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be a man, and when I am old and feeble you will be my friend and protector, will you not? My heart was quite softened by her gentle appeal, and I could only answer by my loud sobbing. I never can forget the last look which I took of my Father's countenance. It was awful but not unpleasing. The smile, though rigid, was still a smile about the bloodless lips, and I could have believed that I saw my Father sleeping calmly before me, had not the cut shroud and the coffin declared too plainly that his sleep was that of death.

Soon after my Father's funeral we received a very hearty invitation to pay a long visit to my Father's only Sister, and my Mother gladly accepted it. I always liked the pleasant old house at Tilford, but it seemed more dear to me than ever during that visit.

My Aunt had a sincere affection for my dear Mother, and before the visit was over, it was settled between them that we should give up our house at Petersfield, and reside with my Aunt. I never saw so many smiles upon my Mother's face after the death of my Father, as on the day when we returned from Petersfield to our new home. We met my Aunt and my Cousin Mary walking upon the road of green smooth turf which crosses the heath toward Tilford. Mary danced and clapped her hands with joy when she saw us, and we left the chaise to walk home with her and my Aunt.

I shall pass over the history of my boyhood, though it was not altogether without events which might possess some interest to others. I do not wish to detain my reader on that part of my story. I went to school when I was about seven years old at Farnham, and came home every Saturday afternoon till Monday morning. Those Saturday afternoons were happy times. My Aunt's servant, Thomas Frost, used to bring a grey poney, my poney, for me about two o'clock, and to walk by my side on our way back. With what a glow of delight did I always gaze around me, when I had quitted the long narrow lanes nearest to Farnham, and passed the bridge over the Bourne stream and climbed the long hill of deep yellow sand, when I reached the top of the red hill and the grand open landscape burst upon me; the swelling hills of rich purple heath; the dark woods of Waverley, with the fir clothed summit of Crooksbury rising above them, and the patches of bright cultivation upon the long extended horizon opposite me. Oh, with what a light heart have I cantered over the turf, or stopped to ask a thousand questions of my grave careful attendant. Then

as I grew old enough to take care of myself, in what delicious day dreams have I sauntered along by the low stone wall spread over with turf which divides the woods of Waverley from the heath. If the day was hot every breath of wind blew freshly there. I cannot remember on what subjects I was then wont to meditate; indeed I can scarcely call such unconscious musing, meditation. I only know that I was held in sweet communion with all that was beautiful in nature, and received into my heart her pure and silent influences; which, though undefined to me, have been ever since held as treasures by memory. Time itself has left them undisturbed or touched them, as it does some fine old paintings, saddening their hues with a shade of rich and tender mellowing. The feelings of which I speak grew with my growth and strengthened with my strength, but I scarcely knew how dear the haunts of my childhood were to me till I was called away

from them. My mother had much tenderness of heart, but no enthusiasm of any kind about her character. My Aunt openly professed her dislike to every feeling of this sort, but in spite of her assertions, and though she decried all works of imagination and read the dullest and gravest books, her repressed feelings constantly escaped, and spread over her every day words and actions.

Novels and romances were never to be found in my Aunt's house, she hated the very name of them. But I look back with no little sorrow of heart to the time I wasted in novel-reading.

I was about eleven years old when I first read a novel. One of my school-fellows allowed me to look over him as he read, he was some years older than myself, but I was his favourite companion. He had nearly finished the book when I began to read with him, but he told me the beginning of the story. He was taken ill shortly afterwards, and I remember stealing up into his room one half holiday with some books he had sent me for, and reading aloud to him through two volumes at one sitting. The book I have since looked at from mere curiosity, was a mere tissue of inflated sentiments written in the vilest style. Its interest was then so absorbing that

do not think my companion and I exchanged a word till I had finished reading. That night I could think of nothing but the novel, nay even in my prayers my thoughts wandered away to the senseless tale and I forgot that I had knelt down to worship the Lord The thirst of my mind for this sickly excitement increased. I soon began to spend all my pocket money in paying for books from the circulating library. I read them whenever I could find an opportunity. Sometimes I carried them home and stole up into my own room or into the hay-loft to read them. One night my Mother and Aunt came into my chamber when I was in bed, they had been passing the evening at Elsted, and had not returned home till after my bedtime. They bent down to kiss me and as my dear Mother smoothed the pillow on which my sleeping head was laid, she discovered the greasy cover of a romance beneath it. I woke up just in time to see the sharp eyes of my Aunt fixed upon the open book, and to hear her say, nonsense! trash! enough to ruin the boy! The book was quietly sent back by the grave Thomas Frost the next morning, and I was called upon to promise that I would get no more books from the circulating library. I did promise, but that promise

has often been broken.

My school-fellow who had allowed me to look over him when he was reading the entertaining novel I mentioned, was a high-spirited fellow, not at all Tomantic in his ideas. His chief passion was for horses and field sports. His conversation generally turned on such subjects, and I gradually began to acquire the same tastes.

I often sinile to myself when I recollect the importance which he and I (taking my tone from him) gave to his favourite topics. He seldom smiled exeept at the height of his enthusiasm when speaking of horses. If we saw any thing in the shape of a horse in our walks, he would stand still instantly, and call my attention to it, beginning at the same time a grave dissertation on its merits. He had at home, he assured me, a horse for which he would take no money that could be named, though his Father had bought it of

a neighbouring farmer for thirteen guineas. I have always found that horse fanciers possess some such invaluable steed, the former owner of which had not Burton had much discovered its surpassing merits.

delight in going, and I, of course, with him, to see the stage-coaches enter the Town. I know not how he managed, but he seemed to be well acquainted with all the coachmen; and we both looked upon them as belonging to a race of superior beings. Our pleasure was at its height when we could hold a few moments' conversation with a stage coachman. They certainly kept up their dignity, for sometimes when we both spoke at once with great eagerness and animation, our companion would answer like one whose mind was occupied by other subjects, looking perhaps another way, and addressing some other person with a short, dry monosyllable. We felt honoured if our heroes deigned to unbend and give an opinion, or a hint of any news in the sporting world. I am half inclined to pass over these accounts of my boyish days, for I feel that they must seem mere idle and unprofitable descriptions; but they may be useful in shewing to those who have patience to read to the end of my narrative, that a boyhood like mine, though disgraced by no glaring sins, but passed in what was little else than forgetful. ness of God, was any thing but a fit preparation for the trials and the temptations of after life; and yet I was called a Christian, and the unfailing resources and privileges of a Christian might have been mine!

THE MEDIATOR.

I WILL arise and go unto my Father-
Alas! and when I throw me at his feet,
What can I say?-The Prodigal left once,
And gather'd of the fruit his folly planted,
Ate it, and did not like it, and returned-
He once returned, and he was once forgiven.
It is not so with me-I was forgiven
And sinned again, and was forgiven again--
The penitential vow upon my lips,
The kiss paternal warm upon my cheek,
And still about my neck the golden chain

With which he pledged and bound me to his love-
A second, and a third time, and a fourth-O God!

I dare not come to thee-It is impossible!

I dare not even lift mine eye to Heaven,

Lest there be something in it that offend thee

I dare not offer thee a wish, a vow,

Lest that thy awful wisdom should discover
Sin in the wish and falsehood in the vow.
If I should say I fear thee---that is false ---
For if I feared thee, could I madly brave
The awful threat'nings of thy broken law,
For every empty bauble of the earth?
If I should say I love thee---that, alas!
Is falser stills-for love is dutiful,
Patient, submissive, fearful to offend,
Obedient, grateful---I am none of this.
And if I plead the penitential tear,

The firm resolve to go and sin no more-

Dost thou not know that ere the false tear dries,

I do again the very sin I wept,

And even while the vow is on the lip,

The heart is with the idol it renounces.

I come to THEE! There's something in the thought

So strange, so fearful--something in the distance So awful, so impassable--I cannot.

But still to thee, my Saviour!--Thee, my God,
And yet my Brother!--Thee, who thyself hast trod
The very soil we tread on--who hast shared
Our needs, and felt our sorrows, and been tempted,
Even as we are--whose in-earthed spirit
Made proof of all things in us, save our sin--
Aye, and that too--for it was that which brake
By its dread weight the only heart that knew none !
Still I can come to thee, my Saviour, Friend!
For I have something yet to say to thee.
I tell thee not of fear, or love, or duty,
Or penitence, or tears, or ought of mine;
But something would I wishper of thine own.
The tender pity, that moved thee e'en to Heaven--
The love that thou hast promised and hast proved
As never love was pledged or proved till then--
Not for thy friends, for friends on earth thou hadst none--
But for thy foes; for false ones such as I am.
Oh! go thou for me to my Father's house
And tell Him one who cannot come himself
For very shame,--who has no more to say
But that thy door be closed on him for ever,
Has been with thee to plead on his behalf
The pardon that he dares not ask again.
Say, for thou know'st, how bitter are the busks
On which this false world feeds him--how his heart
Sorrows in secret for his Father's house

And still is torn and tempted from his door.
Nay, my Redeemer, say not ought of me,
But only that thou know'st me, lov'st me, died'st for me--
Lost as I am, that thou would'st have me saved,
False as I am, that thou wilt make me true,
Weak as I am, that thou canst give me strength,
And find me prayers when I can pray no more--
If only for thy sake he will forbear,
Nor cast away his Prodigal for ever.

CAROLINE FRY.

To the Editor of the Christian Beacon.

Reverend Sir,--Being a witness day after day of the frightful intemperance, and drunken revellings which, during this Christmas season, seem to abound more and more in Chester, polluting as it were every street, and every corner of this old and episcopal City, I have been forcibly reminded of your observations on the subject in your Lecture at St. Mary's, on Christmas-day. Indeed the truth of them must have struck all your hearers, both at the time, and every day since. In your discourse you brought forward the remarks of some writer whose name you did not mention. Permit me to ask if you did not refer to a Sermon on "The Saviour's birth," by the Rev. Hugh White? I thought I remembered it, and have looked for it. Will you excuse the liberty I take in asking you to give the whole passage a corner in your paper, as it does seem strikingly appropriate to the manner in which the present season is kept by many who bear the name of the followers of the pure and holy Saviour?

I am, Rev. Sir, Yours, &c.

A CONSTANT ATTENDANT at St. Mary's Lectures. "Sons of dissipation, is it thus you testify your joy in the Redeemer's birth? I conjure you, if you are determined to reject Him, and His salvation, to trample on His holy laws, and dishonour His holy name, do not, at least, add mockery to guilt, and insult to rebellion! do not break His commandments, under pretence of rejoicing in His birth. But why should you

rejoice in His birth, if you are determined thus to treat Him, when you consider how quickly the day is coming when, if you persevere and perish in your present state, you will wish, in the phrenzied agony of despair, you had been born in some heathen land, where you had never heard of a Saviour's name, and, therefore, could not be stained with the guilt of trampling on a Saviour's blood; for that guilt will make the heathen's hell a very heaven to yours. Remember, if Jesus be not to you a beloved Saviour, he must be to you an avenging Judge ;-and why should you rejoice in the birth-day of your Judge? Suppose you were to visit a prison, and while exploring its dark and dismal cells, were to hear echoing round you, on every side, shouts of laughter, and songs of merriment, and on asking the cause of this unusual and general rejoicing, were to be told that the prisoners were thus commemorating the birth-day of the judge, who was expected shortly to arrive, and to sentence them to an agonizing and ignominious death! and suppose, as the distant trumpets that announced his approach, were heard more and more clearly, you observed that the prisoners' laughter waxed louder and louder, and their mirth grew more and more boisterous; Oh! would you not, in sickened and shuddering horror, exclaim, Can there be such madness in the heart of man? There can-unconverted sinner! look into thine own heart; for the madness of those prisoners is but a faint and feeble image and echo of thine own! The guilt of rebellion against the God of Heaven is on thy soul! The curse of his broken law is registered against thee! The sentence of eternal death hangs over thee! The day of trial is fixed in the counsels of Heaven! The Judge is coming, for "behold He cometh with clouds, and every eye shall see Him!" and in the awful convulsions, the portentous signs of the times, dost thou not hear, as it were, the sound of the distant trumpets heralding His approach? Does not the thunder of His chariot-wheels, as he comes to judgment, break on thy startled ear? and wilt thou strive to drown the appalling sound in shouts of loud and wanton merriment, as if thy laughter could retard the coming, or avert the anger of the Judge? Oh! as you would not, sinners, in the day of His appearing, call on the rocks to fall upon you, and the mountains to cover you, because the day of the wrath of the Lamb is come! and you dare not look in the face of him that sitteth on the throne, I conjure you now, even in this, your day of mercy! for "behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation!" flee unto Him! whose love you have so long despised, whose salvation you have so longslighted and scorned."

To the Editor of the Christian Beacon.

Reverend Sir,-Will you accept a mere fable of mine, for such I wish you and your readers to understand it to be? My first thought was to leave the matter in the dark; but as truth is too sacred to be trifled with, even by what many might deem a harmless tale, they are to know that no boax is put upon them by the following statement. It is a fiction of my own, from beginning to end; and though there is, I trust, the truth according to God's Word in

the short homilies, to which the statement is an introductory chapter, the statement itself is a fable. CYRIL.

On the southern side of Watergate Row, in the Parish of St. Peter's, in the ancient City of Chester, a few doors from the spot where the High Cross formerly stood, there is an old gable-fronted house, which is well known as the spot where the plague ceased after it had raged in the City of Chester. The circumstance is no doubt alluded to in the quaint motto, which runs along the whole breadth of the bouse, towards the street,

64 GOD'S PROVIDENCE IS MINE INHERITANCE." Some seventy years ago, when an old piece of furniture came to be opened, which had been locked up for many years, the manuscript which I have forwarded to you was found. It seems that a Madam Frankwell had resided in that house with two nieces, one of whom died before her aunt; the other, who preferred a country life, and was but a girl at the time when her aunt also died, removed to a pleasant mansion in the Vale of Clwyd, which had been left in charge of two old trust worthy servants. There she resided till she married, and there she resided after her marriage, till she died. Whether she visited Chester or not, I am not told; but it was not till after her death that the old carved piece of furniture was opened, and then among other papers, the enclosed manuscript was discovered. It is much torn, much discoloured by age, and even moth-eaten, but the title remains, and many of the pages, though fragments, may perhaps possess an interest with those who love the plain food of God's Holy Word, when there are many empirics abroad to offer drugs and poisons, sweetened to the taste of the vain and carnal mind of unregenerate man.

Homilies preached at the Wighe Crosse at Chester.

HOMILIE THE FIRSTE.-OF THE REVEALED CAUSES OF SIN.

THE curious searcher into God's dealings with man hath often this question in his doubting minde. What cause had the fiende Satan to hate and to destroy mankind ? Good people, the cause and the reason is surely plaine. The greate Creator did once delight in the goode and upright and blessed creature man that He had made, and that foul fiende doth beare a deadlie hatred to the glorious Creator. Do ye enquire why Satan did thus hate the greate God.

This question, Sirs, concerneth not man

and God; no, nor man and Satan; but God and Satan only, and, therefore, man hath little or nothing to do with it; but peradventure an answer in one sort may be given with little difficultie, even to this, in the most opposite and contrarie nature of God, who is perfect good, and Satan who is altogether evil. He that is altogether evil, and in himself hatred, can love nothing but sin. He that is the true perfectione of goodnesse hateth nothing but evil.

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Good Sirs, there are those who entertaine hard thoughts of the most glorious God, because the sure damnation of His wrath hangeth like a thunder-cloude readie to burst over the sinner's head; but God hateth not sinners, and while He would destroy sin He would spare the wretched sinner. The earlie historie of God's dealings with

man, as it is written by Moses in the opening of the booke of Genesis containeth only the record of His tender mercie to man, every word of severitie against sin in man, is the gracious expression of love to man, sin being the worst miserie to man. God did prophesie in saying, "In the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die," for though the offence was but the eating of an apple, by that little door the principle and power of evil was admitted, and, as by a narrow floodgate, then came rushing in that horrible tide of iniquitie, which hath since overwhelmed all men in destruction and perdition.

Do you ask wherefore was evil permitted? Certes the unrevealed causes do not concern man. But one cause there is, so plaine, that every earnest thoughtful childe may declare it.

I have reade once a storie of a good King, who had a faire young son that was very deare to him. Now the King had a friend, a worthie and God-fearing neighbour, but one of a harshe spirit, who bore a mistruste towards every one. So saide he to the Royal Father of the youth on a certaine daie that he had been commending the Prince, the youth may or may not be a good youth, but I have my doubts about him. He hath never yet been tried!-Let me prove him, and I will soon tell thee what he is? With that, the Father of the lad somewhat unwillingly did give his consent to this severe and doubting neighbour of his, that he should subject the youth to some sharpe trial of his virtue; and thus it came to pass that the poor young prince was all unwittinglie brought under the power of a most fearful temptation. What the nature of his fiery trial was, hath not been told to me, but so sharp was the conflict that the youth had well nigh given way; in fact, he was on the very point of yielding and sinking down, when the tempter brought forward some vile insinuations against his most deare and royal Father. The youth was from that moment as one awakened, and he arose with such strong cries to Christ, and such resolute strivings, in that strength which he did erie for all the while he strove, that he came forth like the refined gold from the crucible, which shineth with a new lustre, and is made doublie precious by the fire...

.. Oh, Sirs, we are like this faire young prince, but a melancholy sequel attendeth our historie, we have fallen, we have yielded, the crown hath fallen from our heads!.

Sirs, there could be no responsibilitie in the creature, no proof of his faithfulness before God, if there were no possibilitie of his falling-but ye must be mindful of the words of God the Spirit by the holie apostle James, Let no man say when he is tempted, I am tempted of God: for God cannot be tempted with evil, neither tempteth He any man.' No childe of man can perish, but by his own consent, and against the yielding of that consent, the conscience within him will not cease to crie out, till he hath defiled and at length seared that conscience by his own will and deede ..

"

The passages from the Word of God in these homilies, are given according to the version of the Scriptures now in use.

The Faith of a True Philosopher.

I DESIRE to exercise my faith in the difficultest point; for to credit ordinary and visible objects is not faith,

but perswasion. Some believe the better for seeing Christ his Sepulchre; and when they have seen the Red Sea, doubt not of the miracle. Now contrarily I blesse myself, and am thankful that I lived not in the days of Miracles, that I never saw Christ nor his Disciples; I would not have been one of those Israelites that pass'd the Red Sea, nor one of Christ's Patients, on whom he wrought his wonders; then had my faith been thrust upon me; nor should I enjoy that greater blessing pronounced to all that believe and saw not. 'Tis an easie and necessery belief to credit what our eye and sense hath examined: I believe he was dead and buried, and rose again; and desire to see him in his glory rather then to contemplate him in his Cenotaphe, or Sepulchre. Nor is this much to believe, as we have reason, we owe this faith unto History: they only had the advantage of a bold and noble faith, who lived before his comming, who upon obscure prophecies and mystical Types could raise a belief, and expect apparent impossibilities.Sir Thos. Browne's Religio Medici, 1659,"

A FALSE FRIEND.

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Reverend Sir, I am only a wayfaring man, and by no means equal to the task of awakening my fellow-travellers to a sense of danger from an enemy very subtle, but very friendly to all outward appearance. Of all enemies he is most to be feared who comes in the garb of friendship. An open foe may be guarded against, but a secret and unsuspected enemy what mortal man can avoid?

An enemy in the person of a supposed friend! One whom we had admitted to our domestic hearth, spoken well of to our dearest friends, and made our companion and associate when we did not suspect any danger.

An enemy in the person of one who, when the occupations of the day are over, and we seek to unbend the mind, and without reserve commit ourselves to the quiet and unsuspecting security of our own true English Homes, is admitted to our free and unstudied intercourse and communication.

The fire burns within me with desire to expose the hollow-heartedness of such a friend, and to put my fellow-travellers upon their guard, lest the hypocricy and lies with which he has led many to eternal death may gain the confidence of one more human being.

I think 1 hear the burst of honest indignation from the lips of every Englishman who reads this announcement, I think I see in the determined brow, and flashing eye, a firm resolve to suffer no such wolf in sheep's clothing to put one foot within the door of his house, or to say one word, or meddle one iota, with his public

concerns.

But I also think I hear the sceptical laugh of one who derides the thought of such an enemy being suffered to live one hour beyond the clear establishment of his guilt. "No such enemy exists," says the objector, 66 or if he does exist it is among the savage and untutored North American Indians." Gladly would I acknowledge, if with truth I could, that this deceitful enemy is not found upon the same soil with the Holy Book Divine. But the melancholy fact must be told,

that he lives in our own favored nation, yes, and that too by our own consent. He lives by courtesy, and not of right. He lives by our own favor and kindness, though he continues to act the same treacherous and perfidious part that he has always done. "Vague assertions," says another objector, "are no proof of guilt. Establish by fact, if you can, the truth of your position."

Clear facts, and incontestible proof of guilt, are easily brought forward, such proof as the most sceptical will at once admit, But the misfortune is, that the duplicity of this enemy has gained so much upon the credulity of Englishmen, that although they will at once admit his guilt in a fearful number of cases, yet they will maintain that "if well used he is a good friend." Now it is upon this very point that I entirely differ from my fellow-sojourners, and will prove it to all, and every unprejudiced man; and, if I am not much mistaken, so clear, that a wayfaring man, though a fool," shall not err therein." But, Sir, my evidence and facts would occupy too much space to hope for an admission into one number of the Beacon, so, for the present, I will take my leave, hoping that you may deem my exposure of (as in many cases) an unknown and unsuspected danger worthy of a place in the "Christian Beacon."

I am, Reverend Sir,

Your most obedient Servant, ONESIMUS.

A CHRISTIAN MINISTER'S ADDRESS
TO THE

KEEPERS OF PUBLIC-HOUSES AND BEER-SHOPS.

"No one has a right to complain of the use of what is good for the support of man's health and strength; but when that which is intended for good is turned to evil, every member of society has a right to complain, and to lift up his voice aloud against the abuse.

"A house in which beer, or wine, or cordials are sold to the traveller or the wearied man, is a good and useful entertainment; but a house in which the poor and profligate are allowed, and all but encouraged, to waste their substance, ruin their health, and injure their wives and children, by squandering away what ought to be expended in the necessaries of life, if not its comforts, for them, is not only a public, but a private nuisance; a positive nuisance to society at large, and to every family of the community.

"I do not speak against public-houses or beer-shops, if they keep to their proper, and decent, and lawful use. It is not against the use of any thing that a man of sense would cry out, but against the abuse of it. It was never intended by the law of the land, nor is it, indeed, at this moment, really allowed, or even tolerated by the law of the land that drunkenness should be permitted, or in any way countenanced, in any house of public entertainment. If the keeper of the house should say, 'I do not wish to have drunkenness in my house, but I cannot help it,' I reply, Then you are not a fit person to keep a publichouse. However good your intentions may be, if you have not sufficient rule over your own household to keep it in decent order, you ought to give it up; for while you remain and the house is under your management, it may seem a hard accusation, but it is a true one, your house (not to say yourself,) is a public nuisance. If you will continue to abuse the license given you, you must not be astonished that a formal complaint is laid against you in the proper quarter.'---Suppose a shop were opened in a certain town, in which poison was sold,---poison which did not kill at the first taking, but after a certain number

of draughts---a slow, sure poison: you may start with horror, when I tell you that such a shop is kept by you! "Shall I go further? shall I ask you to count the victims who have already fallen from this deadly poison? You could name them, perhaps; you could name the widows, the orphans, left destitute in this neighbourhood. Nay, are there not some of your victims gradually sinking at this very time under the baneful influence of this slow, sure poison? Again: What do you think it would be the duty of the minister of the temple of the Living God,--the holy church of Christ,---to do, if temples of vile and filthy idols, were built up in his parish: If he, that minister, were to see crowds of foreigners coming from distant lands to worship at those temples, might he not feel his spirit stirred within him at the sight of their wretched and abominable worship:---when he saw the gestures, and heard the din of the mob within, when the drunkard reeled down the steps, or lay wallowing on the pavement before the temple ;---when indecent songs, from the lips of the unclean, and blasphemies against the Lord Jehovah, from the very heart of the still profaner wretch, broke upon the stillness of the night;---might he not wish to see such temples laid low, even with the ground? ---might he not justly dread the influence of such worshippers among tbe unstable and ill-disposed of his own people?

"But if, instead of worshipper from foreign lands, he were to see those temples filled, to a man, with his own flock,---with the professed disciples of the Christ of God, of the God of temperance, and purity, and holiness,---if every wise and lovely attribute were mocked, blasphemed, defied, by those who call themselves all the while his followers,--if he were to see his flock going first to one temple, then to the other, calling Jesus Christ Lord, and calling the vile idol Lord,---paying a formal reverence to Jesus Christ, but devoting soul and body to that vile and filthy idolatry,---would be not be called upon to leave no wise and honest means untried to save them whom God himself had committed to his care? Do you say, 'Our living depends upon our success in this business which you condemn? I do not condemn the use of your license, but the abuse of it. Keep to the use of your license: have done at once with the abuse of it: I ask no more.

"Do you make the objection: 'Well, but we force no one to drink.' In one sense, you do not force; you have no band of strong men close at hand to bind the drinker hand and foot, and to pour the liquid poison down his throat; but there is a power close at hand quite as forceful as any strong man: the way by which sin first entered into the world, nay, into the heart of man,---too often its stronghold now,---was not by force, but by temptation.

"My friends, you are not without sense; you are not without feeling. I appeal to you, not in your public capacity, but as private members of society, as parents, as husbands, as children. I appeal to you, as being also by profession Christians, will you not think upon these things? will you not keep yourself and others to the lawful use of beer and spirits? will you not forbid, and prevent from henceforth, the abuse of your license to deal in them."

PROPHECY.

Reverend Sir,-Will you please to insert in the "Christian Beacon" the extract on the Study of Prophecy? For as a Beacon is intended to hold forth a "pure and steady light" to warn mariners of rocks, shoals, and hidden dangers, so may the study of the "sure word of Prophecy" be as a Christian's Beacon "whereunto ye do well that ye take heed, as unto a light that shineth in a dark place, until the day dawn, and the day star arise in your hearts."

I am, Reverend Sir,

Your most obedient Servant, A WITNESS.

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