anything but an angel's face upon conscience, and he was dissatisfied with himself and was oftener sour than penitent, which was a great mistake. For such reasons, and more like them, he was certainly a sour disciple. He had a sour look, and he said sour things, and some of his deeds were very vinegar-like. And take the whole case together, there was not, to be honest about the matter, much sweetness in that disciple. And I venture the following reasons for saying it was a great pity.

and altogether lovely.' And then such a sweet balm, even that of Gilead, had been sent to heal all the wounds and soften the asperities of this spirit. And then what promises of surpassing sweetness and preciousness had been made to him! And then such positive injunctions, do but think of them, to sweetness of spirit, implied in being courteous, and kind, and gentle, and longsuffering, and thinking no evil, and always rejoicing. And, as crowning all, what a sweet and happy home in heaven was offered him. Nothing sour there, not the shadow of a shade. Now that he could possibly be sour amid all these agencies to make him sweet, was a wonder, and a pity as big as the wonder.

1. Because his sourness very much marred his beauty. Sour things are capital in their place. They are wholesome and comfortable. But I never yet could find that the human countenance was the place for sourness. and least of all a disciple's face; nor find that such a person's character was the place for the same article. Such an one should be fair as the moon, clear as the sun.' He should shine in the beauty of holiness. But shining and sourness, who ever put them together! But if any one contend that one may be beautiful and yet be sour, I will not contend but try a

4. And I cannot conclude without expressing my anxiety concerning what disposal will finally be made of him, if he keeps on being sour. Sour things are apt to grow sourer; and if this disciple gets any more so, and like and like are put together, it is well toward being certain that where a good many good people are, he will not be found. There are no sour people in the company of the patriarchs, and prophets, and apostles. There is nothing to make people look or feel sour in that world; and it is pretty likely that if said disciple does not get sweetened in due time, he will be found totally unfit for the company of those who are 'altogether lovely.'

2nd topic. It was a pity that he was sour, because it hindered his usefulness. He could not adorn' the doctrine of God his Saviour, nor make a fair and winning representation of the excellence of the gospel. Would people think that Whatsoever things were lovely and of good report' belonged to religion, when they saw such a character? Would they not rather be repelled than won to religion? His sourness was enough to sour a whole flock of young people against the gospel, and make them think that becoming christians would make them sour too.

DELIGHT IN RELIGION.

DELIGHT in religion will make the business of religion more easy to us. Delight makes everything easy; there is nothing hard to a willing mind; delight turns religion into recreation; it is like fire to the sacrifice, like oil to the wheels, like wind to the sails, it carries us full sail in duty. He that delights in God's way will never complain of the ruggedness of the way; a child who is going to his father's house does not complain of a

bad way. A Christian is going to heaven in the way of duty; every prayer, every ordinance, he is a step nearer to his father's house; surely he is so full of joy that he is going home, that he will not complain of a bad way. Get then this holy delight. Beloved, we have not many miles to go; death will shorten our way, let delight sweeten it.

Delight in God's service makes us resemble the angels in heaven. They serve God with cheerfulness; as soon as God speaks the word, they are ambitious to obey. How are they ravished with delight while they are praising God! In heaven we shall be as the angels; spiritual delight would make us like them here. To serve God by constraint is to be like the devil; all the devils in hell obey God, but it is against their will-they yield a passive obedience; but service which comes off with delight is evangelical. This is what we pray for, that God's will be done on earth as it is in heaven;' is it not done with delight there?-Rev. T. Watson.

THE SECRET OF HAPPINESS.

Go, search the ponderous tomes of human learning-explore the works of Confucius-examine the precepts of Seneca, and all the writings of Socrates. Collect all the excellencies of the ancient and modern moralists, and point to a sentence equal to the simple prayer of our Saviour, 'FATHER, FORGIVE THEM!' Reviled and insulted-suffering the grossest indignities-crowned with thorns, and led away to die, no annihilating curse breaks from his lips. Sweet and placid as the aspirings of a mother for her nursling, ascends the prayer of mercy for his enemies, 'Father, Forgive them!' O, it was worthy of its origin, proving incontestibly that his mission was from heaven! Acquaintances, have you ever quarrelled?-Friends, have you ever differed? If He, who was pure and perfect, forgave the bitterest enemies, do you well to cherish anger? Brothers, to you the precept is imperative; you should forgive, not seven times, but 'seventy times seven.'

Husbands and wives, you have no

right to expect perfection in each other. To err is human. Illness will sometimes make you petulant, and disappointment ruffle the smoothest temper. Guard then, with unremitting vigilance, your passions; controlled, they are the genial warmth that cheers us along the way of life-ungoverned, they are consuming fires. Let your strife be one of respectful attention and conciliatory conduct. Cultivate with care the kind and gentle affections. Plant not, but eradicate, the thorn in your partner's path. Above all, let no feeling of revenge ever find harbour in your breast. A kind word—an obliging action—even if it be a trifling one, has a power su perior to the harp of David in calming the billows of the soul.

Revenge is as incompatible with happinesss as religion. Let him whose soul is dark with malice, and studious of revenge, walk through the fields, clad with verdure and adorned with flowers; to his eye there is no beauty

the flowers to him exhale no fragrance. Like his soul, nature is robed in its deepest sable. The smile of beauty and cheerfulness lights not up his bosom with joy; but the furies of hell rage there, and render him as miserable as he wishes the object of his hate.

But let him lay his hand upon his breast, and say, Revenge, I cast thee from me; Father, forgive me as I forgive others,' and nature assumes a new and delightful garniture. Then, indeed, are the meads verdant, and the flowers fragrant-then is the music of the grove delightful to his ear, and the smile of virtue lovely to his soul.

THE TOLL GATE.

We are all on a journey. The world through which we are passing is in some respects like a turnpike-all along which Vice and Folly have erected toll gates, for the accommodation of those who chose to call as they go-and there are very few of all the host of travellers who do not occasionally stop a little at some one or another of them

and consequently pay more or less to the toll gatherers. Pay more or less, I say, because there is a great variety, as well in the amount as in the

Pride and Fashion take heavy tolls of the purse-many a man has become a beggar by paying at their gates-the ordinary rates they charge are heavy, and the road that way is none of the best.

Pleasure offers a very smooth, delightful road in the outset; she tempts the traveller with many fair promises, and wins thousands-but she takes without mercy; like an artful robber she allures till she gets her victim in her power, and then strips him of health and money, and turns him off, a miserable object, into the very worst and most rugged road of life.

Intemperance plays the part of a sturdy villain. He's the very worst toll gatherer on the road; for he not only gets from his customers their money and health, but he robs them of their very brains. The men you meet in the road ragged and ruined in fame and fortune, are his visitors.

And so I might go on enumerating many others who gather toll of the unwary. Accidents sometimes happen, it is true, along the road, but those who do not get through at least tolerably well, you may be sure have been stopping by the way at some of those places. The plain common sense men, who travel straight forward, get through the journey without much difficulty.

This being the state of things, it becomes every one, in the outset, if he intends to make a comfortable journey, to take care what kind of company he keeps.

SELF-EVIDENCING POWER OF THE BIBLE.

IN illustration of what Dr. Owen used to call the self-evidencing power of the Bible, I may mention that one of our missionary brethren,' says Mr. Weibrecht, 'was once attacked by a Brahmin who affirmed that the assertion constantly made as to our Scriptures being very ancient, was untrue; for, said he, I can prove that one chapter of your sacred book has been written since your arrival in this country. To what part do you allude? rejoined the misssionary. To the first

THE END ANSWERED.

A PRIEST, in a rich abbey in Florence, named Gruidnoli, being a fisherman's son, caused a net to be spread to put him, as he said, in mind of his every day on the table of his apartment bled humility procured him to be choorigin. The Abbot dying, this dissemsen his successor, and the net was used no more. 'Where's the net?' said a friend to him the day afterwards, on entering his apartment. There is no further occasion for the net,' said Gruidnoli. 'when the fish is caught.'

A BARBAROUS CUSTOM. IT is said the fashion of seating the ladies at the further end of the slips or pews at church, originated in consequence of the anticipated attacks of the savages in the early settlement of our country. The men placed themselves at the outer end, for the double purpose of protecting the females, or being ready to get out without obstruction in case of an alarm. If this be true it may well be said to be a barbarous custom; and since it is so inconvenient, let it not be persisted in to the annoyance of a whole congregation, by four or five gentlemen stepping into the broad aisle, to let a lady pass in. American Paper.

THE SAILOR'S SICK CHILD.

BY MRS. SIGOURNEY.

COME, mother, sit beside my bed,
And of my father tell,
On the deep ocean far away,
Where foaming billows swell.
I wish that he were with us now,
While sick and faint I lie;
"Twere good to hear his loving voice,
And bless him ere I die.

Mother, it troubles me to see

Those stranger ladies come,
And urge you so to leave my side,
And work for them at home.
Methinks they coldly gaze on me,
And shake their heads and say,
How feeble and how pale I grow,
And waste, and waste away.

And oh, it grieves my heart to think
From morn to evening shade,
That you so oft for them must toil,
And have from me no aid.

And then, with tender words you say,
You wish it were not so;
But I should have no food or fire,
Unless you sometimes go.

When slow the sunset fades away,

And twilight mists appear,
The sound of your returning step
Is music to my ear.

How happy are those children dear,
Who on their couch of pain,
Behold a mother always near;

But still I'll not complain.

There's nought on earth I love so much
As your dear face to see;

And now, indeed, the time is short
We can together be;

Still draw me closer to your side,
And to your bosom fold;

For then my cough I do not heed,
Nor feel the winter's cold.

Yet when the storm is loud and wild,
I cover up my head;

And pray Almighty God to save
My father from the dead;
So, in his lonely midnight watch,
Upon the tossing sea,

Perhaps beneath the solemn stars
He will remember me.

I know I cannot see him more,
I feel it must be so,
But he can find my little grave,
Where carly spring flowers blow.

And you will comfort all his cares,
When I in heaven shall be;
But mother, dearest! when I die,
Oh! be alone with me.

THE LITTLE BOY THAT DIED.

I am alone in my chamber now, And the midnight hour is near; And the faggot's crack and the clock's dull tick

Are the only sounds I hear. And over my soul in its solitude, Sweet feelings of sadness glide; For my heart and my eyes are full when I think

Of the little boy that died.

I went one night to my father's house-
Went home to the dear ones all,

And softly I opened the garden gate,

And softly the door of the hall. My mother came out to meet her sonShe kissed me, and then she sighed, And her head fell on my neck, and she wept

For the little boy that died.

I shall miss him when the flowers

come

In the garden where he played;

I shall miss him more by the fireside, When the flowers have all decayed. I shall see his toys and his empty chair,

And the horse he used to ride; And they will speak with a silent speech Of the little boy that died.

I shall see his little sister again
With her playmates about the door;
And I'll watch the children in their sports,
As I never did before.

And if, in the group I see a child
That's dimpled and laughing eyed,

I'll look to see if it may not be

The little boy that died.

We shall all go home to our Father's house

To our Father's house in the skies;

Where the hope of our souls shall have no

blight,

Our love no broken ties;

We shall roam on the banks of the river of Peace,

And bathe in its blissful tide;

And one of the joys of our heaven shall beThe little boy that died.

THE TEST OF EXPERIENCE; or, the Voluntary Principle in the United States. BY JOHN HOWARD HINTON, M. A. Albert Cockshaw, 41, Ludgate Hill. 12mo. pp. 124.

ON board one of the steamers that ply between England and the United States, in the month of November, 1847, there met, as fellow passengers towards England, three protestant ministers, whose conversation casually turned on what they had observed and felt during their sojourn and travels in the States, in reference to the religion of the Americans. The first of them, a Scottish Presbyterian, observed, at length, I shall return home with a fuller conviction than I ever had before that an Established church, sustained and honoured by the State, is a great public blessing, and essential to the welfare of the community. What I have seen in America fully convinces me of the advantage which our country has over them, the Americans, in this respect.' The second, who was an Episcopalian, joined in the same sentiment, and added, 'that a religion would never be well sustained among a people and its blessings diffused by the voluntary principle.' The third, who belonged to the friends of voluntaryism, replied, 'How singular, that the same facts should produce diametrically opposite convictions on the minds of different persons. I return to England with the entire and unqualified conviction, that the States of America prove that there is no need whatever for the state patronage of christianity; the number of excellent and beautiful places of worship erected and supported by the voluntary offerings of the people, which are to be seen in every large city, and even in the rural districts; the numbers of people that attend these places, and the general respect paid to the ministers who are sustained by the people; and, on the whole, the amount of real piety which is observable among the population, demon strate that religion, externally, may berespectably sustained without a legal and compulsory provision, and show that America, (I speak of the northern States,) has a decided advantage, in the

prevalence of piety, over Great Britain, the proportion to the population who attend places of worship, being, in my opinion, and as far as my observation has extended, greater in America than in England.' The former gentlemen quietly assured him that he was mistaken, and turned away to other and less irritating topics.

It is the opinion that the third of these gentlemen so honestly expressed, that forms the subject of this small, and interesting volume. Mr. Hinton contends, and we think successfully, that the voluntary principle, as illustrated and tested in the United States, (the only country where it has had a fair trial in modern times,) has established its claim to preference on general grounds, and that the objections usually urged against it are therefore of little real worth. We will give a brief analysis of his volume.

In the introduction, where he states that 'Established and endowed churches have existed quite long enough to show what their powers are of evangelizing nations,' and that it is 'too obvious that they have merely covered the ignorance and vices of mankind with the name of christianity, leaving it all the while to the struggling efforts of the voluntary principle to generate and foster vital religion.' The Establishment, or compulsory system, then, has failed. Can any illustrative test of sufficient magnitude be adduced as to the voluntary? Yes: the United States furnish an example. They are a great nation. They are a nation almost wholly of European, and, in great part, of British origin. Under all possible advantages they adopted and acted upon the principle of comulsion. They have, however, relinquished tt; they have adopted in its place the voluntary principle; and now, it cannot be either unfair or uninstructive to ask, How does it work?'

เ

The author begins, chap. I., part 1, with a brief history of the compulsory principle in the United States, and then chap. II. shows its working; that the Established churches manifested a spirit of intolerance and persecution; and that the influence of colonial church establishments was adverse to the inter