with the principle with which he sets out. "It is allowed," he says, "that we should form our own judgment of the divine rule, and, if we would have any satisfaction, must follow present convictions;" that is, we "must" do what may he sinful! for the opinion may not coincide with the thing, and "opinions cannot alter the nature of things." Indeed, the conclusion of the sentence shews clearly that the rock on which he has split is precisely that above adverted to-a confusion of actions in the abstract, and actions in relation to their agents; for he continues, "still it is not certain on this account that our judgments are just, but we ought to hold ourselves ready to improve or alter them upon fuller information." The sentence, taken altogether, is an admirable rule of christian conduct; but it is clearly opposed, not only to the maxim superscribed, but to many parts of the letter.

I will only, in conclusion, refer to a similar confusion in reasoning, where, in reply to Hodge's statement, "it is wrong to do anything which we think to be wrong: the converse of this proposition, however, is not true; it is not always right to do what we think to be right," Mr. Owen replies, "if one side of his proposition is good, so is the other; for it is only the same thing differently stated." This is incorrect. Because the greater side in a triangle is opposite the greater angle, it might seem to follow that the greater angle is opposite the greater side. But such is not the case, and mathematicians give a distinct proof of each case. In like manner, it may be very true that "it would be wrong to do anything which we think to be wrong but this, being a proposition only about what is wrong, teaches nothing about what right,

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I cannot conclude without bearing testithe amiable spirit of Mr. Owen's letter, and to the useful tendency of portions of its us must sit jou! .bete for i am, dear Sir po b Yours sincerely, só gì zi,misí to barn 28 Boxinoor B. P. P. So Payiz ca ai i ry en bitmes to dirige a sositibro Juul bamdoub si u THE CHRISTIAN SABBATH AND ali ni dǝCHRISTIAN DUTY: SiDY A 21155 in s To the Editors of 37 900 195/2009 IT asWO TIK T9139477 Dear Sirs,velquoɔ weshowzda in vilouh ai i Jud Amid the innumerable topics discussed in our day, there is scarcely one that

appears to have more growing prominence than the Sabbath-day, considered in relation to its claims on national observance.

Were it not for the importance of the subject, and the way it is treated by the Rev. Mr. Barnett, in your last number, under the heading "Nor thine Ass," in all probability I should not have pressed its consideration beyond the range of my own private circle.

As that gentleman's article is intended to relieve an "Enquirer" from a "difficulty,' as appears in the February number of " The Church," I trust I may be permitted to say that he has not failed in reducing the queries to the most elastic possible form.

It is not, however, with "Enquirer" that I wish to meddle, so much as with one or two supposed cases and observations made by Mr. Barnett.

There is, I think, no ground to complain of the imagined case of a “lady being taken suddenly ill;" and more,-I think in such a difficulty the "horse" should be brought into action on the grounds of necessity and humanity; but I do object to the argument as involved in his quotation, "Thou nor," &c., as bearing on the case of chapel-going in the general, or on railroads and postoffice work on the Sunday.

1

When treating these matters, the questions recur,-Is the christian Sabbath a divinely appointed day? if so, are the duties binding on the christian church of a spiritual or secular character? If the former, it is inferred that a sense of duty and love to its Founder, with the consideration of its physical and social bearing on the interests of humanity, renders its observance on the part of the christian imperative. By speaking thus, I mean not that works of neces-sity are to be avoided. If a sheep is in the pit, it must be rescued. If a poor brother is to be visited at a distance, the sacrifice of time and labour must be made. If a destitute congregation require the word of life dispensed to them, and the minister cannot walk the distance, either for want of time or physical inability, it is conceived the "horse" may be used without the violation of christian duty.But are these things to be considered as parallel cases with the "running of trains" on the Sabbath day to meet the secular cravings of the mercantile world, or to convey to calm retreats of rustic reposé our city operatives, with their already vitiated tastes, where they may revel in dissipation 2 dɔrmatywing. I

unfriendly manner, "Indian dog! you'll get nothing here; off with you!" The Indian turned away, then looked once more into young Sullivan's face, and said in a faint, melodious voice, "I am very hungry; I have tasted nothing for a long time. Give me but a crust of bread to strengthen me for the rest of my journey?" "Be off where you came from, you heathen hound!" answered the settler, "I have nothing for you." The bosom of the Indian heaved with emotion, pride and want seemed struggling for the mastery; but the latter was victorious, and he said in a feeble, languishing voice, "Give me only a cup of cold water, for I am much exhausted?" But even this petition had as little effect as before. Sullivan, with a contemptuous look, told him to go to the stream and drink. This was all that could be obtained from one who called himself a christian, while he hardened his heart against the sufferings of his red-skinned brother. With a proud but mournful gait, the Indian turned away, and walked slowly down to the little stream, his tottering steps shewing plainly how urgent his necessities were; and certainly the distress must be great indeed which could induce a proud Indian to ask a second time what has been once refused.

Fortunately, his petitions had been overheard by the settler's wife, Mary Sullivan, who was rocking her infant to sleep; she followed the poor Indian with her eyes, and saw his dark form sink down exhausted a little distance from the house. Her husband having finished his work, had meanwhile walked along to the stables with downcast eyes, for he did not feel altogether comfortable in his mind; so she slipped out, and was soon by the Indian's side, with a pitcher of milk in one hand, and an abundant supply of bread and roast venison in the other. ***Will my red brother take a drink of milk ?" said Mary, as she bent over the prostrates Indian band on his raising his head to the pitcher, she untied the bundle, and invited him tobeats When he had finished, he said, while gratitude beamed from his eyes, Karkutschi- protects the white dove from the claws of the eagle, for her sake, the unfledged young ones shall rest secure in their nest, and her red brother with not seeks revenge.'Then drawing forth ar bundle of feathers from his bosom, he pulled out the longest and gave it to her, saying, "When the mate of the white dove courses over the hunting grounds of the Indian,

let him wear this upon his head." He then turned away, glided into the forest, and disappeared.

The summer was past, the harvest was over, the maize and wheat laid up in the barn. Preparations were making for a hunting expedition, and Sullivan was going with the rest to the hunting grounds beyond the forest. He was brave, enterprising, and well practised in the use of the rifle and woodman's axe. Hitherto William had viewed the approach of this season with particular delight, undisturbed by any apprehension of an attack from the Indians. But on this occasion he did not feel quite so comfortable: the image of the Indian whom he had treated so rudely constantly floated before his imagination. When the day for setting out was at hand, he expressed his anxieties to his wife, confessing that his conscience had never ceased reproaching him for his conduct. Since that time, all that his mother taught him in his youth regarding his duty to his neighbour reawoke in his mind, and convinced him that he had sinned by his cruelty both against God and his suffering brother. Mary listened in silence, then taking him by the hand, with a smiling face, related what she had done without his knowledge to the exhausted Indian. Stepping to the cupboard, she brought forth the heron's plume, and, relating her conversation with the Indian, assured him he had, therefore, nothing to fear. "No," said Sullivan, "these Indians never forgive an injury." "But neither do they forget a kindness," added Mary; "I will sew this feather in your hunting-cap, and then you can confidently trust to the protection of God; for I remember my father used to say, never neglect any lawful means of safety. His motto was, Trust like a child, but fight like a man.' Oh, dear William," she added, after a pause, "now that father is dead and gone, I think a great deal more of what he used to say than I did when he was with me. I am afraid neither of us are in the right road, William ; and if we receive what we deserve, we must be left to ourselves, forgotten by God; for, oh, we 24.02 ads, bude have forgotten him !”'

The tears stood in Mary's eyes as she said. this. She was the only daughter of a pious English sailor, and in her early childhood had given hopes of becoming all that christian parents could desire. But her piety was more of the head than of the

heart; and, in after years, she became..

thoughtless, her piety evaporated, and she found no longer any relish in those things which once had given her so much delight. To all appearance she seemed quite happy; but yet in all her pleasures there was a sting, namely, the secret reflection that she had sinned by forsaking the living God. These impressions gradually deepened; the spirit of grace strove within her, and the truth she had heard in her younger years awoke afresh in her heart. A long conversation ensued on this occasion between the young couple, and on this evening they kneeled down, for the first time, in united prayer.

The morning fixed for the departure of the hunters was uncommonly beautiful. On Sullivan's brow, too, not a cloud remained. Fear had vanished from his heart; and he would even have taken the feather from his cap, if his wife had not urgently entreated him to let it remain. A large quantity of game was killed in the course of the day, and at night the hunters sought shelter in the cave of a bear, which had been shot by one of them. Its flesh afforded a capital roast for supper, and its skin, spread upon a bed of leaves, a soft warm couch in the long November night.

At the earliest dawn, the chase was renewed. Sullivan, who was pursuing a roe with too great eagerness, became separated from his companions, and while seeking them lost his way. In vain he strove to regain the path out of the dense forest, through which scarcely a sunbeam could penetrate; and more than once, when he fancied he saw the piercing eye of a lurking Indian, he raised his rifle, determined to sell his life as dear as possible.

Towards sunset he came to a more open part of the forest, and found himself on the borders of an immense prairie, overgrown with long grass, and interspersed with clumps of brush wood. A stream ran through this broad plain, and to it Sullivan directed his steps; he was wearied and well nigh famished, for since breakfast he had tasted nothing. On the bank of the stream there was a good deal of underwood. Sullivan approached, therefore, with caution, holding his rifle full cock, so as to be prepared for any emergency. He was distant only a few yards from the bushes, when a rustling among the leaves brought him to a halt, and the next moment a powerful buffalo rushed out. These animals generally rove over the prairies in immense herds, consist

ing sometimes of thousands; but occasionally a single one is met with. The buffalo stood still a moment, then rushed upon the hunter. Sullivan took aim, but the beast was too near to admit of his aiming calmly and surely; and although slightly wounded, its onset was only the more furious. Sullivan, although a very strong man, was completely exhausted by his long fasting and wanderings; but desperation perved his heart and steeled his arm. With great presence of mind he seized hold of the long hair which fell over the animal's forehead, while with the left hand he drew out his knife to plunge it in its breast. But the combat was too unequal. The buffalo hurled him to the ground that it might stamp him to pieces with its feet. At the same instant, William heard the sharp crack of a rifle behind him, and the next the animal gave one bound upwards, then fell heavily to the ground, partly upon the prostrate hunter. A dark form, in the Indian costume, glided forth, and plunged a hunting knife deep into the buffalo's neck.

Sullivan, who had mean while managed to crawl forth from beneath the buffalo, now turned to the Indian, and, with mingled feelings of hope and fear,-for he did not know whether he belonged to a hostile tribe or not, begged him to shew him the way to the nearest settlement of the white men. "If the wearied hunter will wait till morning," replied the Indian, "the eagle will shew him the path to the nest of his white dove." Then taking him by the hand, he led him through the deepening shades of night, to a small Indian encampment on the banks of the stream. There he gave the hunter an abundant meal of maize cakes and roast venison, spread some skins for a couch, and left him to his repose for the night. The first streaks of the morning had not yet appeared in the east, when Sullivan was awaked by the Indian; and after a slight breakfast, they set out on their way to the settlement of the white man. The Indian walked first, and wound his way through the forest, which was still enveloped in darkness, with an accuracy and rapidity only to be looked for in one of his race; and ere yet the golden sun had sunk behind the tops of the distant rocky mountains, Sullivan was once more approaching his beloved home. There it lay in calm repose. At the much-loved sight, William could not suppress a cry of joy. Turning to the Indian, he poured forth from a full heart his thanks to him for the

service he had rendered him. The red man, who till then had not shewn his face to the hunter, except in the imperfect light of his hut, now let the rays of the sun fall upon his form, and revealed, to William's astonishment, the features of the Indian whom he had so cruelly repulsed. An expression of proud though mild reproach was on his countenance as he looked upon the blushing Sullivan; but, with a soft, gentle voice, he said to him, "Five months ago, when I came to you, wearied and famishing, you called me an Indian dog, and drove me from your door. Last night I might have taken my revenge; but the white dove gave me some food, and I spared her husband for her sake. Karkutschi now bids thee go home; and if ever again thou seest a red man in distress, then do to him as I have done to thee! Farewell!" He waved his hand and turned away; but Sullivan sprang before him, and besought him in the most earnest manner to go with him, as a token that he had forgiven his brutal conduct; and the Indian yielded to his prayers.

How astonished and rejoiced was Mary, when she saw the Indian again, and learned from her husband the service he had performed! All this you can imagine. Karkutschi was treated not merely as an honoured guest, but as a brother; and a brother, too, he did become in time. He paid many visits to the dwelling of Sullivan, on whom the wild Indian's example was not without its effect. It helped to bring him to see his sinfulness before God: he began to repent, and to seek forgiveness

through the Lord Jesus Christ. He and Mary became truly converted.

Karkutschi's benevolence was repaid him a hundredfold. The more William and Mary felt their obligations to him, the more earnestly did they desire that he too should be a partaker of the happiness which they found in Christ. They taught him the gospel as well as they could. But it was long before there was any visible change in his heart; at length, however, it pleased the Lord to bless the unwearied efforts of his friends, and to hear their prayers. Two years afterwards, an American missionary came to a station in the neighbourhood of Sullivan's dwelling, and Karkutschi became one of the Indians who were taken under instruction preparatory to baptism. He was the first native baptized at this station. And our friend,-for I am sure he is dear to you all,-was not contented with this: he became a preacher among his heathen countrymen, and laboured among them to a good old age. After his strength became exhausted, he returned to his white friends, and lived many months with them, till the Lord permitted his servant to enter into his rest.

Many years have passed since then. Of Sullivan's dwelling not a trace is now to be seen; William and Mary rest in the same churchyard where the bones of Karkutschi lie; but their descendants still dwell in the town which has been built upon the spot, and if you were to go there, you might still hear them tell the tale of " The Indian's Revenge."-Translated from Missionsblatt für Kinder.

PULLING DOWN THE CHURCH." To pull down the Church,' is a very common expression, both in the lips of Churchmen and Dissenters, and it is considered by the former, as a comprehension of all possible horrors, involving the triumph of infidelity, irreligion, and anarchy, over religion, justice, law, and order. As used by Dissenters, it means nothing more than a separation of the Church from the State. In point of fact, it is an inaccurate expression, and means more than Dissenters intend to convey. The true mode of expressing our meaning is, to speak of pulling down the Establishment. We contend for nothing more than this, and for this, not in a way of violence, but of law. Were this to take place next year, the Church would remain with all its essentials as a religious institution, though it would be no more a political

one. Its buildings, its creeds, and formularies, its apostolical succession, its prelates, its clergy, its sacraments, everything, in short, which belongs to it as a Church would remain; though its connexion with, and dependence upon, the secular power, would be removed. As to its temporalities, I leave this question to be settled between itself and the Legislature, repeating what I have already said, that, personally, I care nothing about this matter; intending by that expression only, that I neither grudge them, envy them, nor covet them; and not that I think the retention of them is either a scriptural, a necessary, or an efficient means of its support. The expression, 'pulling down the Church,' thus explained, loses its sting, and becomes innocuous. It is evident that no external violence, short of the setting up of a Popish and intolerant