if not in prayer, at least in tlieatteinpt to pray. Yet in their lives there appears to have Iteen no vital distinction between them; they both died in a manner remarkably correspondent to the manner in which they had lived; and if in the closing scene there was no thorough change in either, (which yet in the one rase we fondly hope may have taken place,) then we must conclude that as the same sun set on both for time, the same habitation received both for eternity. Let the amiable, and conscientious, and in some measure religious, weigh the reflection, that if they have not " passed from death unto life," and perish in their unbelief, then they must have as their companions for ever, the blasphemers, the unthankful, the unholy, the incontinent, the fierce, the implacable, the unmerciful.
CHRISTIAN TREASURY. A Fervent Appeal nt the LortFt Supper.—0 iD M inhabitants of the world and dwellers in the earth, come gather yourselves together unto the marriage of the great King. Hear, ye that are afar off, and ye that are near, the Lord proclaimeth salvation to the ends of the earth, the glory of the Lord is to be revealed. Tidings, tidings, O ye captives I Hear, all ye that look for salvation in Israel; behold I bring you tidings of great joy. 0, blessed news I the Lord is coming down upon Mount Zion,—not in earthquakes and thunders,—not in fire and burnings,—not in darkness and tempests, but peaceably; the law of kindness is in his mouth; hecrieth, " Peace, peace to him that is afar off, and to him that is near." Behold I how he leapetb on the mountains I He hath passed Mount Ebal,—no more wrath or cursing,—he is come to Mount Gerizim to bless; he cometh clothed with flames of love and bowels of compassion, plenteous redemption and multiplied pardons. O, how pregnant is his love I Hearken, therefore, unto me, 0, ye children; "for behold ye stand all of you this day before the Lord your God; your captains, your elders, your officers, and all the men of Israel, your little ones, your wives, and the stranger that is within thy camp, from the hewer of wood to the drawer of water,"—that you should take hold of this marriage covenant. For I ain come this day to deal with you in a very peculiar manner, and am warranted to proclaim and make offer of this marriage to you, and lay the offer before you. I am allowed to be particular with you in this offer and invitation, and to put it home to you and every one of you. Will you, the", man,—will you, woman,—old and young,—parent and child,—master and servant.—rich and poor,—learned and unlearned? All is ready, O, come; I dare not take a nay-say, nor hearken to any shift or delay; it must be now or never. O, then, what shall I answer Him that hath sent me? Surely ye can give no relevant reason why you will not, and, therefore, I can admit of no reply, but " Behold we come." Will ye then come, or not? Shall I say that you will or that you will not? Ah I shall I go again to God and say, "Thy peopk now, even on a communion season, a high solemn Subbath, will hare none of thee?" If so, \vc need go no farther towards this solemnity, else ye will seal a blank, or a lie, or your own damnation. If you give not your consent, ye are held by God to dissent, and, therefore, By whether or not. 0, if there be any motion, do not stide it, hut allow me in your name to say, "Even so we take Him;" and thus will the contract be closed in Tout name and his name. Bear witness to this, 0, heavens, earth, angels, and saints 1 But, if after all, ye will not come, then I take witness against you, and call to witness the great God of heaven and earth, the boiy anfeli who surround the throne, yourselves, your consciences, the very stones and timber in this place, and every one of you against another; and do, in the name of God, shake the dust from my feet against you, in witness, that on the 19th day of August, 1/33, at a communion in this remote country of Zetland, in the We of Fetlar, Christ, and with him all the Covenant of Grace, the marriage covenant, was offered to you all without exception, and ye refused him and all this glory. And if you live and die in that mind, I solemnly charge and summon you to answer for this refusal before his awful tribunal at the Great Day. Bethink yourself, 0, refuser and despiser 1 many a slight have you put upon Christ, and yet he is loth to take a naysay. 0, is there nobody here, old or young, saying in their soul, " 0, include me not in this protest ?"—come, then, 0, willing soul; we are unwilling to leave you out, and again offer Christ to you. Consider what a husband you have in your offer, what he hath done, and how earnest he is. Consider what a rich bargain, what a full covenant ye are invited unto; and answer me three questions. First, What is your fault to the bridegroom? Second, Where can you make such a bargain? Third, Are you sure of another offer? If not, then take time when time is; and so fear not to frae to the table and sit down at the feast, which is Kible and excellent. And O, Lord God of my Master, 1 pray thee send me good speed this day I Eat, O, friend, drink, yea drink abundantly, O, beloved I— Unpublished Sermon of Rev. J Sonar, Minister of Fetlar. "Loctsl thou Me t "—Difficult as the question may be, it admits of a satisfactory unswer. Had it not been so, Jesus would not have put the question. He would not have pushed the matter to a third interrogatory if he had not known that the disciple could reply in the affirmative without hypocrisy, without his heart condemning him. Nor would he have appointed an ordinance which was intended only for his friends, and enjoined them to observe it, if he had not promised that !i» Spirit, witnessing with their spirits, should enable tl.euj to say with truth in the inward part, " We love in who first loved us." The real friends of Christ may have great doubts of their actual believing, and of '■i* genuineness of their love to him. They are deeply pieved on account of the many evidences which they .'are given of indifference, and even of enmity to Him. The proofs of their ingratitude, forget fulness, and imkindness, stare them in the face, and sometimes seal their lips. They complain, and they have good reason to complain, of the coldness of their hearts and the dcaduess of their affections. But though they cannot say m so many words, " Thou knowest that I love thee," still they can say, " O Lord, the desire of our soul is to thy name, and to the remembrance of thee." And when urged by him, they cannot refrain from crying out, " Lord, I love thee; help thou my want of love." To the question, " Will ye also go away?" they instinctiYely and resolutely reply, " To whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life." And if offered their liberty to leave him, they would cry with the manumitted slave under the law, " I love my master, and I will not go free." "Truly, O Lord, 1 am lijv servant, 1 am thy servant, and the son of thine
handmaid: Thou hast loosed my bonds." And that is love. "But," inethinks I hear some hesitating soul reply, "I do not feel that warmth of affection for Christ which is due to him." You cannot; for his love passeth returns, as it passeth knowledge. "But 1 do not feel that love which others have felt for him, and have had freedom to express." Neither durst Peter speak strongly on this head j and the Saviour graciously dropped the clause in the first question, expressive of the degree of his love, and instead of " Lovest thou me more than these?" simply asked, " Lovest thou me?'' * * * Think on what He is, and what He hath done for sinners. Do you not love him? Can you say that you do not? Would you not wish to love him? Can you but love him? Would you not be ashamed of yourself if you did not love him? Is it not your desire and prayer that all should love, honour, and serve him? And have you not such a strong sense of the high obligation which all are under to this exercise, that you can join with the apostle in saying, " If any man love not the Lord Jesus Christ, let him be anathema, maran-atba"—accursed of the Lord at his coming?—Dr M'ckie.
"Whom have I in heaven but thee t and there is none
upon earth that I desire besides thee I" The translators
might have retained the verb have in both members; but in regard of the deceivableness and uncertainty of earthly goods and possessions, they change the verb
have, in the first member, into desire in the second,
have in heaven, and desire on earth,—not desire in heaven and have on earth: for in precise truth there is nothing which a religious soul can desire, but she hath it in heaven, and, on the contrary, nothing not to be had, that is, firmly possessed and enjoyed, which she desireth on earth. Heaven is the place of having, the earth of desiring, or craving. When an old man, being asked of his age, answered in the Latin phrase, / have, or reckon fourscore years, a philosopher took him up, and said, " What sayest thou? I have or reckon fourscore years,—just so many hast thou not I" For in numbering the days and years of our life, whose parts are never all come until they are all gone, we usually count upon those years only that are fully past, which therefore, we have not, because they are gone. Even as he that taketh a lease for a term of years, after he has worn them out, has no more terms in his lease; no more may any man be said to have those years (rood which he hath spent in the lease of his life. Much less may he be said to have those that are not yet come, because they are not, and he is altogether uncertain whether they may be at all, or no. For all that he knows, this day the lease of his life may expire,—this hour his last glass may be running,—at this very moment and point of time, the thread of his life may be cut off. Now if we cannot be said truly to have any part of our time, how can we properly have any part in things temporal? If the lease of our lives, by which we hold all our earthly goods and possessions, be of so uncertain a date, let our lawyers talk ever so much of possessions and estates, of firm conveyances, and perpetuities, and various kinds of tenures, they shall never persuade us that there is any sure hold or any good tenure of any thing, save God and his promises: it is impossible that we should have any estate in things that are altogether unstable. Hereof it seemeth that Abraham was well advised: for though he was an exceeding rich man, yet we read of no purchase made by him, save only of a cave in Macpelah, for him and his heirs to hold, or rather, to hold him and his heirs, for ever. If any man ever knew the just value of all earthly commodities, it was king Solomon, the mirror of wisdom; and yet, after he had weighed them all in the scales of the sanctuary, he found them as light as vanity itself. If all things under the sun are vanity; therefore, the verity of all things u above the same, viz, in heaven Featly,
"WOT LOST, BUT GONE BEFORE.
Sat, why should friendship grieve for those
Releas'd from all their hurtful foes,
How many painful days on earth
Now they enjoy a heav'nly birth,
Dear is the spot where Christians sleep,
O why should we in anguish weep?
Secure from ev'ry mortal care,
Eternal happiness they share,
Who are not lost—but gone before.
To Zion's peaceful courts above,
Embracing, in the arms of love,
On Jordan's bank whene'er we come,
Jesus, convey us safely home,
To friends not lost—but gone before!
THE Bill-:AD FROM ■ HEAVEN.
Bread of the world, in mercy broken I
By whom the words of life were spoken,
Look on the heart, by sorrow broken.
And be thy feast to us the token,
Greenland Missionaries.—Soon after the Moravian brethren had commenced their zealous and disinterested labours in Greenland, a number of murderers, excited by the angekoks, or sorcerers, threatened to kill the missionaries, and entered their house for that purpose, at a time when all were absent excepting one, named Matthew Stach. When they arrived, they found him engaged in the work of translation, in which he went on, without showing any marks of fear, though uncertain as to their intention. After they had sat a while, their leader said, " We arc come to hear good." "I am glad of it," replied the missionary, and silence being obtained, he sang, prayed, and then proceeded: "I will
not say much to you of the Creator of all things you
know there is a Creator ;"—to this they all assented except one—" You also know that you are a wicked people." "Yes!" was the unanimous reply. "Now, then," resumed the missionary, " I will tell you what is most necessary to know." He then proceeded to declare the incarnation and death of Jesus; spoke of his resurrection from the dead; and assured them that he would be the final judge of all men. He then solemnly appealed to the leader of the banditti, as to the account he would render of his murders and other crimes at the last day, and entreated liim immediately to accept the mercy offered him by the Lord Jesus. After he had done, a woman, whose brother they had murdered, spoke of the efficacy of the Saviour's atonement, told them she felt
it, and exhorted them no longer to resist the truth. They heard all thi3 with attention, walked for some time before the house with their hands folded, and towards evening retired, without offering either violence or insult.
Faith in Christ.—The Rev. Dr Simpson was for many years tutor in the college at Hoxton, and while he stood very low in his own esteem, he ranked high in that of others. After a long life spent in the service of Christ, he approached his latter end with holy joy. Among other expressions which indicated his love to the Redeemer, and his interest in the favour of God, he spake with disapprobation of a phrase often used by some pious people, "Venturing on Christ." "When," said he, " I consider the infinite dignity and all-sufficiency of Christ, I am ashamed to talk of venturing on him. Oh, had I ten thousand souls, I would, at this moment, cast them all into his hands with the utmost confidence. A few hours before his dissolution, he addressed himself to the last enemy, in a strain like that of the apostle, when he exclaimed, "O death, where is thy sting?" Displaying his characteristic fervour, as though he saw the tyrant approaching, he said, "What art thou? I am not afraid of thee. Thou art a vanquished enemy through the blood of the cross."
Religious Melancholy David Hume observed, " That
all the devout persons he had ever met were melancholy." On which Bishop Home remarked, " This might very probably be; for, in the first place, it is most likely that he saw very few, his friends and acquaintances being of another sort; and secondly, the sight of him would make a devout man look melancholy at any time.
A Bedfordshire Peasant In the parish of the late
Rev. L. Richmond, was a dissolute, thoughtless man, who bitterly persecuted religion in those who professed it. He had formed a secret resolution never more to enter the church. Circumstances, however, constrained him to alter his determination. Mr R. preached from Psalm li. 10; "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me." Sharper than a twoedged sword is the Word of God; and in its application by the power of the Spirit to this poor man, it proved to be " the hammer that breaketh the rock in pieces." He confessed, that immediately on his return home, he for the first time fell on his knees, and with crying and tears, poured forth the strong emotions of his heart in the language of the publican, " God be merciful to me a sinner I"
Final Hope—The Rev. James Durham, when on his death-bed, was for some time under considerable darkness respecting his spiritual state, and said to Mr Carstairs, " After all that I have preached or written, there is but one scripture I can remember, or dare grip: tell me if I dare lay the weight of my salvation upon it; 'Whosoever cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out.'" Mr Carstairs very properly answered, "You may depend upon it, if you had a thousand salvations at hazard."
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CONDUCTED UNDER THE SUPERINTENDENCE OF MINISTERS AND MEMBERS OP THE ESTABLISHED CHURCH.
HINTS ON SPIRITUAL DEPRESSION.
Bt Thi Ret. William Muih, D. D.,
RrxiGiors Melancholy, as it is usually called, is jvculiar to the mind that despairs of obtaining an interest in the divine favour. It is a spiritual malady, attictire even in its lowest measures. On riang- to the higher degrees, it becomes, in the very eitreme, grievous. It not only interrupts lie common business of life, but destroys the *tole spring of laudable enterprise and urgent duty—estranges the heart from the claims, strong as thev are tender, of the nearest relationships— »wl throws a gloomv suspicion over every thing »iih which the human lot, amid many evils, is ■■ill brightened. Under the distorted vision formed to it, there is scarcely an object of contemplatwn that does not seem revolting: our earth appearing as a prison-house, in which occasional nspite from pain is meant to make the after tortsie the more intense,—the schemes of Providence "waring as a mass of contradiction,—the throne ti'haven as the tribunal of vengeance,—the angels a ministers of wrath,—and the world beyond Aath as a region crowded exclusively with images rf terror and anguish. The soul is wounded. *■ The arrow hath entered, the poison whereof Jrinketh np the spirit." Every feeling, every thought is infected. In the feverish excitement K disease, the mind rejects the application of a iwedy. The past is a troubled fountain, that Wi out onlv sorrowful remembrances; and no fcasing anticipation mixes with the stream for weetening its bitterness. The language of the 'aJmist: "Will the Lord cast off for ever? Will 'to favourable no more? Is his mercy clean **? Doth his promise fail for ever? Hath he 1 anger shut up his tender mercies?" (Psalm svii,)—this language utters those inquiries of * heart, to which the answers returned by itself f negatives of overwhelming harshness. h is true, that even a little reflection on the izuage just quoted, (expressing so strongly desirof the divine favour,) will shew that the views ucb give rise to the mournful inquiries, detract rai right notions of the character of God. Suspiu of changeableness in his character, of aversion
to save, and exhaustion of mercy, and failure of promises under his government of grace to sinners, are utterly dishonouring to his glory. And this is so readily seen, that the giving way to the sentiments which originate from those views, may immediately be followed by a deep conviction of the unreasonableness and impiety of indulging in them. But even such a conviction, though salutary, serves only, in the case now supposed, to aggravate the distress. The mind is painfully st ruck with the sinfulness of having cherished and uttered what is 60 derogatory to the divine honour. While its misery before sprang from unbelief of the mercy of God, there is now an increase of its misery, drawn from the thought of having ever yielded to the suggestions of that unbelief. Assured that the proposal of grace, conveyed by the "promise" of redemption, ought neither to be rejected, nor viewed as dubiously offered to human acceptance, the mind is tempted to look on itself as now most certainly " cast off" from mercy, on account of the guilt of having questioned the truth or the freeness of the mercy. Having first been harassed by agitating doubts, it next finds the cause of new harassment in the remembrance ot its sinful doubtings. Nay, the troubles may not cease here. And reflection on this second ground of self-reproach may excite fresh anguish; and thus the malady grows, and the symptoms extend into multiplied sorrows, in consequence of which, the soul, tossed as on a bed of thorns, is denied even a moment's repose.
Happily for the author of the seventy-seventh Psalm, whose despairing language has been quoted, he was enabled to stop this afflictive circling of the thoughts,—though not till after he endured for a season the agitations of spiritual distresses. His attempts to regain peace of mind were not at once successful. He "considered the days of old, and the years of ancient times," inquiring, it may be, for a parallel to his distresses, or for the methods by which trials similar to his own, had, in the experience of others, been met and relieved. He called " to remembrance his song in the night," some occasion of personal thanksgiving, from which he might draw the motives to hope and encouragement. And still, though he communed "with his own heart, and his spirit made diligent search," the immediate result of considering the subjects, whatever they were, which passed in review before his mind, is indicated by this despairing lamentation: "Will the Lord cast off for ever? Will he be favourable no more? Is his mercy clean gone? Doth his promise fail for ever? Hath he in anger shut up his tender mercies?"
In cases of spiritual depression, there are usually afflictions arising from outward causes, which give to the burden that lies upon the mind additional weight and tenacity. In the Psalmist's situation bodily suffering appears to have befallen him; and it was, doubtless, by his regarding the allotment as the token of Divine anger that his soul "refused" under the visitation, "to be comforted." And similar causes have often had the effect of darkening to devout men their contemplation of the favour of God; and that to an extent which, without experience of the fact, no mere speculatist on the subject of Christian assurance can ever apprehend. But still, the general course of things, even in the worst case of spiritual depression, wherever the faith of revealed truth is genuine, is this, that consolation is perseveringly sought at the divine source of peace, and that the result of perseveringly seeking it there, (as the history of the Psalmist clearly shews,) is very blessed. The Psalmist has recorded the fact, that he "cried unto God in the day of trouble, and that God gave ear unto him;" or, in other words, that support in the season of trial, and ultimate deliverance from affliction, came as the answer to prayer. He has recorded another fact, that, in the religious exercises which employed him, and the effects of which were so beneficial and happy, he not only prayed, but meditated on the character, and government, and promises of Jehovah. He "remembered the years of the right hand of the Most High ;" or, the annals of the divine doings. Persuaded that "the way of God " is to be seen most clearly "in the sanctuary,"—under the light of those dispensations which affect the Church,—he "remembered the works of the Lord and his wonders of old" to the chosen people. He looked back to their rise in the families of Jacob and "Joseph;" to their "redemption" from bondage by the arm of the Lord, when the waters saw God and were afraid, and "the troubled depths" parting at the divine will, opened a passage for the ransomed; —to the destruction of their enemies, when the thunder and lightning, "the arrows of Jehovah, went abroad, and the earth trembled and shook;"— and to the after journeyings of the redeemed, who were led "like a flock" under the guidance of the shepherd. How clearly does even a transient reference to this history indicate the following truths :—That God is superintending and arranging the events of his people's history with minute and gracious care; that sufferings are not exclusively the signs of his vengeance, since his chosen people suffered; that delays in the fulfilment of his promises, bring no evidence against his faithfulness and unchangeableness, because it was after a long
time, such as might have raised the fear of their being cut off, that his chosen people "were redeemed with his outstretched arm;" and that, though adversity be repeated on adversity in a mysterious course of trials, yet this procedure is not incompatible with the fulfilment of a wise and good end; because "the way" through which the Lord led his elect was deep, as "in the sea, and in great waters," while he was still guiding them with the tenderness and beneficence of a good shepherd.
Now the blessed influence both of the Psalmist's meditation and prayer, in restoring to him peace of mind, (the return of which called forth his ardent thanksgiving,) may well intimate, that to speak of Religious Melancholy, meaning thereby that Religion is the cause of the melancholy, is to misapply language. It is true, the opinion prevails, that the whole evil is traceable to that cause. Multitudes in the world connect with the admission of Religion into the mind the thought of nothing but what is gloomy and depressing. And in proof of this, they refer to certain facts which are regarded by them as quite conclusive. Easy it were to shew them, that the native influence of Divine Truth is calculated to produce an effect the very opposite of that which they bewail and reprehend. But they dread to listen to a single statement on the subject. The very listening, they think, would bring them within the reach of contagion, and how wise, they infer, to avoid coming near the malady, or what may infect them with it 1 The facts, however, by which they defend their opinions and aversion, are drawn from instances where the mind is unhinged either through the prevalence of constitutional bias, or the shock of calamity: and where, coming to Revealed Religion, it carries thither its own morbid sensibility, and thus turns the bread of life into the very aliment of spiritual disease.
It is unreasonable to adduce these facts for the purpose of disparaging the character and real tendency of evangelical faith. Wandering and wretchedness would have been found in such a mind, though it had never heard of the subject that is blamed for the aberration and suffering. Were it to receive the subject as a whole, what a blessing would the reception prove! The tendencies of the mind, if not thoroughly rooted out. would, at least, be corrected and trained. Affections, easily agitated, would be brought nearer to their due place and poise; and thus, the influence of heavenly faith, moving over the dark and troubled elements of nature, would allay its disorders, and compose and beautify it. But the tendencies of the mind in such an instance as has now been described, urge it to take partial viev.s of Religion. Through timidity, the promises of the Bible are put out of sight, as what cannot, without sinful presumption, be looked at, white the threatenings alone are admitted and felt. God is revealed in the Bible under the engaging characters of Father, Saviour, Protector, and Friend; clothed in every perfection, in goodness, as well as