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BENGEL ON THE DEATH OF HIS CHILDREN.

following after those who have gone before us, rather than wish those friends back again to a world like this. Who could ever think of congratulating any that had been enjoying the heavenly rest and security for ten, a hundred, or a thousand years together, upon their having to return back again to the perils and dangers of the present life? Why, then, should we regard it as an affliction, that any one of our number has escaped from such perils, and is only entered into perfect peace and security? If a vacancy has been made in the family circle, let it also be remembered that another vacancy has been filled up in heaven. The nearer we in this world are approaching to the end of all things, the more welcome should be the thought of dying; because every departed Christian finds, that the multitude of the blessed is increasingly outnumbering the militant remnant; and because the whole family of God are thus successively gathering in, that we may all be together for ever with the Lord.

"At the funeral, I accepted the condolence and consolations of kind friends as heartily as if I had possessed no stock of these for myself; and thus God, by their mouth, sent me many a good word in season, particularly about the communion we still share in the TOTAL number of our dear children. who are distributed at present between earth and heaven; likewise, about the mutual recognition of friends whom we shall meet in a better world. As we walked from the house behind the corpse, I looked up to the serene heaven, and my mind itself became as serene as if no such funeral were going on. In the churchyard, after the coffin-lid was removed, and the bunches of flowers which had been fastened to the white pall were added to the rest inside, I beheld once more the face of our blessed child. The sun was shining with overpowering brightness in the cloudless sky, and I could not forbear saying to the bystanders, as I pointed first to the corpse and then to the sun, So will that dear child look, which is now no longer like itself.' Animated as I felt with such a hope, I could easily have taken the shovel out of the sexton's hands, and myself have done the office of closing up the little chamber of rest, although, when my first-born, our dear little Albert Fredric, was buried, the sight of the ceremony at that time made such a sad disturbance in my heart. But on the present occasion, I went from the grave into the church with so much cheerfulness of spirit, that I even wished the remainder of the service could have been reserved for the time of my own departure.

"We are now, once more, outside the burial gate, under our own roof, and returned to the necessary occupations of this vain and shadowy life. But we feel more sensibly than ever, that things are rapidly preparing us for the time when these mortal bodies must be borne back through that gate. Blessed be

the name of the Lord!"

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us the GREATER pain in one respect, or the LESS in another; the greater. on account of the deeply wounded state of our hearts because we lose them so soon; or the less, because we are more accustomed to it. We are willing, however, to abide in the hands of God; let him do with us whatever seemeth him good. Besides, we have not even yet the afflictions of Job; we have not lost all, nor all at once, like him. We have not lost seven, nor any of our grown children, nor any when absent from us; not even two at once, much less seven at once; nor by any tempest; all which circumstances together aggravated the affliction of Job. And even had it been our lot to bear all this, still it would have become us to arm ourselves with Job's patience, which we should have found the easier of having his case and example before us, and from our being nearer than he was to the great consummation. Amen. The everlasting God be gracious to us, not forsaking us in the time of adversity!"

ON THE DEATH OF A GRAND-DAUGHTER.

"The now happy little E. F. I. is registered in our hearts, though the shortness of her stay in this world has prevented us from seeing her. But she was not born in vain. The difference between her own span of life and ours, was merely this, that she was permitted to reach the mark by the shortest way. Let God now rejoice her spirit in the company of her little brother who preceded her; yes, let God comfort her now after the time that he afflicted her, and thus bestow, according to the good pleasure of his will, the more abiding joy upon my dear Maria, their mother. More especially, with respect to thee, my beloved daughter, may He alleviate thy days and nights, till thou art strengthened to quit the sickchamber; and may it please him to grant to all of us, upon this occasion, renewed faith, love, patience, and hope, in measure ever more full and adequate to our necessities! "

ON THE ILLNESS OF A GRANDCHILD.

December 27th, 1745. "I would add a few words to thee, my beloved daughter. You say you are become in some degree resigned about witnessing the continual sufferings of your dear little one; and well may we learn under the fatherly hand of God. He is doing all things well; but then we must estimate every event, not according to what our nature feels by it now, but according to the end we shall find answered by it when we are got home. Let us plead and fully depend on the name of Jesus for the little darling, and for ourselves; and let that great name be a real comfort and blessing to us. Your dear uncle, my own brother, oftened suffered hy convulsions in his infancy. As long as there is life there is hope, without requiring any special miracle. Let us only serve God in prayer and supplication, always waiting upon him and waiting for him. May he lead every one of us, with his own hand, out of the departing year into the new!"

ON THE DEATH OF THIS GRANDCHILD.

"I will now add a word in reply to yourself, my beloved daughter. We may safely say that all has been well with the precious child while it was with us; and we shall go to it by and by. One benefit of its sufferings is, that our remembrance of it is the Heretofore more dear and tenderly affecting to us. thy child depended upon THEE; now thy soul follows after IT. This is all right, Our faithful Father in heaven does it out of mere kindness. He may have sent it as a chastening, but he designs it as a benefit. May the consolations of God, which are neither few,

nor small, be intimately experienced by both of you for permanent benefit! May he cause his face to shine the brighter upon yourselves after this tribulation! Trouble not thyself about the past sufferings of the dear little creature; she is now removed from all suffering, and among the spirits of the just made perfect. If the merciful God has commanded man to be merciful to his beast, and even to the bird upon her nest; how is it possible that he can ever gratuitously inflict so many sufferings upon our dear little ones? Doubtless there is a wise, good, and benevolent reason for it.

RESIGNATION.

LORD, it belongs not to my care
Whether I die or live;

To love and serve thee is my share,
And this thy grace must give.

If life be long, I will be glad,

That I may long obey;

If short, yet why should I be sad
To soar to endless day?

Christ leads me through no darker rooms
Than He went through before;
He that into God's kingdom comes,
Must enter by His door.

Come, Lord, when grace has made me meet
Thy blessed face to see;

For if Thy work on earth be sweet,
What will Thy glory be?

Then shall I end my sad complaints,

And weary sinful days;

And join with the triumphant saints

That sing Jehovah's praise.

My knowledge of that life is small,
The of faith is dim;

eye

But 'tis enough that Christ knows all, And I shall be with him.

-R. Baxter.

THE OAK-STUMP.

BY CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH.

SOMETHING of recent occurrence has recalled to my mind a circumstance, which, at the time, amused me greatly, and furnished not a few subsequent reflections. I can and do vouch for the truth of the incident; it really happened: but to render it less incredible than it might appear to an English reader, I must observe that in sundry districts of Ireland they do not always carry the finish of a kitchen so far as we do, in country houses of even high respecta bility, and of the most substantial description. That part of the fitting most frequently dispensed with is the floor. Boards or bricks are little known in some places; and where a few flags are laid down, so many portions become detached in process of time, or sink unequally into the soil, that the pavement is but a partial, irregular affair. I do not mean this as a general description: but I have often seen it so in houses of large dimensions, and possessing luxurious accommodations; while, either from a stretch of hospitality on the part of the servants, or as a security against nightly depredation, the fowls were admitted snugly to roost among the long rafters, or other conveniences, beneath the warm and sheltering roof. This sketch may furnish a hint to unravel the mys

tery which, had it occurred in a well-bricked or dryboarded apartment, would have been altogether too marvellous for the grasp of any rational credulity. It was in the very spacious kitchen of a fine old family mansion, embowered in venerable oaks and elms of mighty growth, that the servants, requiring a stout block for culinary purposes, had obtained it from the lower part of a stately tree, recently felled; and fixing its spreading base on the kitchen floorso they called it, though of flooring that quarter was perfectly destitute-they used it for several years in the capacity aforesaid. Many a hard blow had the block sustained; many a time had its stubborn surface turned the edge of a hatchet and saw, sending the grumbling operator to the grindstone. Nobody doubted but the block was destined to serve for some generations among those to whom its uses were various and important. The kitchen range did not appear more completly naturalized in its appointed station; nor, apparently, was the iron which composed it more effectually divorced from its parent mine, than was its neighbour, the heart of oak, from its brethren of the forest.

One fine moist spring, however, produced a singular effect on the block: several delicate young leaves, were seen to sprout from its side. It was remarked as a curious circumstance by some of the servants, but the leaves soon being chipped off, little notice was taken. The following year it exhibited more conspicuous tokens of vegetation: the shoots were many and of vigorous growth; while the servants agreed to preserve them, pleased to behold their ancient friend in so respectable a livery of national green. Towards autumn, its appearance became so striking that the report was carried into the parlour; and the master of the family found on inspection so fine a development of root, striking deep into the soil of the kitchen, that for the sake of experiment he caused it to be very carefully dug up, without stripping those' young roots, and placed in the natural ground, near an ancient avenue of its own kindred. He was not disappointed for in a year or two the bushy honours of this kitchen block furnished one of the finest specimens of oak foliage to be found on the demesne.

I was in the neighbourhood at the time of this singular transplantation, and ridiculed very freely the idea of any other result than the speedy withering both of root and sprout; alleging that the atmospheric change from a culinary hot-house to the chill damps of closing autumn, with winter's succeeding blight, would alone suffice to extinguish the feeble essay of vegetation. But I wronged the noble plant: or rather the hardihood with which the Creator has endowed that majestic race of trees. It shamed my confident predictions, and became an ornament to the place.

Such a type has afforded me many pleasing illustrations, both on national and personal subjects; but one case is at this moment present to me, which follows it out, I think, with peculiar truth. It regards the solitary survivor of a family that once flourished in the courts of the Lord: until, one by one, they were removed to a better country, and this youth remained, cut off from every external tie that had formerly united him to the people of God. Thrown! among worldlings, he became altogether as they he served their master, and he served them, in all the drudgery of sin. The world, the busy, noisy, abject world, became his element: in their daily toil he partook, and from their scenes of nightly revelry he was never absent. No more resemblance could be traced between H and his departed relatives, than between the low and greasy block in a butcher's stall, and the noble stem that throws the canopy of its verdant branches over a wide expanse of shel

THE OLD OAK STUMP.

tered sod. The most sanguine of Christ's followers dared not to surmise of poor young H- that a principle of spiritual life existed within, lying dormant thus from year to year.

Yet so it was: I had the story from himself, that the first motions of that divine vegetation arose in his soul without the intervention of any other means than a vague and confused recollection of what he had heard in very early life. It was in the midst of as busy and bustling a throng as ever had congregated around him, that these thoughts stole over his mind, gradually absorbing it to such an extent, that the forms which flitted past him were but as the shadows of clouds, and their merry or earnest voices as the murmur of running streams to the contemplative recluse. Hours had thus elapsed ere he became sensible of their flight; and he hastened into retirement with feelings incomprehensible to himself, there to brood over the sweet and awful theme.

His experience was even from this moment a remarkably happy one: convictions he had, deep and powerful, of indwelling and of actual sin: but the manifestation of redeeming love was too vivid for the long continuance of any cloud. Fruits soon appeared, extraordinary enough in the sight of his ignorant companions, but passed over by them as the effect of momentary caprice. After a while, however, the Lord, who was thus mightily working in and for him, directed his removal, even in point of professional avocations, from among the uugodly, and placed him in the midst of those who knew and feared His name. Until then, H- had made no open profession, and it was a matter of painful conjecture with his new associates, and of profane jests and foolish bets with the old, as to how he would appear in this situation. A very little time sufficed to delight the one party, as much as the others were astonished and chagrined. If ever a young man boldly professed the name of Christ, and beautifully adorned his doctrine, such a man was H. Rooted and grounded in the faith, he stood, a tree of the Lord's planting, bearing fruit abundantly, that He might be glorified. I may speak freely of the departed, and His gone to his rest: I never beheld more vigorous growth than in him: or a richer adorning of those gifts and graces which the Lord alone can bestow.

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detect myself in meddling in matters too high for
me, by putting forward at such times the secret de-
crees of electing sovereignty; so that, by musing
whether such a soul be of the number of the elect,
have virtually put that treacherous "If thou canst,"
between me and my prayer.
God," says this spe-
cious sort of unbelief, " may have so bound himself
by his own eternal decree, that this soul does not
come within the number who shall be saved." Away
with such daring perversion of a glorions truth! And
oh! that we heeded more the impressive, the invalu-
able, the heart-strengthening reproof-"If thou
canst believe:-all things are possible to him that be-
lieveth." And where, all the while, was the subject
of this momentous dialogue? Why, he "wallowed
foaming," in the very grasp, under the fiercest domi-
nion of the devil.

"But this was a child." Be it so he was no child to whom, when his friends brought him, and let him down in the midst before Jesus, the Saviour, "seeing their faith, said unto him, Son, be of good cheer, thy sins are forgiven thee." Of course, no thinking Christian will suppose that I am verging to the popish doctrine of saintly mediation, based on the merits of the mediating saints; but this is the simple factGod works by means; and your earnest believing prayers for your friend are as much an appointed means as any that you can name. In using those means, according to that appointment, O thou of little faith, wherefore dost thou doubt ? "Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst," cries the leper, and the answer is sweetly given for every leprous soul that shall, to the end of time, come to the Healer"I will." "If thou canst do any thing, have compassion on us and help us," says the doubting father, interceding for his child; and in like manner comes the meet reply for every hesitating intercessor. “If thou canst believe: all things are possible to him that believeth." I may well be pardoned the repetition: we require to have these words hammered into us, until they extort the bitter, self-convicted cry, Help thou mine unbelief!"

Doubting Christians! there is many a soul in glory, brought to its threshold through the appointed means of your secret supplications, concerning which you are now in heaviness, because this word of the Lord not being mixed with faith in you, He could not do his mighty work openly. It is done, nevertheless; and if you would struggle for a little more belief, you would perchance see more, even now, of the glory of God, in reference to your buried brother. I am no theorist in this matter: I write what I do know.

The old oak-stump furnishes one of those trivial incidents of bygone days on which faith can lay hold, and appropriate it. I sometimes see individuals placed in situations as unpromising as the dry block in the kitchen, or H- in a riotous party; concern

Unquestionably there is a blessing connected with the steady observance of family religion, far greater and more extensive than our unbelief is willing to admit. I could fill a volume with the brief enumeration of instances coming within my own knowledge; and I do verily think that the Lord conceals from us many a work of grace in the souls of our dearest connexions, because of our slowness of heart to believe the immutability of His exceeding great and precious promises. It is very generally allowed that the miracles of healing performed on diseased bodies by the blessed Jesus, were typical of what He is ever waiting to do for our sin-sick souls. We often finding whom I am encouraged to ask, May not these, the leper, the blind Bartimeus, and the Syro-phenician woman, brought forward with striking commentaries, as furnishing invaluable encouragement to come and be saved: but I think we are not equally willing to lay hold on the case of the man whose friends let him down through the roof-of the centurion so successfully pleading on behalf of his sick servant, and of the father who brought his poor possessed child to the Saviour immediately after His transfiguration. All these are told with such emphasis of application-why do we so overlook them? The last named instance is peculiarly forcible: does not conscience tell us that we are very much in the habit of bringing our unconverted friends before the Lord with an "If thou canst ?" It is not that we doubt his power abstractedly: but I, for one, often

like Aaron's rod, be ordained to blossom and bud, and to be laid up in the heavenly sanctuary for a testimony? Then I am induced to pray accordingly; and perhaps I see the individual no more in this world, nor ever hear of him again: but such wayside prayers are not always lost. If we rightly considered who prompts every real supplication that ascends from the believer's heart, we should fear to question the issue; but there is evidently among us a great dread of believing too much, even of the love and faithfulness of our covenant God. Does this meet the eye of a wife whose soul is in heaviness because the beloved of heart is a paralytic-destitute of spiritual power? Of a mother weeping over her son possessed of a devil-internally deaf and dumb? Of a sister who lies lamenting at Jesus' feet, because her

dear brother is still sleeping in death, and bound in his grave-clothes? Of a daughter, whose father is sick in the world's fever, and cannot wake from the region of its delirious dreams? Oh that I could show you Him who, ever living to make intercession, waits but till you vigorously lay hold on His own true word "all things are possible to him that believeth" -to give you exceedingly abundantly above all that you ask or think! Paul was refused, when he petitioned to have the thorn in his own flesh removed; but in which of his glowing intercessions for others do we trace the shadow of our own ifs and buts? It is most true that we are not of ourselves sufficient to think or to ask any thing as of ourselves: but the very fact of being drawn out to pray for those dear to us, is a token that a mightier power is working within; and we ought not to restrain it, or to check the filial petition with ignorant surmises as to what may be the will of God. "Oh that Ishmael might live before Thee!" cried Abraham, when the full tide of divine promise was flowing towards Isaac. "And as for Ishmael, I have heard thee," was the gracious reply. God has more blessings to bestow than we can muster claims to put in. Let us not impute niggardliness to Him who, when He ascended up on high, leading captivity captive, received gifts for men, even for the rebellious, that the Lord God might dwell among them.

RESEMBLANCES.

It is curious to notice, especially in travelling, how frequently resemblances will suggest themselves between the persons whom we meet and others whom we remember-resemblances, however, which are merely apparent, or which, on a few moments' careful observation, are found to be exceedingly imperfect. Sometimes the expression of a countenance, or of certain prominent features in it, will be almost precisely the same with that of another's whom we recall; while the features themselves are widely dif ferent. Sometimes, on the other hand, the shape and features of the face, the colours that mark it, and even the outlines of the whole form, will be almost identical with those of another; but a glance at the spirit that speaks in the face shows it to be totally and strangely different. And sometimes, in a comparatively few instances, where the resemblance had seemed almost complete, in respect to both form and expression, some quick glance of the eye, some careless curve of the lip, some natural change, even in the attitude or position, will show at once the widest difference between the one we are observing and the one whom we remember. And yet at first sight we might have confounded them.

If we will apply this familiar illustration to the analysis of CHARACTER, it may help to show us how easy it must be to mistake in regard to it, and how real and complete the difference may be between the characters that seem most nearly similar. Where the faculties, and even the sensibility and the emotive power of the soul, as natively constituted, may be equal and alike, the spirit that animates them, in different persons, may be totally different; and this difference, though only revealed in a careless word or a trifling action, making the difference in the character between goodness and badness, will make the difference in the destiny between Heaven and Hell.Independent.

PERILS OF FALSEHOOD. WHEN once a concealment or deceit has been practised in matters where all should be fair and open as the day, confidence can never be restored any more than you can restore the white bloom to the grape or plum which you have once pressed in your hand. How true is this! and what a neglected truth by a great portion of mankind! Falsehood is not only one of the most humiliating vices, but sooner or later it is most certain to lead to the most serious crimes. With partners in trade, with partners in life, with friends, with lovers, how important is confidence! How essential that all guile and hypocrisy should be guarded against in the intercourse between such parties! How much misery would be avoided in the history of many lives, had truth and sincerity been guiding and controlling motives, instead of prevarication and deceit ! Any vice," said a parent in our hearing a few days since," any vice, at least among the frailties of a milder character, but falsehood. Far better that my child should commit an error, or do a wrong, and confess it, than escape the penalty, however severe, by falsehood and hypocrisy. Let me know the worst, and a remedy may possibly be applied. But keep me in the dark, let me be misled or deceived, and it is impossible to tell at what hour a crushing blow, an overwhelming exposure, may

come."

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"I CAN'T GET ACQUAINTED WITH THE MEMBERS OF THE CHURCH!"

So said a lady, who had recently been admitted by letter into the membership of a large church, to the pastor.

"I am very sorry, my sister," was the reply; "the members are generally considered quite friendly, and there is much pleasant intercourse among them. Do you speak to them?"

"I do not like to speak first. It was so very different in the first church I joined."

"Where you passed the days of your childhood and youth, you were of course more widely known, and when you were baptized it was a more direct introduction to the Christian sympathies and affection of the Church. Do you attend the prayer-meetings ?" "No. I have not been yet."

"The best place to form acquaintances among the members is at the prayer-meetings. The Sabbath congregations are so large, and so many strangers attend, that the members can scarcely become familiar with each other if they meet only there. But if you are seen regularly at the prayer-meeting, you will soon be recognised and welcomed. Have you been to the Dorcas society ?"

"Oh, no! I did not like to go where all were strangers to me."

"But how are they to become acquainted with you if you do not give them the least opportunity? I hope you have visited the Sabbath-school? "

"No. I should like to take a class, but I have been waiting for an invitation."

“My dear friend, do you not perceive that you are far more to blame for remaining a comparative stranger among us, than the members of the church generally can be? You are waiting for advances to be made by those to whom you give scarcely an oppor

SIGNS OF VAIN RELIGION.

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tunity for friendly intercourse. You give them no reason to think that you desire an acquaintanceship. Now, my advice to you is, attend the more familiar meetings of the church, manifest an interest in its spirituality and prosperity, kindly recognise any whom you know to be members, dispense with the worldly courtesy that requires a formal introduction to these disciples of Jesus, and then, if they remain indifferent to you, the blame will rest with them." -Watchman.

"WHERE IS HE."

John vii. 11.

Is he in your worshipping assembly on the Sabbath? Do you repair to the sanctuary confidently expecting to meet him there? Does his manifest presence banish every worldly and irreverent feeling? Does he mete out to you the word of life, and render it sweet to your taste, and nourishing to your soul?

Is he in the prayer-meeting? Do you, in company with, at least, one or two others, meet together weekly, and claim the fulfilment of his promise to be with you? And is he there, causing your hearts to burn within you, and strengthening you to lay hold with a firmer grasp upon his promises? When you leave that place of prayer, does your conduct say, "We have seen the Lord?"

Is he in the family? Has he made his abode with you? Does his presence refresh the weariness of toil, and lessen the burden of care, and brighten the smile of affection? Does he take your children in his arms and bless them? And does he assure you that you shall form an undivided family in those mansions which he has prepared on high?

Is he thus near to you? or is he afar off-to be still farther when this world shall have run its appointed course, when the impassable gulf shall sepa rate the righteous from the wicked? Call upon him while he is near.

THE DISCIPLE IS AS HIS MASTER.

Do you think your condition in life a humble one? So was Christ's. He was the reputed son of a carpenter. He was the inmate of no costly dwelling. He laboured with his own hands. The proud doubtless looked down upon him. It is enough for the disciple that he be as his master.

Do you suffer from a lack of the comforts, conveniences, and even the necessaries of life? So did Christ. He travelled on foot and was wearied by his journey, he was hungry when he had not the means of procuring food, was weary when he had not where to lay his head. In all these respects you are as well off as was Christ. It is enough for the disciple that he be as his master.

Do you meet sorrows which weigh down the soul, causing days of heaviness and nights of weeping? So did Christ. He was a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief. Sorrow and weeping were the characteristics of his life. It is enough for the disciple that he be as his master.

Do you meet with unkindness where you have a right to expect love, are your motives misinterpreted and your efforts to do good rendered abortive; and do you not meet with deception and treachery? So did Christ. He was despised and rejected of those whom he came to save: many went back and walked no more with him, and one of the chosen twelve lifted up his heel against him. It is enough for the disciple that he be as his master. Will not this con

sideration remove every cause of discontent and repining ?-New York Observer.

A LIFE-EMPLOYMENT. "IT is a fearful thing to die," said one to his neighbour as they were returning from the graveyard, whither they had followed the remains of a man who had spent fourscore years in rebellion against God.

"It is a fearful thing to live as N-lived;" was the reply; "for more than three-fourths of a century he has been engaged in treasuring up wrath against the day of wrath. It has been his daily business, and I had almost said, his delight.”

Poor N--was indeed a strangely wicked man. Without sinking to the depths of sensual immorality,. he gloried in his enmity to God, and hastened to multiply his transgressions. God gave him a long life, every moment of which was spent in treasuring up wrath. He had no bands in his death, and his infidelity and stupidity were removed by passing in-to the immediate presence of God.

How many spend their lives in the same manner, and what a fearful thing it is for them to live! Every impenitent sinner, every neglecter of the Saviour, is spending his days in treasuring up wrath against the day of wrath! What an awful employment! Oh, impenitent reader! have you not treasured up enough already? Will you continue your accumulations till you shall experience "WRATH TO THE UTTERMOST?"

LOST IN THE CHURCH.

IT is a fearful thing to be lost amid the darkness of heathenism, far away from Sabbaths and sanctuaries and Bibles, and the sound of the church-going bell; so far beyond the farthest outskirts of Christendom, that rumour hath not carried there even the name of Jesus or the word of salvation; but a deeper, darker woe is his who is lost in the church, and dead before minister and altar, on the seat hallowed by the late presence of the glorified pious, the Bible leaves beside him marked with text and tears. There are such in all churches-dead souls at the altar of the living God-lost souls at the Redeemer's feast and table. It was an Egyptian custom at festal banquets to introduce a corpse and seat at the table, to remind the guests of their mortality. Its fleshless skinny hand rested on the board, but moved not the viands; the glassy eyeballs fixed their dead stare upon the guests, but the light of life in which those orbs once swam, was extinguished for ever. In such a presence the festivities proceeded. In such a presence proceed often the festivities of Zion. I have seen the corpse at the sacramental supper, stone-dead amid the guests of Jesus. Not a tear on the cheek, nor a quiver of the lip when Jesus showed his wounds. The dull, dead, unlighted eye never sparkled, the bosom heaved not, the entombed tongue clove to the roof of its mouth, amid all the outbreak of a Saviour's love and tenderness! Do we speak in figures? We only give a Bible application; and alas! figures are inadequate to set forth the entire melancholy of the case.

SIGNS OF VAIN RELIGION.

ALL religion is vain which does not influence the conduct, which does not soften and change, and

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