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no object so minute that it fails to furnish some illustration of its principles. The fluttering insect no less than the towering elephant, the stunted shrub of the desert no less than the lordly oak of the forest, impresses on our minds one great, glorious, sublime and incontrovertible truth, there is a God.' This science, then, points us to the heavens, with all their countless wonders and varied beauties; it bids us wander amid the regions of boundless space, and, as with amazement we gaze upon worlds and systems, compared with which our own is but a speck, and contemplate the wondrous provisions by which all are preserved in their appointed places, while concord and harmony are maintained throughout the vast universe, it asks, • Where could reside the power to create, or the wisdom to direct and govern, these countless worlds, but in an Almighty and Omniscient God?' It leads us to the survey of our own planet : conducts us through every part of the vegetable and animal creation ; shows us the adaptation of every creature to the place it is destined to occupy, and the purpose it is designed to fulfil ; discovers to us arrangements for the sustenance and preservation of each, and, above all, for the comfort and happiness of man, so simple and minute that they would escape the observation of a mere casual and careless observer, and yet provided for exigencies and necessities which nothing but infinite wisdom could foresee, and it demands, 'Do not these marks of design, so numerous and varied, bespeak an intelligent Creator-these traces of mercy and goodness tell of a bountiful and gracious governor ?' Once more, it directs us to the 'world within us,' and as it exhibits those astonishing contrivances by which every limb and member is secured from injury and harm, and symmetry, beauty, and grace imparted to the whole ; and lays open before us those powers and faculties of the human soul, which time cannot limit, space cannot bound, nor force control and those moral sentiments and feelings, all evidently designed to lead us to the veneration of a superior being, and all pointing us to God as the source and centre of goodness again it triumphantly appeals to us, and demands, 'Are we not irresistibly led to the conclusion that there is a God, the former of a creature so 'fearfully and wonderfully made,' and the object of the affections thus implanted by nature in our bosoms?' And who is there that can venture to question the validity of an argument drawn from so many and
perfectly independent sources. The man who could look on
the works of human art and contend that they were th productions of mere accident and chance, would be regarde as an idiot. How much more unreasonable to deny tha this vast universe, displaying so many marks of unrivalle skill, and unparalleled wisdom, is the work of an intelliger author !
Here, then, is an argument with which the philosophi votary of infidelity may be safely met and fairly combatted he may treat the prophecies of Scripture as bold and darin forgeries-he may regard its narratives of miracles as mei traditionary fables, calculated, indeed, to impose upon ti credulity of the superstitious vulgar, but unworthy the b lief of a man of sense and discernment, but here there no possibility of forgery or imposture; here is an argumei based upon the principles of that darling science of whic he so loudly vaunts, and which every discovery in scien tends but the more beautifully to elucidate, and the mo powerfully to confirm. How can he withstand its appea and resist its force ?
Need we urge the study of this science upon the since believer? We could promise him abundant enjoyment the exalted conceptions of the Divine character it mu necessarily create, but on other grounds would we enforce claims. Surely at a time when scepticism has made su fearful ravages and is so widely extending its sway, it is duty incumbent on every Christian diligently to investiga every evidence of the truth of our holy religion, to be a to give some reason for the faith that is in him, and so answer to the cavils of the daring unbeliever. We propotherefore, in the next, and in some following numbers of t Magazine, to introduce wood-cuts, explaining in a fami manner the proofs of wise designs and kind contrivances the natural world, thus evincing the existence of an inte gent and benevolent God. Trinity College, Dublin.
T. G. R
Puseyism is popery somewhat diluted-diluted and tially disguised for the present, in order to render it then palatable to those who may still have some misgivings al receiving it pure and unalloyed as the article issues f the grand laboratory on the banks of the Tiber; but taining the genuine quintessence of all that constitutes "mystery of iniquity.”
The phylactery was a piece of parchment which the Jews wore on their arms and foreheads. It was used at the hour of prayer, except by the Pharisees, who wore it at all times, and made it broad and conspicuous. The Jews woré these phylacteries in obedience, as they thought, to a divine command, mistaking a figurative allusion for a literal precept. See Ex. xiii. 9; Deut. vi. 8. They were generally about an inch wide and eighteen inches long. On them were written, ith an ink made on purpose,
ese verses, Ex. xiii. 1–10: 11—16: Deut. vi. 6-9: xi. 13 -21. The engraving above represents the phylactery worn on the head. Here is one worn on the arm.
It appears that there were three objects pursued by the use of these appendages : first, to remind the wearer of the divine law: second, to procure him reverence and respect in the sight of the Gentiles, Deut. xxviii. 10 : third, to act
as amulets or charms and drive away evil spirits. Hence a Jewish commentator, says, “I bind my phylacteries on my
hand and on my head, that Daemons may not be permitted to injure me.' The pharisaical hypocrites were destitute of all religion in the heart, and they endeavoured to supply its place by external show and ceremonies. It is, however, the heart which God demands. It is the spirit of the mind' which must be renewed. Where this is absent, all else is vain : where it is present, there will be an obedience to every divine command.
A STORY OF THE PLAGUE FOR THE YOUNG.
The last time that the pestilence visited this country, it passed not by, neither spared the village of Goven, in and around which, my pastoral labours, for half a century have been given. In spite of many precautions, public and private, it came and dwelt among us, and when it left, the hymn of joy was mournfully sung, for the brightest and best members of various little circles were no more. The darkness and death-gloom were then removed, only to show the wide ravages. On resuming my daily walks, few were the young familiar heads, humbly bent for a blessing from my withered hands. As I proceeded along the street, which was strewed with extinguished embers, pointing out where fires had been kindled, as if to fright away the monster, here and there an orphan appeared to sob out the piteous tale, that he was now alone on earth. Can I refrain from mentioning that at home also, I was reminded of the desolation ; for one soft prayer uttered morn and eve, beside my knee, was heard no more, and one step, that on rising from this holy attitude, fell like music on the floor, was now gone,-my little grand-child Mary, in her self-chosen and fearlessly prosecuted ministrations of charity among the dying, was stricken to the tomb! Yet such remembrances, though deeply painful, were nothing compared with the bitter feelings experienced a fortnight before. Abroad, wherever you turned, the flying passengers looked suspiciously at each other, dreading that a touch would deprive of life. No one then seemed to have an enemy or friend. The countenance never wore the expression of affection or of hatred, but of fear. Children tripped no longer, in little bands. Untold gold could not then have collected a mob of old or young. Three was the largest number that ever attended one of the
many funerals ;—and no more than one, born an idiot, could be allured to be the spectator of some show of merriment. At home, there was nothing but sleepless apprehensions, and love was but one absorbing feeling of active alarm. The good things of God that covered our table, we dreaded to touch. The breath of heaven, though it was glorious summer, no window was allowed to admit. Had not each soul been immortal, and therefore its redemption been beyond all price, the care of existence, now the one thought by day and night, would far have outweighed its value. The situation of our house in the vicinity of the quiet churchyard, though formerly the subject of much inward congratulation, was to all, save myself, most appalling. Opposite to the bed-room window of my grand-child, was the large pit into which all the victims of the plague were thrown,-and regularly by the parlour, many times a day, the dead were borne. Each voice has been stopped frequently in the morning hymn by dull slow steps passingthemselves a funeral knell! But I must not anticipate.
Reader, I have a chequered chapter of my life to lay before you-one where sorrow and joy are alternate actors, but one alas, where both are powerful and true moralists. To it, I hope to gain the attention, and through it, to impress the heart. May I presume to think that it will be found especially interesting and useful to the young generation now being trained in Sabbath schools.
The long light of a summer evening had gradually been withdrawn, and the dazzled eye felt a pleasant relief in the contrast of shade. The coolness after the sultry warmth, came upon my aching temples like truth after flattery. One by one, the stars beamed out from the dimness of the sky. To my mind, saddened by many anxieties, the scene was soothing, as careless of the dew which was beginning to descend, I held on my slow walk of meditation among the thinly planted trees of our little garden. Why is it that before the storm, the air is so still, the inaudible zephyrs preparing it to carry with quicker pulsation and greater distinctness to the startled ear the fierce hurricane, or the crashing thunder? And why is the soul so often tranquil at the near presence of some dread calamity; Amid my thoughts of peace, a boy with breathless speed approached. His face was swollen, and his voice hoarse with crying. Oh, sir,” he exclaimed, father and mother are dying, and none will read the Bible to them, -oh come to them now!!