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short distances, which, however, are often extinguished by the infinite swarms that press on so rapidly that to those in front retreat is impossible—and the fires are literally put out by the load of the carcases. On the failure of all attempts to expel the invaders, the inhabitants are obliged to betake themselves for shelter to their houses, lest by appearing to stand and contest the prey of the locusts, they excite the resentment of the tiny enemy—for these creatures, insignificant as they are, do not, tike many larger animals, flee from man. On the contrary, they do not scruple, when provoked, to attack the people; and as from their slender form, and rapid motions, they often elude the blows that are aimed at them, they are able to cause great annoyance from the poignancy of their stings. Obliged, therefore, to let them alone, from fear of personal consequences, the wretched inhabitants, whose territories they invade, abandon themselves to despair, well knowing, from dire experience, that their fields and gardens will soon be so desolate, that not a vestige will be left of anything fit for the good of man or beast. So vast and wide spread, indeed, is the havoc they produce, that it is scarcely possible for a native of this country to form an idea of the dreadful ravages committed by these insects, being infinitely greater than the worst devastations of those exterminating hordes, that were appropriately termed the scourge of God. The space of ground which these destructive swarms occupy, sometimes extends over several miles—in one instance, mentioned by a Portuguese traveller, over no less than 24 miles. And no sooner do they alight, than their countless multitudes, gnawing with insatiable avidity every thing that lies in their way, make a noise, which the Prophet Joel compares to the crackling of fire amid dry stubble, or the rustling of chariots in a battle. Every thing of beauty or productiveness speedily vanishes before these ravenous creatures—nothing can escape—for one swarm succeeds so rapidly to another, that what is left or overlooked by the first, is sure to fall a prey to the rapacity of those that succeed; in the language of one who was an eye-witness of their havoc, not a leaf was left upon a tree—not a blade of grass in the pastures, nor an ear of corn in the fields—all wore the marks of dreadful devastation; and what in the morning was a beautiful and fertile plain, full of tall stalks of ripening grain, and adorned with flourishing wood, appeared in a few hours a dreary and desolate waste, overspread with leailess and naked boughs, and bearing the aspect of a whole country that had been scorched by an immense conflagration. Many years often elapse, before the effects of these terrible ravages are repaired; for, although the fields may next season be clothed with verdure, and the trees recover their bark and their leaves, yet, from the great check given to vegetation, and from the fetid excrements left on the ground, the quality of the grain and of fruits degenerates, a circumstance particularly incident to vineyards, and which was long ago remarked, as appears from the language of Joel, who, foretelling a judgment of locusts, enumerates, among the consequences of the visitation, the disappointment

it would occasion to wine-bibbers (i. 5.) From these

circumstances then we may easily judge of the extent of damage done, in any country subject to so terrible a calamity; and we can perceive also, the greatness of the judgment that was brought upon the land of Egypt by the plague of locusts, as well as the reason of its being among the last of the plagues. These insects never visit Egypt; and as the Sacred History informs us, that they were brought by an cast wind—which accords with the testimony of all travellers, who say, that they came from Arabia, their birth-place—and directing their route northwards, without turning cither to the east or west, spread over all the adjacent countries— so the strangeness of the occurrence, so contrary to the well-known habits of the creatures, betokened the in

terposition of Almighty Power in bringing that plague upon the land. And from what has been already said of them, we may easily perceive the reason also of their being among the last plagues that were brought on the refractory Egyptians; for as it was the divine purpose to introduce those judgments by degrees, till He had shewn that idolatrous people the vanity of nil their hopes from their wretched deities—and although hail and thunder had already greatly injured the whole produce of the fields—so to give, as it were, the finishing-stroke, and blast all the fruits which the fertile soil of Egypt would soon raise again, after these phenomena had passed—the sovereign anger of His own cause commissioned the locusts to appear, " which crowded the face of the earth, that we could not be able to see the face of the earth—and cat the residue of that which escaped, which remained from the hail, and eat of every tree which grew out of the field."

Nor is the whole of the calamity occasioned by these formidable creatures confined to the produce of the soil. The most fatal consequences to human life often proceed from the multitudes of dead carcases that lie putrifying on the ground. The effluvia from these is so strong and offensive, that, to use the words of a celebrated traveller, any one who crushes them with his horse's foot, or even approaches them, is reduced to the necessity of washing his nose with vinegar, or applying his handkerchief, soaked in that liquid, constantly to his nostrils. Multitudes of people in diflerent countries of Asia, and especially of Africa, have at different times perished from this cause. Orosius relates one incursion of them in particular into Africa, when, after making every vestige of vegetation disappear, they flew away to the sea and were drowned, and the carcases being driven ashore, emitted a stench equal to what might have been produced by the dead bodies of 100,^00 men. Augustine mentions a pestilence produced by the same cause, which cut off about 800,000 people in Numidia, and many more in the countries that bordered on the coast. In modern history, instances are recorded of vast multitudes of locusts being blown by strong winds into the Southern parts of Europe, and occasioning great distress. In the Venetian territories idone, no less than 30,000 people were destroyed by a plague occasioned by a visit of locusts in 1487.

Strange and loathsome as it may seem, these insects are used in some places as an article of food, and thev are said to taste not unlike red herrings. The way of preparing them is various, as they are sometimes dried and salted, and sometimes they are eaten fresh, as is done, in many parts of Arabia and Persia, by the people, who, as we are told by Salt, " after broiling them, separate the heads from the bodies, and devour the latter, in the same manner as Europeans cat shrimps and prawns." Many other travellers testify to their being a favourite article of food in the more mountainous and poorer regions of the East; and we cannot but be surprised, therefore, with the knowledge of these facLs, that so many commentators should labour to make the food of John the Baptist to be the fruit of some wild tree, when nothing can be plainer, than that the inhabitants of the poor and sequestered district he frequented, would, in all probability, make use of locusts as their successors in the same quarters do in the present day.

REVIEWS OF NEW RELIGIOUS PUBLICATIONS. On Natural Theology. By Thomas Chalmers, D.D. and L.L.D., Professor of Theology in the University of Edinburgh, and Corresponding Member of the Roval Institute of France. Vol. L 12mo. Glasgow, W. Collins, 1830.

Man, it has been often remarked, is a religious creature; that is, he is fitted by the natural constitution of his

Bind to understand and to feel the force of religious principle and motive. It is this very peculiarity in the structure of the human being which prepares him at once to know that there is a God, and that if there be such a Being, certain feelings of reverence, homage, and obedience ought to be exercised towards him. There hare been individuals, it is true, who have openly professed themselves to be Atheists, declaring their entire disbelief in the existence of a Supreme Being. But such men «re evidently doing violence to the nature of which they are possessed. Reason and conscience are at one in their attestations as to the reality of the Divine existence; and hence, Atheists are without excise. The evidence around and within them is suffident to convince them, but the secret of their Atheism is, that they vili not be convinced. The light shines with overwhelming brightness, but such is their unwillingness to submit themselves to its cheering influence, that they deliberately shut their eyes upon it.

And even independently altogether of the actual evidence for the existence of a God, the mere presumption that there may he such a Being, is of itself sufficient to bring us under obligation to make further investigation, if possibly we can arrive at a settled conviction of this great question. We dare not remain at rest upon the matter. It is too momentous to be left unsolved. It is not a mere speculative truth, which it is of little consequence to us whether it be satisfactorily established or not. It is a strictly practical truth, which involves consequences of vital importance to our comfort and happiness. If the question then shall once be proposed, I must not, I cannot, I dare not, rest until it shall have been solved in some way or other. On this subject we may quote some excellent remarks from the idmirable work of Dr Chalmers now before us:—

"Man is not to blame, if an atheist, because of the vint of proof But he is to blame, if an atheist, because he has shut hi3 eyes. He is not to bbime, that the evidence for a God has not been seen by him, if no «uch evidence there were within the field of his observation. But he is to blame, if the evidence have not been seen, because he turned away his attention from it. That the question of a God may he unresolved in his mind, all he has to do, is to refuse a hearing to the question. He may abide without the conviction of a God, if he so choose. But this his choice is matter of condemnation. To resist God after that He is known, is criminality towards him; but to be satisfied that He should remain unknown, is like criminality towards Him. There is a moral perversity of spirit with him who is willing, in the midst of many objects of gratification, that there should not be one object of gratitude. It is thus that, even in the ignorance of God, there may be a responsibility towards God. The Discerncr of the heart sees, whether, for the blessings innumerable niitrcwith He lias strewed the path of every man, He be teatcd, like the unknown benefactor who was diligently soupht, or like the unknown benefactor who was never cared for. In respect, at least of desire after God, the same distinction of character may be observed between one man and another—whether God be wrapt in mystery, or stand forth in full development to our world. Even though a mantle of deepest obscurity lay over the question of His existence; this would not efface the distinction, between the piety on the one hand which laboured and aspired after Him j and the impiety upon the other which never missed the evidence that it <ud not care for, and so grovelled in the midst of its own sensuality and selfishness. The eye of a heavenly witness is upon all these varieties; and thus, whether

it be darkness or whether it be dislike which hath caused a people to be ignorant of God, there is with him a clear principle of judgment, that He can extend even to the outfields of atheism."

If then the question as to the existence of a Divine Being is of such a nature that no man can safely leave it unexamined, the enquiry naturally suggests itself, "Are there not some men who are so situated, that not even the slightest evidence on this subject is within their reach?" Without hesitation we answer, No. There Uvea not a man upon the earth whose path is not strictly strewed with proofs the most satisfactory and convincing, that there is a God. Or, to use the eloquent language of our author:—

"There is no individual so utterly a stranger to the name and the conception of a Divinity, as to be without the scope of this obligation. They have all from their infancy heard of God. Many have been trained to think of Him, amidst a thousand associations of reverence. Some, under a roof of piety, have often lisped the prayers of early childhood to this unseen Being; and, in the oft repeated sound of morning and evening orisons, they have become familiar to His name. Even they who have grown up at random through the years of a neglected boyhood, are greatly within the limits of that responsibility for which we plead. They have at least the impression of a God. When utterance of Him is made in their hearing, they are not startled as if by the utterance of a thing unnoticed and unknown. They are fully possessed, if not with the certainty, at least with the idea, of a great eternal Sovereign, whose kingdom is the universe, and on whose will all its processes are suspended. Whosoever may have escaped from the full and practical belief of such a Being, he most assuredly hath not escaped from the conception of Him. The very imprecations of profaneness may have taught it to him. The very Sabbaths he spends in riot and blasphemy at least remind him of a God. The worship-bell of the church he never enters, conveys to him, if not the truth, at least an imagination of the truth. In all these ways, and in many more beside, there is the sense of a God upon his spirit—and if such a power of evidence hath not been forced upon his understanding so as to compel the assurance that God is—at least such intimations have been given, that he cannot possibly make his escape from the thought that a God may be. In spite of himself this thought will overtake him, and if it do not arrest him by a sense of obligation, it will leave guilt upon his soul. It might not make him a believer, but it ought to make him an inquirer—and in this indifference of his there is the very essence of sin— though it be against a God who is unknown."

In the present Treatise, the argument for the Being of a God is carried up from even the lowest presumption to that accumulated, and even still more accumulating, mass of evidence which impresses us with a conviction of absolute certainty. The proofs drawn from external nature are so numerous, and have been so admirably treated in the work of Dr Paley, that it is unnecessary to do more than refer to them. But there is another class of proofs drawn from the mind and heart of man himself, which have been but seldom noticed. In the discussion of this part of the evidence, accordingly, Dr Chalmers has been somewhat extended. As a specimen, we may extract the following remarks upon conscience:—

"Now it is in these phenomena of Conscience that Nature offers to us, far her strongest argument for the moral character of God. Had He been an unrighteous Being himself, would He have given to this the obviously superior faculty in man, so distinct and authori

tative a voice on die side of righteousness? Would lie have no constructed the creatures of our species, as to have planted in every breast a reclaiming witness against himself? Would He have thus inscribed on the tablet of every heart the sentence of his own condemnation; and is not this just as unlikely, as that He should have inscribed it in written characters on the forehead of each individual? Would He so have fashioned the workmanship of His own hands; or, if a God of cruelty, injustice, and falsehood, would He have placed in the station of master and judge, that faculty which, felt to be the highest in our nature, would prompt a generous and high-minded revolt of all our sentiments against the Being who formed us? From a God possessed of such characteristics, we should surely have expected a differently-moulded humanity; or, in other words, from the actual constitution of man, from the testimonies on the side of all righteousness, given by the vicegerent within the heart, do we infer the righteousness of the Sovereign who placed it there. He would never have established a conscience in man, and invested it with the authority of a monitor, and given to it those legislative and judicial functions which it obviously possesses; and then so framed it, that all its decisions should be on the side of that virtue which He himself disowned, and condemnatory of that vice which He himself exemplified. This is an evidence for the righteousness of God, which keeps its ground, amid all the disorders and aberrations to which humanity is liable; and can no more, indeed, be deafened or overborne by these than is the rightful authority of public opinion, by the occasional outbreakings of iniquity and violence which take place in society. And again,

"It is true that rebellious man hath, with daring footstep, trampled on the lessons of Conscience; but why, in spite of man's perversity, is Conscience, on the other hand, able to lift a voice so piercing and so powerful, by which to remonstrate against the wrong;, and to reclaim the honours that are due to her? How comes it that, in the mutiny and uproar of the inferior faculties, that faculty in man, which wears the stamp and impress of the highest, should remain on the side of truth and holiness? Would humanity have thus been moulded by a false and evil spirit; or would he have committed such impolicy against himself, as to insert in each member of our species a principle which would make him feel the greatest complacency in his own rectitude, when he feels the most high-minded revolt of indignation and dislike against the Being who gave him birth? It is not so much that Conscience takes a part among the other faculties of our nature, but that Conscience takes among them the part of a governor, and that man, if he do not obey her suggestions, still, in despite of himself, acknowledges her rights. It is a mighty argument for the virtue of the Governor above, that all the laws and injunctions of the governor below are on the side of virtue. It seems as if He had left this representative, or remaining witness, for himself, in a world that had cast off its allegiance, and that, from the voice of the judge within the breast, we may learn the will and the character of Him who hath invested with such authority his dictates. It is this which speaks as much more demonstratively for the presidency of a righteous God in human affairs, than for that of impure or unrighteous demons, as did the rod of Aaron, when it swallowed the rods of the enchanters and magicians in Egypt In the wildest anarchy of man's insurgent

appetites and sins, there is still a reclaiming voice, a

voice which, even when in practice disregarded, it is impossible not to own; and to which, at the very moment that we refuse our obedience, we find that we cannot refuse the homage of what we ourselves do feel and acknowledge to be the best, the highest principles of our nature.'*

Had our limits permitted, we would gladly hav* en. Urged our remarks upon this valuable work. Suffice it to say, however, that characterized as it is by the Author's well-known vigour of thought and richness of illustration, it cannot fail to be regarded as an important accession to the Literature of Theology, and take its place as a standard work on that department of the science of which it treats.

THE CHRISTIAN TREASURY. Family Worship—A household in which family prayer is devoutly attended to, conjoined with the reading of the Scriptures, is a school of religious instruction. The whole contents of the sacred volume are in due course laid open before its members. Thev arccontinually reminded of their relation to God and the Redeemer, of their sins, and their wants, and of the method they must take to procure pardon for the one and the r lief of the other. Every day they are rereiving " line upon line, and precept upon precept." A fresh accession is continually making to their stock of knowledge; new truths are gradually opened to their view, and the impressions of old truths revived A judicious parent will naturally notice the most striking incidents in his family in his devotional addresses • such as the sickness, or death, or removal for a longer or shorter time, of the members of which it is coinposed. His addresses will be varied according to circumstances. Has a pleasing event spread joy and cheerfulness through the household? it will be noticed with becoming expressions of fervent gratkude. Has some calamity overwhelmed the domestic ci.cle ? it will give occasion to an acknowledgment of the divine equity; the justice of God's proceedings will be vindicated and grace implored through the blood of the Redeemer' to sustain and sanctify the stroke.'

When the most powerful feelings, and the most interesting circumstances, are thus connected with religion, it is not unreasonable to hope that, through divine grace, some lasting and useful impressions will be made Is not some part of the good seed thus sown, and thus nurtured, likely to take root and to become fruitful? Deeply as we are convinced of the deplorable corruption of the human heart, and the necessity, consequent on this, of divine agency to accomplish a saving purpose, we must not forget that God is accustomed to work by means; and surely none can be conceived more likely to meet the end. What can be so likely to impress a child with a dread of sin, as to hear his parents constantly deprecating the wrath of God as justly due to it; or to induce him to seek an interest in the mediation and intercession of the Saviour, as to hear hi,n imploring it for him, day by day, with an importunity proportioned to the magnitude of the subject? By a daily attention on such exercises, children and servants are taught most effectually how to pray: Suitable topics are suggested to their minds; suitable petitions are put into their mouths; while their growing acquaintance with the Scriptures furnishes the arguments by

which they may plead with God Robert Hall.

Family Religion—Reader, I beg of yon, as from Chnst, for his sake, for your soul's sake, your children's sake, for the sake of the church and kingdom that you will conscientiously and seriously set up family religion; calling upon God, singing his praises, and instructing your children and servants in the Scripture and Catechism, and in a wise and diligent education of youth. Hear me, as if I begged it of you with tears on my knees. Alas, what doth the world suffer by the neglect of this 1 It is out of ungodly families that the world hath ungodly rulers, ungodly ministers, and a swarm of serpentine enemies of holiness and peace and their own salvation. What country groaneth not under the confusions, miseries., and horrid wickedness, which.

itiifl tie fruits of family neglects, and the careless and tl education of youth? It is a work of great skill and nisstmt care to instruct and educate your children, and to Veep them from tempting company and snares. To err out of dumb and unfaithful ministers, while you are worse it borne yourselves, is but self-condemnation. Are ministers more obliged to care for your children's soul.-, by nature, or by vow and covenant, than you are? Can they do that for whole parishes which you will not to for one household, or your own children? The first dsrge and part is yours: if families treacherously ne-!<•« their part, and then look that all should be done at tie ehurch, you may as wisely send boys to the uniTerfities before they are taught to read and write in lower schools. If there be any hope of the amendment of the wicked, miserable, and distracted world, it must be raosdy done by family religion and the Christain edunacn of youth. "Godliness is profitable to all things;" but the curse of God is in the house of the wicked, and tie unjodly betrayers of souls, of themselves, children, and servants, will very quickly be summoned to a terrible account; especially those that should, as rulers, be eiemplary to the vulgar, and are ashamed to own serious family religion, as if all beyond some formal and lip-feibour, were a dishonour to their houses, or a needless thing.—Baxter.

Sanctified Affliction Worldly sorrow is worthy of

pity—because it leadetb to death; but this deserves nothing but envy and congratulation. If those tears were common, hell would not so enlarge itself. Never sin, repented of, wa3 punished; and never any thus mourned, sad repented not, Lo, you have done that, which you grieve you have not done. That good God, whose srt is his will, accounts of our will as our deed. If he required sorrow equal to the heinousriess of our sins, itiere were no end of our mourning! Now his mercy retards not so much the measure as the truth of it; sad accounts us to have that, which we complain to wart. I never knew any truly penitent, who, in the depth of his remorse, was afraid of sorrowing too much; cor any unrepentant, who wished to sorrow more. Yea, let me tell you, that this sorrow is better, and more than that deep heaviness for sin which you desire. Many have been vexed with an extreme remorse for some sa'n, from the gripes of a galled conscience, which ret never came where true repentance grew;—in whom the conscience plays at once the accuser, witness, judge, said tormentor; but an earnest grief for want of grief, was never found in any but a gracious heart. You are iajpy, and complain. Tell me, I beseech you, this •orrow you mourn to want: is it a grace of the Spirit of God. or not? If not, why do you sorrow to want it? If it be be, oh! bow happy is it to grieve for want of srace! The God of all truth and blessedness has said, "Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after right■?-asness;" and with the same breath, "Blessed are taey that mourn, for they shall be comforted I" You say yon mourn: Christ saitb, " You are blessed." You say you mourn: Christ saith, " You shall be comforted." Either now distrust your Saviour, or else confess your own happiness, and, with patience, expect his promised consolation. What do you fear? You see others stand like strong rocks—unshaken, unremoved. You are but a reed, a feeble plant tossed and bowed with every wind, and with much agitation bruised. Lo, you are in tender and favourable hands, that never brake any whom their sins bruised—never bruised any whom temptations have bowed. You are but flax, and your ''■■est is not a flame, but an obscure smoke of grace. Lo, Lere lis Spirit is as a soft wind, not as cold water; he •*iil kindle, but will never queneh you. The sorrow you ^ant, is his gilt Take heed, lest while you vex yourself *itk dislike of the measure, you grudge at the giver. Beggars may not choose. This portion he has vouchsafed lo give you; if you have any, it was more than he was

bound to bestow. Yet you say, What T no more 7 as. if you took it unkindly that lie is not more liberal. Even these holy discontentments are dangerous. Desire more, (as much as you can,) but repine not, when you do not attain. Desire, but so as to be free from impatience, free from unthankfulness. Those that have tried can say, how difficult it is to complain, with due reservation of thanks. Neither know I which is worse —to long for good things impatiently, or not at all to desire them. The fault of your sorrow is rather in your conceit, than in itself; and if indeed you mourn not enough, stay but God's leisure, and your eyes shall run over with tears. How many do you see sport with their sins, yea brag of them! how many that should die for want of pastime, if they might not sin freely—and more freely talk of it 1 What a saint are you to those, that can droop under the memory of the frailty of youth, and never think you have spent enough of tears 1 Yet so I encourage you in what you have, as one that persuades you not to desist from suing for more. It is good to be covetous of grace, and to have our desires herein enlarged with our receipts. Weep still, and still desire to weep;—but let your tears be as the rain in the sun-hine—comfortable and hopeful; and let not your longing savour of murmur or distrust. These tears are reserved—this hunger shall be satisfied—this sorrow shall be comforted 1 There is nothing betwixt God and you—but time. Prescribe not to his wisdom —hasten not his mercy. His grace is enough for you: —his glory shall be more than enough 1—Bisuop Hall.

Good Fruits -It is no good fruit that proceeds not

out of a heart aiming at the obedience of all God's will: such kind of men are but almost Christians, and shall be almost saved: such as their Christianity is, such shall their salvation be; they are come nearer to

religion, so they shall but come nearer to heaven

Another thing necessarily required to good fruit is, that there be special regard had to the duties of that particular calling wherein a man is placed by God's providence. As God hath fitted every man to live in some calling, so each man's calling is appointed bim for that end, to be, as it were, the testimony of his religion, and the matter in which be should show himself what is in him. For this is to be held for a rule, that religion doth not abolish ordinary callings, nor exempt any man from taking some lawful way or other, by which to do good to himself and human society; but rather, it is a man's only direction for the choosing of a calling, and for the lawful employing himself in the same. Paul, writing to the Thessalonians, and exhorting them to increase more and more in religion, persuades them, also, "to meddle with their own business," and to work with their hands. It is said of the shepherds, to whom the birth of our Saviour was revealed by the angels, that when they had been at Bethlehem, and seen the babe in the manger, they returned back to their callings. John the Baptist, preaching repentance to the people, when they flocked about him, every man asking what he should do, put them over all to their callings :—" What shall we do ?" said the publicans. "Require," saith he, "no more than that which is appointed unto you."—" And what shaU we do ?" quoth the soldiers. "Do violence to no man, neither accuse any falsely, and be content with your calling."—Hiehon.

Crellius was a Socinian, and a leader of that party. The grace of God was signally manifested in bringing him to right views of the truth. He not only rejoiced to see his daughters bow the knee to the crucified Saviour, but he himself turning to the Lord, called upon him as his Lord and his God; and found, at the latter end of his' life, no consolation but in the atonement by the blood of Jesus, and wished that all his books could die with him. This has been testified, not only by his daughters, but by all who were with him before bin. end.—Note to Latrobe's Hist, of Vn. Brethren.

By The Rev. Duncan Grant, A.M.,
Minister of Forres.
Beauteous on our heath-clad mountains,

May our Herald's feet appear;
Sweet, by silver lakes and fountains,

May his voice be to our ear.

Let the tenants of our rocks.

Shepherds watching o'er their flocks,

Village swain and peasant boy,

Thee salute with songs of joy! Christian Herald I spread the story

Of Redemption's wond'rous plan; 'Tis Jehovah's brightest glory,

'Tis his highest gift to man;

Angels on their harps of gold,

Love its glories to unfold;

Heralds who its influence wield,

Make the waste a fruitful field.

To the fount of mercy soaring,

On the wings of faith and love; And the depths of grace exploring,

By the light shed from above;

Shew us whence life's waters flow,

And where trees of blessing grow,

Hearing fruit of heavenly bloom,

Breathing Eden's rich perfume. Love to God and man expressing,

In thy course of mercy speed; Lead to springs of joy and blessing,

And with heavenly manna feed

Scotland's children high and low,

Till the Lord they truly know, . As to us our fathers told,

He was known by them of old. To the young, in season vernal,

Jcsu3 in his grace disclose; As the tree of life eternal,

'Neath whose shade they may repose,

Shielded from the noon tide ray,

And from ev'ning's tribes of prey;

And refresh'd with fruits of'love,

And with music from above. Christian Herald ! may the blessing

Of the Highest thee attend, That, this chiefest boon possessing,

Thou may'st prove thy country's friend:

Tend to make our land assume

Something of its former bloom,

When the dews of heaven were seen

Sparkling on its pastures green,

When the voice of warm devotion

To the throne of God arose— Mighty as the sound of ocean,

Calm as nature in repose ;—

Sweeter, than when Araby

Perfume breathes from flow'r and tree,

Rising 'hove the shining sphere,

To Jehovah's list'ning ear.

Humility In the early part of Hervey's ministry—

when he was an avowed Armenian, there lived in his parish a ploughman, who usually attended the congregation of Dr Doddridge, and was well instructed in the doctrines of grace: Mr Hervcy being advised by his physician, for the benefit of his health, to follow the plough, in order to smell the fresh earth, frequently accompanied this ploughman in his rural employment. Understanding the ploughman was a serious person, he said to him one morning, "What do you think is the hardest thing in religion?" to which he replied, "lama poor, illiterate man, and you, sir, are a minister; I beg leave to return the question."—" Then," said Mr Hervey, "I think

the hardest thing is to deny sinful self:" grounding bis opinion on that solemn admonition of our Lord," If any man will come after me, let him deny himself." "I harangued," says Mr Hervey, "upon the import and extent of the duty, shewing that merely to forbear the infamous action is little—we must deny admittance, deny entertainment, at least, to the evil imagination, and quench even the kindling sparks of irregular desire. In this way I shot my random bolt." The ploughman replied, " Here is another instance of selfdenial, to which the injunction extends, and which is 01 very great moment in the Christian religion: I mean the instance of renouncing our own strength and our own righteousness—not leaning on that for holiness, nor relying on this for justification." In repeating the story toafriend, Mr Hervey observed, " I then hated the righteousness of Christ, I looked at the man with astonishment and disdain, I thought him an old fool, and wondered at what I then fancied the motley mixture of piety and extravagance in his notions. I have seen clearly since who was the fool—not the wise old Christian, but the proud James Hervey. I now discern sense, solidity, and truth in his observations."—Brown's Memoirs of Hervey.

Ancient Christians We learn, from Chrvsostom,

that women and children had frequently the Gospels, or parts of the New Testament, hung round their neck, and carried them constantly about with them. The rich had splendid copies of the sacred writings on vellum, in their libraries and book-cases; but as the art of printing was not known till many ages after, complete copies of the Scriptures were, of course, exceedingly scarce.

It is, however, very observable, that in the primitive church, children were particularly encouraged in the efforts which they made to commit to memory the in. valuable truths of the divine volume. Of one Marcus who was well instructed in the morning of life, it it recorded, that he became so expert in the Scriptures when he was but a youth, that he could repeat tin whole of the Old and New Testaments. Of one o two others it is said, that being men of good memories they got the Scriptures by heart, only by hearing ther continually read by others, they not being able to rea a single word.

Value of the Bible From the register of Alnwicl

bishop of Norwich, it appears, that a Testament < Wickliflf's version, in the year 1429, cost four nrnrl and forty pence, £2 16s. 8(1., (equal to more th: twenty pounds of our present money ;) a large sum those days, when five pounds was considered sufficie for the annual maintenance of a respectable tradesman or a yeoman, or one of the inferior clergy.

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