tude of a temple, will remind him of that glorious temple of the eternal Jehovah, the splendour and the glories of which it has not entered into the heart of man to conceive. The stately columns, as they sweep along the sides of the cave, will remind him of the promise made to him who overcomes, that "he shall be a pillar in the temple of his God, and shall go no more out." The waves, as they follow each other in unbroken succession toward its mouth, will remind him of the multitude of tender mercies which have incessantly pursued him ever since he had a being; while, as he contemplates the wide ocean brawling around him, and threatening destruction to the little bark that has wafted him thither, he will rejoice to think that the Lord, in whom he trusts, is "mightier than the noise of many waters, yea, than the mighty waves of the sea!"

DR. HUIE.

EARNESTNESS IN RELIGION.

LET there be a settled conviction on the mind, (not equivocated with, though unhappily too dormant and inoperative,) that the spiritual and immortal interests really do demand earnest attention; and then a train of remonstrances against indifference and carelessness may be urged on that mind. It may be urged on such a man, Will you not, can you not, resolve to converse with your own spirit sometimes? You can speak freely, and hear patiently there. If it be a mortifying converse, there is none to overhear it, but ONE! and your selflove will be sure to survive unhurt. You can say to yourself, “It is really thus and thus that I firmly believe-and shall believe in life, death, and to all eternity. But then here in my soul is the most astonishing inconsistency and contradiction-not a more dreadful one in the creation ;-dreadful, for it is a practical one, in the very highest concern of a created being. The consequences of its continuance are plain before me, inevitable and terrible. And am I quietly to go on thus, thinking as little as I can about it? Do I coolly consent that it shall be so, for the present at least, and for I know not how long?"

Let him consider and say, "There they stand before me, not in a deceptive vision, but in absolute reality, the most important things that can be in the view of any

being on this globe, or that has left it—the Redeemer of man-salvation-perdition-death-judgment-eternity! They stand confronting me, that there may be in me something corresponding to them. And it is in the presence of God that I thus stand with these most awful objects before me; it is by his light that I see them; it is his authority, in its utmost fulness, that insists on their demand of a corresponding state of my mind; it is His voice that pronounces me lost, if that answerable state be not here. And yet, is it the fact that I am indifferent still? Here is the soul that can acknowledge all this, and still not tremble, nor care, nor strive, nor pray! can be at liberty for any pursuit, or gaiety, or amusement!" One could almost imagine, that realizing such a state of things in a man's own soul might produce an amazement enough to suspend for a while even the sense of personal interest; that a man might be absorbed for a while before he came again to the consciousness of being himself the subject; as we should look at some strange and dreadful phenomenon in the natural world. And, in truth, there is no phenomenon in that world so portentous.

In such a condition, (sensibly so, in a measure,) men can give their attention and activity to all manner of interests and pursuits-many very trifling ones. But the remonstrance should follow them still. Recollect what it is that you are warmly pursuing this, to the neglect of, and in preference to! And cannot you rise to the resolution of saying deliberately, "Why should this take the precedence; why? Is there one moment in which I seriously approve its doing so? Will there ever be such a moment? and if there should! Is not

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this my preference made on the very principle that creates all the evil and misery in the universe? Is not a perversity of will inclined to the worse? Do I not know that I am giving this the preference by the neglect of an interest infinite, millions of times more important? Am I then an immortal, under some dreadful charm and curse that dooms me to live but for the hour, or the day, or the few uncertain days of this my abode in the dust— unable to go forth in a capacious apprehension of the great hereafter? Or when shall the case cease to be thus?" If his mind answer evasively, "Not always will it be thus, I hope-not long-perhaps to-morrow." Have you then (it might be said to him) such easy faith? Do you adhere, for the present, to your preference, on a calculation of disgusting yourself at length with what you prefer? that at the next turn the right preference may be the easier? But why has the preceding train of your wrong preferences done so little to disgust, or satiate, or change you?

Or, if we shall suppose that there is often a certain degree of disgust and recoil ;—that a sense of the vanity and insufficiency of things is forced on the soul ;-—that the heart cannot find the living element it longs for, in any of these terrestrial things; so that the active spirit for a while remits in disappointment, and is reduced to stand detached and retired. Why, this should be well; but what is the consequence? Alas! too often it but reverts a while in a gloomy mood to recover, and look out to see where it may try again. There is no look toward heaven, except perhaps for a moment, in something like an emotion of revenge upon the earth: let another

delusive gleam of the world's sunshine come, and that emotion passes away.

But these seasons of dissatisfaction and recoil, this sickness of the heart, experienced in the exclusive pursuit of inferior interests, might be seized upon by the Christian admonisher. He would say, "Acknowledge that at these seasons you are in truth struck and troubled by a power from the other world, whether distinctly recognised or not; an obscure and suppressed sympathy with the true cause of happiness. There is a certain sense of an infinitely greater interest neglected. Consider those who are earnestly intent on the higher object: are they subject to these seasons of mortifying recoil from them? Have they forced a perception of their vanity? Are they almost ashamed of them?" And again, "Does there not come upon you sometimes an irresistible conviction, that, if you had long since become animated with the spirit of the religion of Christ, it would have been infinitely the best and happiest thing that could have befallen you? Has not this conviction prompted you to exclaim, What a course of happy feeling and estimable life it would have been as compared with my past existence! One little stage of it would have been of more worth than all these long vain years have been. I should have walked with God thus far, and with his saints and angels." There are at least some who are visited by such reflections. But we say, What then, now? Will you make this past, which you are compelled to condemn and deplore, the very precedent and pattern for what is to come? Would it not be the very worst effect of all, from this misapplied