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And then he thought he must have committed " the sin against the Holy Ghost, which will never be forgiven in this world or in the next." And he fancied he resembled Judas the Traitor, in his sins and in his despair; and he would have killed himself like him if he could have hoped that God would be provoked to annihilate him. But to be brought nearer to what he felt so near already, was to him an awful thought, and this restrained him.
After Honestus had remained in this fearful condition some time, he went to his parish church one Sabbath morning. From that time Honestus has not known despair nor slavish fear which hath torment, but has understood that the gift of God is eternal life through "Jesus Christ our Lord;" he has had the liberty, and he confides in the love of one in whom there is the spirit of an adopted child, crying, "my father, my father." Nor hath it since come into his mind to doubt, that as one who is his brother, and " the propitiation for his sins," as a God maketh intercession for him with the Father, so the Spirit proceeding from the same Father, maketh intercession in him as a God, "with groanings that cannot be uttered." Oh, how blessed to know, that the yoke and the burden which he had begged all men and all things to take off, and which he found not one of them could remove, hath been removed by the hand of God himself; yea, God who became flesh, for this express purpose of mercy, that we who have exhausted ourselves in seeking rest, might from him receive it to our souls.
The sermon which Honestus heard on the occasion above-mentioned, and which was made the means of illuminating the eyes of his mind, so that he perceived "to what hope he was called," (Ep. i. 17—20,) and also, whence must coine both pardon for past offences and power to do the will of God, was a very plain and ordinary production; probably the reader hears two much better sermons every week. And the effect which so feeble a weapon produced, the minister who preached it always looked upon as a signal illustration of the words,—" Not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit, saith the Lord;" and of these,—" This treasure we have," not in vessels of gold or silver, but "in earthen vessels." This Gospel is oft committed to men who are not able to enforce it by the most powerful arguments, or to press it with the most striking eloquence, "that the surpassing power of it might be evinced to be of God and not of men;" that its effects in appeasing the conscience, purifying the heart, transforming the life, might be acknowledged to be the issue not of any human but of a divine power. And yet his mind was forcibly arrested in listening to the following
"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."—Matthew, xi. 28.
It is incredible what pains men take to render themselves miserable—what diligence they use to quicken their progress to hell. They are not content to be carried thither in the natural course of things, but they wiH strain every nerve to go as fast as possible, as if terrified lest others should outstrip them in the road. If they only walked in ways of their own, they would very soon come to the end of their journey, but to arrive in the bottomless pit very goon, is not soon enough for their impatience and fury, hence they run post-haste, and lose no time. They appear terribly afraid lest God's mercy should catch them, lest it should rob them of their dearly-beloved sins, and forthwith plunge them into heaven. What infinite pains they take
to escape such a calamity! Jesus Christ, the Son of God, saveth poor creatures; and, oh! how He pitied them, when He perceived that, instead of running to Him as a friend who could ease them of their burdens, they fled from Him as if He were an enemy and a task-master. And here He stands by the wayside, and tries to convince the infatuated men, that they are now nothing better than slaves and beasts of burden, and those who are become sensible of this, and feel weary of the galling yoke, He encourages to cast it off resolutely, and for ever, and to take on them his yoke which is easy, his burden which is light, and he gives them the Word of God for an assurance, that "they shall find rest to their souls."
There are many persons "weary and heavy laden," seeking "rest to their souls," but finding it not, who have heard of Jesus Christ, and these "gracious words which proceeded out of his mouth;" why then hear they not what the Son of God so freely offers? The causes seem to be chiefly these: 1st, They want faith in Him that makes this gracious offer, they have no confidence that He will do what He says; or, Idly, They suspect the rest which Christ proposes to confer is not the kind which will suit them—they cannot comprehend, that "learning of Him to be meek and lowly," should prove so pleasant a yoke, as to give rest to their souls; or, 3dly, If convinced both of the veracity of Jesus Christ, and that His burden is as light as he says, yet they imagine it is too great a favour for them, they are not worthy to receive it, and that therefore they must remain weary and heavy laden unto eternity. In order to correct these three mistakes, let us set ourselves to answer the three following questions:—
1. Who is the person that makes the promise in the text? Our confidence in the truth of the message must depend very much on the character of Him that delivers it. But who speaks the promise, "I will give you rest?" The Word of God speaks it. The wisdom of God speaks it. God's Son, His messenger, His apostle, speaks it, in whom His promises are all of them yea and amen, t. e. faithful and true, to whose divine commission the Father set His seal, when there came that voice from the surpassing glory, " This is mv beloved Son." Will any man call God a liar to his face? Doubt not, then, reject not His word, turn not away. When God commands, " hear ye Him," i. «. listen, believe, obey. In short, since God speaks, let us receive, without the least doubt or hesitation, with absolute and implicit faith, whatever He sayB. For I tell you plainly, that God will sooner extinguish hell, and revoke His sentence of condemnation against all reprobate men, angels, and devils, than any one who comes to Jesus Christ and takes His yoke upon him, shall be disappointed of finding that rest to his soul which the Lord Jesus has given him reason to expect. God willeth that all his threatening^ should be void rather than any one of his promises should fail to be accomplished.
2. To whom does this exalted person speak? To what manner of men does He address himself i Perhaps to those who are very joyful, or very satisfied, or Tery good? To them who are very prosperons and very happy? To such as have heard of calamity and a sorrowing spirit only by the hearing of the ear? Is any among you in distress, is any in fear and great dismay, harassed by present misfortunes and painful doubts? Who is in perplexity, or despairs of God's mercy, or suspects that he has sinned away all his day of grace, and for him now nothing remains but night and thick darkness? Who is there, that when he reads the Bible, the message of God's mercy, the good news of His grace, fancies that the threatenings and the curses, the condemnation, the fire and the worm, alone were prepared and designed for him? To thee, 0 man, Jesus Christ speaks this message of peace now by his spirit, as truly as if he had addressed it to thee actually in his flesh. What persuades the man that he has not a right to obey the command " come," when Jesus Christ gives him that command? Who should know better than Jesus Christ? And how can any imagine, that coming, he will not be heard by Him that said, "I nill give you rest,"—" He that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out?" Does the Lord Jesus not know what he means? or not mean what he says? Does he give us commands which he does not permit us to obey? or hold out hopes which he will never realize? Resist that thought. "Let God be true, but every man a liar." His word is true whether we believe it or not, for "He continneth faithful, He cannot deny himself." Say not, you are perhaps " not weary and heavy laden" in the particular way, or from that particular came, intended by the Saviour. What have you to do with particular ways or causes? Not one word does Christ speak about any such thing. But, to those who are in the state he mentions, by what means soever they may have come into that state, or whatever may be its peculiarities, the gTacious words of the Lord are spoken. Do you suspect that the great Physician first sends messengers round the world, to assure all people, that every one labouring under a certain mortal distemper, shall, on coming to Him, be infallibly cured, but that, when the poor freatures have prevailed on themselves to come and get the infallible cure, the Physician begins to explain to one that his distemper, though that which He promised to cure, did not arise from that particular cause which rendered him a fit subject for His applications; to another, that though he was seized with the genuine disease, vet there were peculiarities in his case which prevented his being taken on treatment;—to a third, that his disease was not far enough advanced ;— to a fourth, that his was too far? Oh, who can think thus dishonourably of the great Physician, who travelled all the distance from heaven to earth, from the throne and the bosom of God, to the bosom of a poor woman, and assumed the form of man, of a servant among men; who began His life in a manger among the beasts, and ended
it, groaning on a cross, derided of men, assaulted of devils, forsaken of God? Hath He done and endured so much to bring us a remedy for our weary and labouring spirits, and yet will He not give the remedy but to some, who happen to be weary after a special manner? This is not the way in which his grace proceeds. If you are weary and heavy laden, so that you wish to be relieved and delivered, let this be your gratification, this your title and warrant. And let no man and no devil persuade you, that you are presumptuous, or will be unsuccessful, till Jesus Christ himself revokes his own words, "come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden." To thee, O man, the Saviour speaks, who art troubled and seekest rest, which thou knowest not where to find. Put not away his gracious words which He penned, so that thou mightest understand they are addressed unto thyself, and, that thou being weary with running elsewhere to seek relief, mightest find it here—that thou who art sore spent with the huge burdens of sorrow, which sin hath loaded thee withal, mightest by that gracious hand, which touched the blind, and they saw, and being stretched out, saved the drowning and frighted disciple, and broke the symbol of His own body in the sacramental bread, having first been raised to bless it,—by that gracious hand which was fixed through with a nail, and fastened to the cross, which convinced His disciples, and struck the distrusting Thomas dumb—that hand which was lifted up to bless His followers before he left the earth, and is even lifted up, in intercession to the Father, for them in heaven—from the fulness of whose grace, blessings perpetually descend upon them; and that by that gracious hand, thou, O my soul, mightest have thy burden taken off, and mightest run in the way of His commandments, "with enlarged heart." And wheresoever thou art, thou canst find no other just argument to shew that these words are not meant for them, except this, that thou art not weary and heavy laden.
3. Such being the person who speaks, and such being the persons to whom He speaks, let us hear next what it is He says to them. "Come unto me, and I will give you rest." First, a command, then a promise. "Come." How? As a scholar comes to his master—as a patient to his physician—as a man who had taken poison would to a person who, he knew, possessed an antidoto —as one who hath a great need, to another who hath an ample store, and a ready will and an open heart. "Come," as a condemned criminal would apply to him who could reprieve and pardon him, and had assured him he should have a pardon, if he would but apply for it. Thus come, ye weary and heavy laden souls, to this Master and Lord of life, nothing doubting, casting away fear, for your own doubts and fears are more formidable obstacles than all the things you fear. How dare you fear, when God commands you to hope? How dare you doubt, when God bids you be confident? Nay, but obey the precept " Come," and you cannot but receive the promise—" Rest."
Still do yon hesitate 1 When the terrors of the Lord have driven you Bo far from hell, that you are come closer to the gate of hesven, can you not find courage to knock, though this be written there, with the very sun-beam of God's grace, " To him that knocketh it shall be opened." And though He stands and invites you, beseeches you by his incarnation and all his humiliation, by his life of sorrows, by bis temptations, by his hunger and thirst, by his mockeries and bloody sweat, by his agony, his crown of thorns, his wounds, his cross, his grace, by his passion, and all his love stronger than death,—by his many sighs, his many tears and many prayers, oh, when He who endured them all, beseeches you by all these, is it obstinacy, is it blindness, or is it that disbelief which makes Him a liar, that hinders you coming and finding that rest, which the Prince of Peace alone can give, and which is the foretaste of that rest "which remaineth for the people of God?" You are heavy laden with guilt. Scared with visions of punishment, the terrors of wrath take hold upon you, and your frighted conscience cries out, " Oh, how shall I appear?" Let the word of God be heard. "Through this Man is preached unto you the forgiveness of sins." "There is, therefore, now no condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus, (even to them that believe on his name), who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit." "Therefore, being justified by faith, we have peace with God, through Jesus Christ our Lord." And if you aik Jesus Christ, whether He will or can pardon and deliver you, he will answer as he did to a certain half faithless man, "If thou canst believe, all things (promised) are possible to him that believeth."
But perhaps, the service of sin is your plague. You are groaning like the Israelites under the Egyptian task-masters, and crying out with St. Paul, " O, wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from the body of this death I" It is no wonder the sinner groans, when his eyes are opened to know good and evil, for he there discovers, that he is an abused slave of a tyrant, who repays his labour with more labour, and moreover, chastises him with scorpions. How can he enjoy any rest, who is under the dominion of evil passions, tempers, habits? As impossible as to have quietness in tho midst of a battle, or to be cool among flames of fire. Anger, envy, pride, lust, ambition, avarice, will suffer those in whom they reign to have rest, when they change their nature and cease to be evil. For this burden, Jesus Christ prescribes the same remedy as for the former, " Come unto me, learn of me, take my yoke upon you;" for this yoke, our Master, whose name be blessed for ever, hath made his own, in that He himself condescended to bear it for our instruction and encouragement. He was not like the Pharisees, who laid heavy burdens and grievous, on other mens' shoulders, but could not themselves touch them with one of their fingers. Oh no, "take my yoke, which I not only impose on others, but bear myself) (I am
meek and lowly), and ye shall find rest, not only from fear of punishment, but from sinning, which causes that fear." "Unto you, God having raised up His Son Jesus, sent him to bless you, with rest and peace in this life and the future, by turning away every one of you from his iniquities.'' For the Son of God hath come even from heaven, and assumed the form of man, to take us by the hand, and keep us out of this slough of iniquity. He comes to give us power to become sons of God; He takes away the slavery to evil passions, and the badges of it, giving us the liberty, the name, the station, the privileges, the spirit of the sons of God, and the sure hope of the eternal inheritance which is reserved in heaven for us, who " are heirs of God, and joint heirs with Christ," and are " kept by His mighty power through faith unto salvation." Seek then to know Christ in the saving power of His cross. By it be ye crucified unto the world, and let the world be crucified unto you." Seek to have " the body, laden with fleshly sins," nailed to the tree whereon Christ made expiation for the sins of the world; thus shall you know Him in the fellowship of his sufferings," thug shall your old man be destroyed, that you should not serve sin; thus, having with the apostle cried out, " Oh wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me," you will with him exclaim, "Thanks be to God that giveth us the victory," a present and real conquest over sin, through Jesus Christ. Love is stronger than all chains, more powerful than all reasons, arguments, inducements, and the cross is therefore the power of God for saving men; because therein God commendeth his love to us, even when we were yet sinners, and the cross is thus the mightiest instrument of salvation, because it is the strongest argument of God's love to us. Oh may the love of God subdue us, Oh may the love of Christ constrain us, to love Him who first loved us, and to secure that belief, that peace, that rest which consists in being so actuated, pervaded, filled with love, as not to live to ourselves, but to Him that died for us and rase again. A nd so may the Holy Spirit of God, who is the comforter, and whom the Lord sent from the Father, to secure and increase that peace which He bequeathed to his disciples, fill us with all joy and peace in believing, that the rest which we seek, we may find and enjoy, now ar.d through eternal ages. "He that committeth sin, is the slave of sin." "If the Son shall make you free ye shall he free indeed."
Now, to the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, one eternal God, be honour and glory, for ever: Amen.
A WALK TO CALVARY.
Part L By The Rev. Mabcos Dods, Minister of the Scotch Church, Befford. Let Us take a walk to Calvary, where three cross.: < display the last earthly agonies of three persons. We shall not at present direct our attention to the middlecross, and Him who hangs upon it, for this would ttn
pit us in the consideration of the ancient prophecies which were there fulfilled,—in unfolding the revelations of the divine character which were there made,—and in tracingthe privileges, "he duties, and the hopes which low from thence to the fallen sons and daughters of men. We shall turn our view, therefore, for the pretest, to a subordinate, but by no means uninstructive portion of the scene.
Let us look to the two thieves. The first thing that strikes us here is, that two men may be associates in guilt, and may be brought into condemnation for the tame crime, and yet may be men of very different characters. These two thieves were condemned for the tame crime, and it U distinctly admitted that their condemnation was just. Yet it is clear that there was a verr wide difference between the men. The one seems to be completely hardened in guilt, suffering, as he is, all the pain and the infamy which he had brought upon himself by his guilt, he yet feels no compunction whatever. He is only anxious to escape from his punishment; while, at the same time, he manifests a disposition just to plunee again into a fresh course of iniquity. He has apparently no fear of a judgment to eome, but joins in the scon's which the persecutors of the Lord were uttering against Him. He dies while his heart is yet burning with all that intensity of passion which had urged him on to the commission of those crimes that had brought him to this fearful end.
The other, on the contrary, seems to be impressed nith a very proper sense of the awfulness of his situation. He looks not on his executioners with the inditnaut ferocity of an untamed savage, but acknowledges that his punishment is just. He looks not forward to futurity with reckless disregard j for he feels that when his nimee against society have been expiated on the cross, he mast appear before another tribunal, when the sunerinjrs which he has endured, however painful, can form no expiation, and when he needs the interest ot a powerful advocate. He feels all the impropriety of his associate's sentiments and conduct, rebukes him for tbem, and turning to his other fellow-sufferer, makes this request, "Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.**
What instruction either of these men had received, we are not informed, but it is certain that there must have been a cause for the very remarkable difference in their characters; and that, too, a cause not springing a? at the moment when its effect became apparent, but i ran?* which must have been of long standing, and must have been in active operation at the time when tie principles which distinguished their characters were trst formed. In short, it is obvious, that as in their riper years they had been associates in crime, the distutruishing features of their characters must have been impressed in childhood. The one had evidently had good principles instilled into him in childhood; for it is absurd to suppose that they sprung into being all at once on the cross. The other, apparently, had never received any instructions whatever.
This scene then may afford a most instructive and impressive lesson to parents. The mother of Jesus was there; and we may, without any violence, suppose the Bothers of the other two sufferers to have been there alto. Let us consider the different feelings with which they would contemplate the death of their offspring.
The one has had her heart torn by the course which she had seen her son follow, after having taken all pains to instil into his young mind a sense of his duty to God and to man,—after all her instructions, and all her prayers; and now it is torn by seeing him perishing by a painful and shameful death. Probably she had often besought him, with all a mother's love, and a mother's tears, to remember the instructions of his youth. But in vain. She sees him brought to a premature end by his crimes, and she feels like a mother. But she sees, too, that the misery of his fate has awakened all those principles which his guilty career had weakened, but had not extinguished. The trial which unfolds to the world his guilt,—the fatal sentence in which it terminates,—and the awful scene which carries that sentence into execution, all wring even to bursting a mother's breast, and make her wish she had never been a mother.
But then she has much consolation. She can appeal to God that her son has not been lost for want of careful instruction. She has done her duty; and that, in every situation, is a gratification of the highest kind. But this is not all. She sees that her son's sufferings have revived, in all their strength, those principles of piety which she had early taught him, but which his intercourse with the guilty had for a time stifled. She hears him reverting now to those Scriptures in which she had early instructed him, and earnestly calling on that Saviour to whom all the prophets bore witness, and whose coming had long been the prayer and the hope of the pious in Israel. His cross has accomplished what Iter remonstrances had been unable to accomplish. It humbles him in the dust under a proper sense of his guilt,—brings him back to
his God,—and she retires, sorrowing, it is true deeply
sorrowing, but still richly consoled with the assurance, that if her son has perished in blood, yet he has been recalled to a feeling of genuine repentance; and that now, she could meet him in judgment, with all the joy of a mother who could say, "This my son was dead, and is alive again; was lost, and has been found."
When she thought of her son's agonies, she would think also of the blessed result in which they had issued —when she mourned over his errors, she would be
consoled by the recollection of his dying prayer, when
she thought of the pain and the infamy of the circumstances in which she had parted with him, she would also think of the happy and glorious meeting with him there, where guilt and sorrow are no more. Yes, she is a mourning, but still a happy mother.
Let us look now for a little to the mother of the other criminal. The view is too painful to be dwelt upon. She sees the sufferings of the son for whom she had felt all that foolish fondness which made her spoil him by fatal indulgence. She sees him perish like a wild beast which gnaws its chain in its agonies; and she justly recognises in this the work of her own hands. His sufferings serve only to exasperate his ferocity. They cannot awaken in his breast any dormant principles of early piety, for no such principles has she ever attempted to plant there. She sees him perish in all the exasperation of rage against those who have brought him to punishment, but utterly insensible to the guilt of his crimes. She retires from the bitter scene, but not with any feeling of consolation. She retires only to brood in secret over the melancholy recollection of her own want of real love to her child, and over the fearful anticipation of meeting him in judgment, and of hearing him accuse the author of his being, as the guilty cause of all his crimes and all his sufferings.
Being bound to economize our space, we shall occupy little of it, in pointing out to parents the important lessons which result from the scene we have been placing before them, and which they can hardly fail to draw for themselves. We shall therefore do no more than simply request them to think of the deep responsibility that rests upon them, and press upon their attention the two following remarks:—
.First, That in this land of Bibles, no man can perish through ignorance, without somebody, and especially parents, being guilty of his blood.
Second, That neither the care of parents towards their children, nor their neglect of them, can fail, sooner or later, to produce its proper fruit, and to meet its due reward.
We propose, next week, to return to the same scene, which is still rich in important instruction.
As men live, so do men die. We are often warned against relying on a death-bed repentance, by the unquestionable fact, that such repentance is rarely found to have been genuine where we have the means of testing its sincerity by the unexpected recovery of the apparent penitent: returning life usually bringing along with it a fatal return to vanity or to vice. This consideration ought to prove alarming to those who are living secure in present impenitence, and comforting themselves with the expectation of repenting before they are summoned into judgment. But they have the reply, that late repentance is not necessarily insincere, and some may even suppose that the sorrowing sinner would then have been fit to die, although the result has proved that he was not fit to live. There is, however, another truth with which the careless must be plied, more alarming than the mere insincerity of dying contrition; a truth more frequently overlooked, and which, when stated, sounds more harshly in their ears, and is more ready to startle them into thought. It is, not simply that death-bed repentance is rarely sincere, but that such repentance, whether sincere or insincere, rarely occurs. If we except the children of God, and along with them those who have been habitually more or less anxious about their souls' salvation, we believe we may safely conclude that death, when it has fairly drawn near, seldom awakens even anxiety in the minds of men; and that the attendants on the dying bed are usually more solemn, more sorrowful, and more afraid, than is the dying man himself. We are aware that death, at its first approach, almost always produces a transient alarm, as in the threatening or commencement of deadly disease; and that where the final stroke is sudden and instantaneous, us when life is forfeited to the laws of the country, this alarm may frequently continue to the last. But in most other cases, whenever the work of death commences, the fear of death ceases. The culprit trembles for a moment, and resists the grasp of the officer of justice; but when he finds resistance vain, he walks quietly along, and even enters into friendly colloquy with the man who is conducting him to the judge. And just so we tremble for an hour, and struggle with death, till finding that he has indeed laid his hand upon us, and that we cannot escape, we coolly yield to his summons; we gradually become acquainted with his features, which seemed strange at first, and learn to con
template them without alarm ; and thus composedly we descend into the grave without one serious thought of that judgment to which we are hastening. If such be the sinner's death, where can be his repentance? There may be anxiety, there may be fear—deep anxiety, trembling fear—without one emotion of godly grief; but there can be no true contrition without something of anxious and fearful thought. And the careless sinner is deceiving himself, not only in counting on dying repentance and faith, but in counting on death-bed awakening or alarm. If he is anxious now, he may reckon indeed on being anxious then, whether penitent or not; but if he is careless now, he may reckon, not indeed with certainty, but with strong probability, on being then equally devoid of care and fear.
Eighteen months have not yet elapsed since the fishing village of was visited with cholera, a disease
which more than almost any other seems to suffer the mental faculties to continue in full operation. One of the victims was remarkable for his bodily strength, and not less remarkable for having lived alike fearless of God, and regardless of man. In a state of society where right is frequently measured by force, he was a man not lightly to be accounted of, possessing as he did muscular powers above all his comrades, many of whom might have been reckoned men of might. His strength, however, was but that of the savage, unadorned by any ennobling qualities of mind. Even courage did not characterise him. It was neither his skill nor his prowess in combat, that his companions feared to encounter; but they shrunk from the grasp of his mighty hand, with which, if he once seized them, they had no chance to contend. His slouching gait, and the sideward and downcast glancing of his eye, with which he seemed afraid to meet you full in the face, pourtrayed his mental features. In a word, as his bodily strength was compared to the tiger's, so were also his inward dispositions: cruel, cunning, cowardly, fierce, dogged, revengeful, untractable. He was formidable to all, but chiefly to his friends; and some idea both of his superior strength and savage ferocity may be gathered from the circumstance, that when at one period of his last illness hopes were entertained of his recovery, his nearest relatives did not hesitate openly to express their regret. He possessed resolution and firmness of purpose, which might have been available for much good, had they been directed to worthy objects. On one occasion, when I pressed on him the necessity of his making a decided effort against intemperance, to which he was a slave, he told me that he had once abstained from every thing stronger than water, during a period of six weeks. I was curious to know his reason for such self-denial, and to my question on this point the reply was most characteristic of the man, "Just because I took it into my head;" and acting according to the same rule, when he took it into his head again, he returned to his former habits. His intemperance, however, had neither impaired his constitution, for malt liquor formed his principal beverage; nor wasted his little patrimony, for he was laborious, and spent no more than his daily earnings. Another and rather annoying instance of his self-will and firmness of purpose I encountered in reference to the Sabbath. I was endeavouring to impress the fishermen with a sense of the impropriety of casting their herring-nets on the day of rest, and to obtain their consent to refrain from the practice in future. Many earnestly desired the reformation, and all seemed willing to comply; only they wished that it should be matter of general agreement and compact. Having succeeded thus far, I entertained little doubt of carrying the measure; there beirvp usually such a feeling or union amongst them, that a small minority was almost sure to accede to the wishes of the majority. The person we have been describing- bap