No. 8.-LEO X.

BY THE REV. J. H. MILLARD, B.A.

Comfortable Leo! How well does thy pontifical undress become thee! Had Raphael been a satirist rather than a flatterer, he could not more exactly have hit thy weakest points. With what soft warmth does that velvet skull-cap comfort thy tonsured head! With what elegant gracefulness and easy looseness does that scarlet mantle invest thy portly person! Thy very attitude, in spite of those keen eyes which do not look indolent, bespeaks the ease and indolence, which we know thou lovest well.

Leo X. was a De Medici; a name which may stand for a symbol of all the refinement and polished taste, the science and learning, the luxury, statecraft, and infidelity, of Italy, at the beginning of the sixteenth century. He was the pet son of Lorenzo the Magnificent, who kept high court at Florence,-with such men as Pico and Politian, Scala and Landino, to form his retinue; and filled his gardens and palaces with statues, gems, manuscripts, and all other relics of antiquity, as fast as they were discovered by the earnest spirit of curious research which had then gone forth into the world.

Giovanni de Medici was destined to the popedom from boyhood. His clever father well knew how to open the path for him; and you may be sure, gentle reader, that he did not think piety, or morality, or even theological learning, the best endowments to give his son. He knew a surer way to the popedom than these. He tried money, and policy, and he succeeded.

Giovanni's ecclesiastical life commenced early. Ridiculous as it may seem to our readers, it was by no means singular at that time for a child to be appointed to a bishopric. Accordingly, at eight years of age, Giovanni was made abbot of Fonte Dolce; in the course of the following year he received thirteen other abbacies, six livings, and was made canon in three cathedrals! It will not, after this, appear very strange that at thirteen he became a cardinal. Only one condition was attached. He was not to shew himself in public in scariet array for three years longer. The

spectacle might possibly awaken the tongues of the envious, a danger which Rome is ever most careful to avoid.

Giovanni, however, bore his honours meekly. He cared far less about the use than the enjoyment of wealth. He had been used to luxury, to indulge his tastes, however expensive they might be, to patronize artists and wits, and to collect articles of virtu; and his quiet, easy disposition made him quite contented with the means of thus enjoying life. Other cardinals might don the armour of the warrior and seek the tented field: he far preferred a silken couch in his country villa, or, at the most, a hunt of the wild boar.

In 1513, he received the popedom, and took the title of Leo X. It could hardly be expected that one who had been promoted to his dignities by such very questionable, or rather unquestionably improper means, should appear in the character of a reformer. Nor did Leo intend to assume that character. Nevertheless, a reformation was at hand.

Dolce far niente ought to have been the motto on Leo's coat of arms. All the sovereigns of Italy embroiled themselves in war, but not so Leo. He had an unexceptionable example of papal soldiership in his predecessor, Julius II.; but Leo was not the man to follow such an example. Give him his luxuries, his treasures, his retainers, and his courtiers, his witty and learned companions, and all the world might go together by the ears. He would not interfere. Francis I. might set Europe in a blaze to get glory if he would: Henry the Eighth might agitate all universities for the sake of a wife: Leo X. would look on and laugh.

And when news arrived from Germany that there was danger of a schism in the church; that the honest Germans were indignant at the over-reaching acts and brazen impudence of a Tetzel and his brethren, our comfortable Leo thrust all aside with a sneer. "Pshaw! 'tis only a squabble among monks."

So Luther prospered, and the Reformation sped, and Leo "enjoyed himself." It is sad, however, to think of his mournful death. Palaces and splendour, and equipage and obsequious attendants, give little

THE MAIN CHANCE.

Samuel Brown is a worthy individual, a very worthy individual, but, alack-a day! Samuel Brown is what is called a business man. Brown is busy indeed. Late and early, at home and abroad, Sabbath-day and week-day, all the year, he is busy, busy, busy. The sun does not shine long enough for him; a day of twenty-four hours is too short for his great plans; and the year ought to have more than twelve months for Mr. Brown. The universe was not constructed on right principles for so active and indefatigable a person as our hero. The rivers run too slow, and even steam and the telegraph can hardly satisfy him. He proposes to do up existence at double quick step, instead of the grave, measured, Old Hundred movement of past times. He wishes to discharge his engagements like musketry, to order his goods like lightning, as well as by lightning, and to make money literally like steam.

Let us watch him awhile.

I. Scene, breakfast; time, six o'clock, a.m.; present, Mr. and Mrs. Brown, and three children, and servant-girl waiting on the table.

Mr. B. Come, come, I must be off. I've got oceans of work to do to-day.

Mrs. B. I wish you wouldn't hurry me So. You get me into such a flutter that I don't know what's what half the forenoon.

Mr. B. I was too late yesterday. The man from I called to see about some goods before I had got down to Front-street. Come, come, Sally (to the girl), fetch on

the cakes.

Mrs. B. The cakes are not done, my dear, but there's some cold bread. I never saw anything like you, Samuel; it is drive, drive, all the time. For my part, I wish we lived up at Eaton again, for we could

at least eat our breakfast in peace and quiet there; but since you came here, I don't see half as much of you as I used to.

Mr. B. (Impatiently gobbling up his breakfast, and eating as if for a wager), I do declare, you women don't know nothing about business. If I don't get to my shop as soon as Jack Halstead, he'll get all the custom. Jack's always on hand, and keen Come, come, give me half a cup more. There, that will do. Now, I'm off.

as a razor.

So Mr. Brown, after swallowing a halfmasticated breakfast, and having made everybody slightly uncomfortable by his eager style of hurrying away to his shop, leaves Mrs. Brown to pick up the crumbs of comfort at home with her children and servants.

Meanwhile, Mr. Brown carries on his affairs after the same tune all day. His customers talk too long, his clerks don't write fast enough, and his draymen are gone a prodigious while to the boat. His object is to make money, and make it fast. To attain that object he is willing to sacrifice almost everything else but a species of coarse honesty which keeps the law, and lets the prophets take care of themselves. Mr. Brown is a business man.

II. Scene, breakfast; time, Sunday morning; persons as before.

Mrs. B. I wish you would get up, Samuel, so that we could get ready for church, Now, here it is half-past nine o'clock, and you are not dressed.

Mr. B. (With a very jaded look, and an extremely languid and fatigued air generally.) Oh, I've had so much to do, that I slept like a log. I believe I never was so tired in my life.

Mrs. B. The children must go to Sunday-school this morning, for Mr. R. told them to come and get a little book a-piece.

Come, dear, can't you get ready and go with them? It's late now.

Mr. B. No, Susan, I can't. The fact is, I'm done up. I must rest liberally to-day, and oil up the old machine. Such a week as I've had! We've sent off three hundred tons to Salone. Besides, Mr. S. is such a dry stick, I always get to sleep, and I don't see that his prayers help me any.

Mrs. B. Now, Samuel, that's too bad. You know you used to be quite religious, but it's all from coming to C.

And here are the children growing up just like you. Tommy said yesterday, he hated the New Testament. I wish we were back again in our little country shop, tor we had time to worship God then. But here it is slaving yourself all the week, and sleeping all Sunday. We are getting to be like the heathen; and the last time Mr. S. called, and I excused you for not going to church more, he shook his head, and said something about "the cares of this world," &c.

But Mr. Brown cannot get ready, and the children have to stay at home, for they are too young, and the distance is too great, for them to go alone. About church-time it sets in to rain a little, and Mr. Samuel Brown spends the day at home in the bosom of his family, thinking one-half of the time how he shall pay his note at the bank on Tuesday, when it falls due; and the other half in dozing on the sofa, and reading the last Herald, with an occasional romp with the children. Towards night it clears up, and he takes a walk down to the shop to see how things are. He accidentally meets a gentleman, and agrees to let him have fifty pounds' worth of goods very cheap, and Mr. Brown returns home in respectable spirits, and is not conscious but what he is quite as good, and even guesses he may be a little better, than some of those who make so much fuss about religion.

III. Scene, dinner; time, election-day, and the family at the table.

I had time to vote, but it's so far, and I'm so hurried with the goods by the Sultana, I haven't a moment to spare. So friend Stokes must take his chance. He was very particular last Tuesday, and said he wanted me to vote to help him and his cause, but it's no use. The b'hoys will have it all their own way. One vote is nothing. Come, Tommy, won't you go down to the shop with me. Get ready, quick. Here we go.

So, Mr. Brown can lay his political duties on the shelf quite as easily as his religious. His country cannot weigh with his business any more than his God.

In a few days after the above scene, Mrs. Brown wanted to take a drive into the country with the children, and she desired Mr. Brown to go with them, for she was timid without her husband. So at noon she besieged him to take a carriage, and go out to the Hills.

IV.-Scene.

Mrs. B. Now, Samuel, do go. I'm tired of staying at home, and the children want air. Here I have been all winter, tied up in the nursery with the baby, and I haven't seen brother William's folks this age. The clerks can do for, once; and then Mr. Sampson is always at the shop; he knows everything.

Mr. B. Why, how you tease! I can't even eat my dinner in peace. There's no use of talking, for I can't go. Mr. Morgan will be round to fix the contract with the railroad this afternoon, and we hope to supply them. Women are always thinking men can go anywhere. Why, Susan, I'm a business man. But I'll take a little more sauce, please, on my pudding.

So Mr. Brown, though essentially kind and polite, and loving his wife and children as much as a business man, who has another idol, can, does not go into the country. His wife feels her eyes moisten a little at the disappointment, yet chokes down her sobs. But after her husband is gone, and the children have run out to play, she retires into her chamber and has a regular cry.

So it is. Mr. Brown is led on from one step to another. He goes into business because a man must do something. Once in, he wants to get rich, and get out of it as soon as may be. In getting rich he finds himself in sharp competition with a hundred others in the same trade, who want to make rapid gains as much as he does, and who are just as good at a bargain as himself. His wife wants to live as well as her neighbours; the children are growing up, and must be educated, &c. So that, altogether, poor rich Mr. Brown has a hard time of it, and gets rather damaged in several respects before he reaches the goal. He makes his family a convenience, his religion a hard duty, his politics a game, if he dips into it now and then; but his business is a reality, a life, and that is the only thing he is in

earnest about, deeply and always. And that is his meat and drink. That is his centre.

Mr. Brown exists to trade and make money. That is his philosophy and religion. His family, his country, and his Maker, all have to give way to the main chance.

THE DYING CHRISTIAN'S

PRAYER.

He had long been faithful and exemplary as a christian; and now he lay upon the bed of death. He felt, and his physician assured him, that the close of life was at hand, and in a few short hours he must enter eternity! His minister came in to see him, and before departing proposed prayer, asking for what he should pray-if there was any particular petition that his dying friend wished him to offer? And the answer of the good old man was, "Yes, pray for me the first three petitions of the Lord's prayer: Hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven!"

What a spectacle of sublimity! What a triumph of faith! What an example of self-forgetfulness, in the all-absorbing interest in Christ's kingdom, and the desire that it might everywhere be extended through the world! In circumstances in which, of all others, the holiest saint might well feel his need of Divine support and comfort, and specially pray for upholding and sustaining grace, he forgets himself, to pray that God's name may be hallowed, and his kingdom come, and his will be done on earth as in heaven!

Here was the true spirit of Christ, who, in the hour of his agony in the garden, still could say, "Not my will, but thine be done." Here, too, is the true spirit of benevolence, which forgets self in its anxious desire for the spread of Christ's kingdom, and the salvation of souls. Here is the spirit by which every one, like this good man, must be animated in life, if, like him, they would feel it in the hour of death.

"Thy kingdom come!" Is this our daily prayer; our constant desire; the end for which we toil, and give, and pray, and habitually live? Does this lead us to speak for God; to pray for the impenitent; to supplicate the influence of the Holy Spirit; to circulate the Bible, the tract; to be faithful to the means of grace; to cooperate with the ministry of reconciliation, and earnestly pray for a blessing on their

labours; to look well to our own example; to do good at home; to send the missionary to the ends of the earth? For this do we seek to be holy ourselves, and to train up our families for God? For this are we faithful in the church, and consistent and exemplary before the world?

"Thy kingdom come!" There is no better prayer; no loftier end that we can propose to ourselves or others; no higher object to fill our thoughts and engage our pursuits in life, or to engage our desires, even in the very article of death! He whose interests, and aims, and ends, are one with those of God, must be safe, must be useful, must be happy, both here and hereafter. Let the prayer, then, of our lips, and also of our life be," Thy kingdom come; thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven!"

"SPEAK TO THAT YOUNG MAN."

As he left the home of his childhood, his mother gave him a bible and her blessing, and charged him with tears, not to forsake the worship of God. Guided by her counsels, he selected the sanctuary which she had named, and hoped there to find a welcome, and be surrounded by friends whose sympathies, instructions, and examples would subserve his temporal and eternal interests. The place and the people were strange. His heart was not attached to either by any endearing associations; not a familiar face could he discover in the crowd that entered.

A pew-door was reluctantly opened for his admission, and, from many indications, he more than suspected, that the seat which he occupied was grudgingly afforded. But he was interested in the services. The sermon was plain, short, and pungent. The truth arrested attention, and awakened feeling. It was the same gospel which he had been accustomed to hear in the meetinghouse on the hill. He came again, and the impression was deepened. At length, by application to the sexton, he procured, on terms that seemed to him exorbitant, a seat which he might call his own.

Months passed away, but still all around him were strangers, and all treated him as a stranger. He had no one to introduce him, and he was too diffident to make advances. He learned that some hundreds of professing christians worshiped in that congregation; but not one of them exhibited any interest in him; no one en