impious, for man to endeavour to put asunder what God has thus joined together, and to strive to be happy while unreconciled in heart and disobedient in life to the commands of God. And, most assuredly, whatever else may be doubtful in theology, this at least is undisputedly certain, that the object which God's well-beloved Son designed, in exchanging the glory of his heavenly throne for the shame and sufferings of the cross, was not to dissolve, but to establish on a firmer basis, the union between obedience and enjoyment, between holiness and happiness, which his Father had ordained and blest.

"Christ's honour is committed to his people's keeping." Oh! were this constantly remembered and consistently acted upon by those who love the Lord, what godly jealousy would it excite in them, what holy watchfulness, what fervour of prayer, and energy of exertion, that all their conduct might be so closely modelled after the example of their Divine Master, that those who observed them most carefully, it may be with the most malignant purpose, might be constrained to take notice of them that they have been with Jesus; and from this divine communion, have caught a reflected lustre of holiness, which shines before men with such heavenly light as compels them to glorify God.

We live in an age of extraordinary excitement on religious subjects. There is an immense increase of attendance on religious ordinances, and reading of religious books, and discussion of religious topics; but I fear there is by no means a proportionate increase of religious meditation in the retirement of the closet, accompanied by fervent prayer, that dews of divine peace may there silently descend on the soul, and hallow the hour of secret communion with the heart and heart-searching God.

It

is not the number of lectures we attend, or books we read, even if the lectures be the most evangelical, and the books the most scriptural that could be chosen, which will of itself promote our growth in peace. It is only that portion of either, which, by secret meditation and prayer, is so inwardly digested as to conduce to the nourishment of our souls, and the strengthening of our spiritual life. Meditation is the digestive faculty of the soul, and it is only by its means, through the power of the Holy Spirit, that what we hear or read is turned into spiritual nutriment, and thus tends to

make us stronger and healthier Christians, growing up to the full measure of the stature of the Lord Jesus Christ. Our closets should be as hives, where all the stores of religious knowledge that we have gathered in our excursions abroad, are wrought, by the heaven-taught skill of holy meditation, into spiritual food, at once sweet to the taste, and refreshing to the soul. Did the bee only wander from flower to flower, and gather the most abundant materials for the construction of the honey-comb, but not employ them for this purpose by skilful labour in the hive, of what advantage would all her collected treasures prove? Alas! in the religious world, in our day, there are too many who act such a foolish partalways on the wing, appearing to be continually collecting materials for making spiritual food, but never employed at home in the quiet retirement of the closet, in the work of devout meditation, by which alone the spiritual sweetness can be extracted from the plentiful stores they have gathered while abroad. Would you, then, believer, desire to be a growing Christian? getting every day stronger in the Lord; holier, and, therefore, happier; more conformed to Christ, and more meet for heaven? I do not say, read less, or hear less, but I do say, meditate more. I would not wish you to be seldomer at the lecture, but to be much oftener in your closet. Do not converse less with books; but oh! I affectionately advise you, commune more with your own heart. Meditate on what you have heard or read, till it becomes, as it were, incorporated with the whole system of your thoughts and feelings; and though the divine influence of the Holy Spirit exercises a sanctifying energy over your heart and life, have special seasons set apart for the sacred work; and, as far as possible, let no interruption hinder you from its performance; and when you have once engaged in it, do not leave it off till the Holy Spirit has given you such a realizing view and lively perception of the precious truths which your mind is engaged in contemplating, that you will be conscious to yourself, and all around you will be constrained to take notice, of the hallowed influence that has sprung from them, giving a heavenly cast to your character and conversation.

THE LORD LOOKED UPON PETER.” (LUKE xxii. 61.) He uttered no word he made no sign-he simply looked-the eye of the disciple met the eye of the Lord, and it was enough. I dare not attempt to describe what that countenance expressed, and what that stedfastly fixed eye conveyed. No language can set it forth-no pencil has power to represent it. It was not one simple expression. It was not reproof alone, nor was it all pity, nor all indignation, nor all sorrow, but a mingling of emotions into one compound expression. It chided, it convinced, it pitied, it lamented, it invited, it subdued. Peter understood its manifold meaning, and felt its mighty power. Its eloquence was irresistible. Its pathos pierced his very soul. It was a look of mild upbraiding: "Thou dost not know me, Peter!—me, thy Lord, whose glory thou sawest on the mount; whose sorrow thou didst witness in the garden. Didst thou not know me then? Was it not thou, that saidst a little while ago, that thou wast ready to lay down thy life for me?" It expressed a deep sense of injury. "And thou, Peter, art thou too among mine enemies?-hast thou also taken side against me?-did I deserve this at thy hands?" It was a look of compassion. It seemed to say, "Poor unhappy Peter, alas! what hast thou done?-how hast thou wounded thy own soul!-what work for repentance thou hast made!" It did not indignantly repel him. It did not say, "I disown thee, as thou hast done me. I cast thee off from me now, and I will deny thee before my Father." It seemed to say, "Notwithstanding thy treachery, I have still a place left for thee in my heart, if thou wilt return to me. I will still own thee, though thou hast disowned me. Go and commune with thy heart on what thou hast done." There was also power in that look of Christ. It convinced, it melted, it overcame him quite. Grace went with it to his heart. And Peter remembered the word of the Lord: (how astonishing that he should have forgotten it until now!) The tender scene that had taken place in the communion chamber, his promises and protestations, all rushed into his mind at once, and he went out, and wept bitterly.

VOLTAIRE.

It is now more than half a century ago, that the dote was a curate, in one of the home counties. day to dinner at the great house, he was ushered room, where there was an excellent library.

writer of this anecBeing invited one into the drawing Looking over the

books, he saw on one shelf a long array of Voltaire's works, a small duodecimo edition. He took one of them, just to see the nature of the contents of the volume, when he met with the following words, or words to that effect: "We do not meet with a single instance of generosity in all the Hebrew annals." He immediately laid down the book.

He could not but recollect the two instances of the noblest generosity, in the case where Saul so relentlessly sought the life of David, to whom he was under such obligations, and that David twice spared the life of his bitter enemy. Had Voltaire seen either of these instance of generous forbearance in some heathen writer, how would he have commended the heroic conduct of the man.

But it was in the Bible, and therefore he resolves to himself, I will deny any such case to be found in all its annals. He had either read the sacred book, or he had not-if not, he was incompetent to form any judgment: but he had doubtless read these records; and as infidelity is always unscrupulous as to the use of the weapon of falsehood, he takes upon him boldly to assert what the writer had just read, with such utter disgust as he felt on the occasion.

Voltaire was the prince of infidelity, and by his wit and talents, and poisonous principles, did more mischief to France than a successful invading army could have effected. He knew the falsehood of what he had asserted, as above, but he well knew that his readers in general would blindly give credit to his daring and impious assertions, while they would not believe God's own word. The writer laid down the volume he had just opened, and never from that day to the present, (as he has observed more than fifty years since,) ever touched a volume of this arch infidel's writings. Happy would it be, if every one who knows the awful character of Voltaire, would have treated his pages with the same neglect and

scorn.

The writer says nothing of the awful end of this fearful blasphemer. This is sufficiently well known. May it operate as a warning voice in this day of infidel daring.

FILIAL LOVE IN A CONVERTED HEATHEN.

On entering a house to attend a sick child, I said to the mother, who was was weeping, "My child"-(for so we speak-she was a convert) "what aileth thee? Is the baby still ill?"—" No, no," she replied, with a heavy sigh. Why do you weep, then?" "Oh my mother," was her reply. "Which, your mother-in-law?" "No, not my mother-in-law; my own dear mother who bore me!" and she paused and sobbed as if her very heart would burst through her bosom. I said, "what is the matter with your mother?" Holding out the Gospel of St. Luke in her hand, bedewed with tears, she said, "My mother" (who was still in her native district, from whence this daughter had been brought captive) "my mother will never see this book! My mother will

never hear the glad tidings of this book!" And sighing and sobbing again, she looked to heaven, and breathed a prayer. It was, "My mother, my mother! She will never hear that glad sound that I have heard! The light that has shone on me will never shine on her! She will never taste that love of the Saviour which I have tasted!" Oh, could you have witnessed that sable daughter of Africa weeping for a far distant mother, and looking heavenward, and saying, "My mother, my mother!"-Rev. R. Moffat.

MUSINGS.

BY MRS. SARAH J. HALE.

I wonder how the rich man prays—
And how his morning prayer is said:
He'll ask for health, and length of days-
But does he ask for "daily bread"?
When at his door, in posture meek,

He sees the poor man waiting stand,
With sunken eye and care-worn cheek,
To beg employment from his hand:
And when he tells his piteous tale

Of sickly wife and children small;
Of rents that rise, and crops that fail,
And troubles that the poor befall:-
I wonder if the rich man's thought
Mounts free, as nature's hymn, to heaven,
In gratitude, that happier lot

By Providence to him is given.

And does his heart exult to know,

He too, like heaven, hath power to give?
To strengthen weakness, soften woe,
And bid hope's dying lamp revive?
And when around his gladsome hearth,
A troop of friends the rich man greet,
And songs of joy and smiles of mirth

Add grace to flattery's homage sweet;
I wonder if his fancy sees

A vision of those wretched homes,
Where want is wrestling with disease,
And scarce a ray of comfort comes.
O world! how strange thy lots are given-
Life's aim how rarely understood!-
And men, how far estranged from heaven,
If heaven requires a brotherhood!

A. FOSTER, PRINTER, KIRKBY LONSDALE.