worshipping they know not what! A striking proof of the correctness of holy scripture: "The world by wisdom knew not God."

And who hath made us to differ? Time was when Britain herself was filled with superstition and cruelty; when her very religion was debasing, and her most sacred rites abominable. And what hath effected the mighty change? a change no less than from darkness to light, from the power of Satan unto God? To whom is attributable the happiness and the glory which for so long we have enjoyed? This is the language written in letters of gold upon all the prosperity of this great and mighty nation: "The Lord is our judge, the Lord is our lawgiver, the Lord is our king; he will save us" (Isa. xxxiii. 22). He hath dispersed the thicker than Egyptian darkness by causing "the light of the glorious gospel of Christ, who is the image of God, to shine unto us." Great is the glory which as a nation we do enjoy; but it is owing to the diffusion among us of God's everlasting truth. Through the grace of God we are what we are. He sent his word, and healed us. The bible, the revealed word of God, which is the sword of the Spirit, quick and powerful, v kai ivepys, living and effective-this, diffused, preached, read, marked, learned, and inwardly digested, brought about the mighty change, uprooted the giant evil, dissolved that master structure reared in darkness and fortified by superstition; and, in its stead, with 66 lively stones built up a spiritual house,' ""an holy temple in the Lord," upon that sure foundation, Jesus Christ the righteous.

It was absolutely necessary for the purity and salvation of the church that there should be a written rule, over which man should have no control. The Spirit, which searcheth all things, and seeth the end from the beginning saw this; and he blessed us with his lively oracles, "which he commanded our forefathers to teach their children, that their posterity might know, and the children which were yet unborn"; of which himself hath also said, by the mouth of the prophet, "To the law and to the testimony: if they speak not according to this word, it is because there is no light in them" (Isa. viii. 20). It is true that "it pleaseth God by the foolishness of preaching to save them that believe"; but he would not commit the precious knowledge of himself, whom to know is life eternal, altogether and alone, to the lips of man; "for he knew what was in man." As the apostle says, "We have this treasure in earthen vessels":"As ministers of Christ we are stewards of the mysteries of God"; but, as it is required in stewards that a man be found faithful, so the chief Shepherd himself, and Bishop of our souls, has enriched our church with a touchstone of truth.

"All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness; that the man of God may be perfect, throughly furnished unto all good works." Tradition never could have accomplished this. The deceitfulness of man's heart, and the depravity of his nature, would not have allowed him to hand down to posterity, in an unadulterated form, the things pertaining to God, and which make for his own everlasting peace. And, as far as we can see,

WE discover on every side of us melancholy confirmations of the truth of the scriptural statement that man is a fallen being. Mind and body alike indicates it: his moral system as well as his animal is disorganized: it bears marks of having sustained a grievous shock. And, as it may with truth be affirmed that there is no such thing as a perfect body-a body free from all defects, in form, structure, internal organization, so with equal truth may it be asserted that there is no such thing as a mind perfectly sound, healthy, and unimpaired. Perfectness of mind as well as perfectness of body seems to be a blessing reserved for the higher state of existence for which man is destined when "this corruptible shall put on incorruption, this mortal immortality." Certain it is that here marks of imperfection, flaws, and defects are found in every mind. It was a common saying of the ancient philosophers (the profoundest of thinkers), that all minds here were in a degree diseased. And it is no libel on human nature to assert that all minds here give indications of one kind or another of something being out of order in them-of something in the mysterious complicated mechanism of them being out of its place.

It is, in point of fact, no more than to assert what follows as a corollary from the doctrine of the "fall of man," that all minds as well as bodies have suffered by it. And perhaps the term "bizarre," though restricted to a certain and small class of minds, is that which is applicable in a modified sense to every mind, upon earth. It will be found that every mind in passing through the probationary state of being, has received some trial or shock (or whatever we may term it), which constitutes its especial experience of that which this world is destined to be sooner or later to all-a scene of trial and affliction and discipline for another state.

It is a common remark, that every mind has sooner or later to pass through its particular trial; that trial which shakes the soul to its centre is endured sooner or later.

This may vary infinitely as to kind. It may be professional, or commercial, or domestic, bodily or mental, &c., &c. But some trial or another, some disappointment which blasts the fondest hopes, whatever they may have been, of wealth or fame or rank or domestic happiness, seems (at least if we may take the testimony of universal experience for our guide) fated to all. This would appear to be one of the necessary adjuncts of a fallen, sinful state. Now it is this affliction which mostly constitutes the shock (the very term which is commonly applied to it) which the soul has to sustain in this probationary state. This is the storm of life which all seem to be destined, soon or late (no matter how long they may have enjoyed calm and sunshine) to pass through. And the effect of this upon the mind is the key to many peculiarities or phenomena (as we may term them) in human character and conduct which meet the eye. In the case of some minds of a peculiarly tender, sensitive, and overfine contexture, the vessel is as it were wrecked. This is too often the case when the mind is not fortified by religious principles, consolations, and hopes. But in the case of the strongest and hardiest intellects, the effects of the violence of the storm are seen on them. They may, indeed, weather it, but the vessel receives a concussion, a shock, which, however well it may be concealed, tells upon it to the last. And to those who are curious in such matters, few things could be more interesting than to mark the peculiar effects produced by it upon the character. This shock will, generally speaking, be found to be the key to many of those individual peculiarities, strong prejudices, and prepossessions which are to be found in a greater or less degree in every character we meet, however some may be more successful than others in concealing them. The greatest and wisest on earth are not free from them.

This will account for many repugnances and partialities and apprehensions carried to an unreasonable length; to various feelings and emotions which are not regulated and controlled by the same wise and sober laws which seem to govern every other part of their conduct. Indeed, we may without difficulty conceive such a degree of discernment of spirits to be possessed that we could discover from the general tone of the conversation what has been the special trial undergone by each mind, and perceive the mind in some little degree unhinged on a particular point. The effects of a mental trial or shock of this kind are often strange, and such as at first appear unaccountable. Pursuits once enthusiastically followed become distasteful, unpleasant. Objects once loved grow indifferent: seenes once the most delightful grow painful and are shunned. We observe minds in consequence go from one extreme to another. Subjects with which the warmest feelings the soul ever cherished were associated are regarded with aversion. We have heard and read of those (indeed history will supply us with instances) who, having been long wronged and injured, when their merits were afterwards felt and acknowledged, shunned and hated the applause and public favour which they once eagerly sought. Now these are facts-undeniable. But the question arises, may not all this give us a key to certain peculiarities of conduct, certain mental

phenomena which we have recently witnessed, not less strange than the strangest of the above? May it not give us a solution to certain changes which have taken place in the minds of some on subjects of high interest-certain revolutions of sentiment which have startled and confounded many, and which we find inexplicable on the ordinary principles of human conduct. Various reasons have been assigned for these changes and consequent secessions-for the renunciation of doctrines and truths which had once been firmly and conscientiously held, and for the adoption of views and sentiments the very opposite. The most generally received account of it is that there was insincerity at bottom; that they had only been acting a part all through; that they had all along been that which they latterly avowed themselves to be; and that the only difference in them was that they threw off the disguise which they had worn before. How far this holds true in regard of many of them I dispute not; but it is difficult to believe it of all. It is difficult to believe it of some (and they the very men whose defection has most startled us), men of undeniably great powers and unexceptionable conduct. It is hard to believe that such men were acting the part of the cold, systematic, callous, self-interested, conscience-seared dissembler and hypocrite-indifferent to all else except forwarding the views of a party. Many things forbid this supposition.

Nothing seemed more unlike the conduct of the deep, designing hypocrite than that of these men. Every thing on the contrary seemed to indicate that they were thoroughly in earnest. There was the apparent earnest, eager, diligent inquiry after the truth: there was the voluntary sacrifice of much which must have been dear to them; the painful severance of old connexions; conflicts of mind and feeling most severe; the distress occasioned by the wounds which they knew they were inflicting upon many who were nearest and dearest to them by the act-not to speak of the previous high and honourable and gentlemanly bearing of many of them. All this, and more which might be named, seems to forbid the supposition that the same test, which applies to the coarse, selfinterested hypocrite playing a deep game, applies to and will account for the conduct of these men. But, on the other hand, is it not conceivable that the agitations and the shocks which a mind morbidly scrupulous undergoes, will account for their conduct. No one, except the morbidly scrupulous, can conceive what the mind endures from being tempest-tossed on a sea of doubts, when all that ensures its peace and con. solation is the subject in dispute. No one, except they of the morbidly scrupulous conscience, can conceive how sharp is that inward conflict sustained when the mind flies to a system of belief in the hope of obtaining rest and of being at peace there, but finds in it something-some difficulty, some stumbling-block which hinders it from quietly and securely reposing on it, and which compels it as it were to recommence its miserable course of anxious doubts and perplexing inquiries. Ah! none except those of the keenly sensitive conscience can conceive the agony of that mind (for, alas! tender consciences are rare) which is harassed with the doubt as to whether it is right

or wrong, whether it is in the way of happiness, of misery, or of life, or of death.

Now, is it not possible that such inward conflicts, carried on for a considerable time-one subject absorbing all the thoughts from morning till night, while the mind is panting for repose and for a full and peaceful conviction of the truth of a system, but still discovers difficulties in it, against which it stumbles-is it not conceivable, I repeat, that such conflicts, carried on for a long time, may have produced, in some at least, that state and condition of mind which I have described? And may we not conceive of effects following from it, similar to those which we have seen to follow from any of those other mental shocks occasioned by the intensity of overwrought feelings, i. e. a recoil, a rush as it were from one extreme of sentiment to another? What, except something of this kind, can account for the strange mental phenomena we have witnessed on the part of some of these men? What but this can account for their acts, when we see men of such morbidly scrupulous minds, as to take offence at the slightest apparent incongruity in a system which in its main features is as clear and honest and open as the day, men of the keenest perception to discriminate every shade of distinction between truth and error, so sceptical as not to be satisfied with proofs which would convince any mind that was not morbidly scrupulous-what else, I repeat, but this can account for the circumstance of such men rushing at once into the contrary extreme, and swallowing as it were wholesale the most absurd and monstrous legends which the coarsest, the most credulous, the most ignorant, vulgar, and superstitious minds find it very hard to digest? What else can account for the circumstance of men of an undeniably high order of intellect, and of acute perception and strong reasoning powers, seeking for intellectual repose by putting themselves on the same level with men of the bluntest perceptions and the rudest and coarsest minds? How else are we to account for this "straining at a gnat and swallowing a camel"? Can we account for this thing by any other process of feeling and thinking than that alluded to? And can we imagine a wider and stronger contrast than that which subsists between the party whom they have joined and the men themselves? Alas, what strange nondescript beings must they appear in their eyes! how inconceivable to them must be that morbid scrupulousness which has brought them into such company! O how incapable must these keen, clear, astute men be of entering into the feelings of their new allies! what a puzzle and mystery must they and their conduct be to them! In what other light, indeed, can they view them, except in that in which we might expect men famed for their shrewdness and tact and worldly cunning would view them—as a strange, eccentric sort of beings, rare aves, guided by no fixed known laws, to whom they never contemplate giving their confidence, but whom, with their usual consummate skill and tact, they will make use of? as a part of their clever policy is to turn every kind of character, no matter how eccentric, to good account.

But an! it is a serious and affecting inquiry for us, why has this calamity befallen our church? There is too much reason to fear it has been per

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mitted as a judgment upon ourselves. God often afflicts his people in this way by sending a spirit of delusion upon some of the most eminent of their teachers. We have deserved it: we have brought it on ourselves: we have been guilty of neglecting that gospel which is the greatest blessing and best gift from God to man. The charge commonly brought against our age is that we are "gospel hardened." Those doctrines which were once welcomed as "glad tidings of great joy" have been neglected by us: we have held the truth in unrighteousness;" and God's ordinary method is to withdraw his blessings from a people when those blessings are despised. This he does in righteous retribution. When they "would not have his truth" he abandons them to error. He sends "a lying spirit amongst them." That lying spirit does not seize the weak and ignorant onlyfor the mischief and the punishment in that case would be but little-but he sends it against some of the greatest minds in the land (who can doubt for a moment that God punished Israel of old in this way?). In this case the mischief done is great; for it is ill when the standard-bearer is blinded and deluded. The higher the order of mind the worse. Alas, there are few severer judgments upon a land than this; and I believe we do not view the matter aright until we view it as a judgment on ourselves. O, it is a loud reproof to us for neglecting, as so many amongst us have done, the gospel: it is a loud call to our church to stand up boldly in defence of that truth which God gave us. It is a solemn warning to us to remember the deep responsibility which the posses sion of that truth involves : it is a loud eall to us to remember that God's honour is bound up with that truth, and that of nothing is he more jealous than of any slight done to it, of holding it in unrighte ousness. We may "have given occasion to the enemy to blaspheme." We may have failed in giving a fair and honest transcript, in our lives and conduct, of the principles of our faith, and in vindicating in the eye of the world the hallowing tendency of gospel truth. That this is the light in which many of God's most faithful servants view the subject I believe to be the fact. And we have to thank God that the disaster we complain of has at least had one good effect, which is apparent already, viz., that of turning the general attention to the grounds of our belief, of making " very many contend earnestly for the faith once delivered to the saints." We have no doubt about the issue, for " 'great is the truth of God, and it must prevail."

The Cabinet.

A SAYING OF CHRYSOSTOM.-St. John Chry hell than Christ, is worthy of hell." sostom hath a notable saying: "He, that feareth more And that meant the prophet when he cried out, "What is there in heaven or in earth, that I prefer before thee, O Lord ?" As though he had said, There is nothing can make me so glad as thy love towards me, nor any thing so sorry as thy displeasure, good Lord.—Bishop Hooper.

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panied by terrific cries. And a spirit of revenge keeps alive the hostilities that exist among the tribes. If any one falls into the power of a foe, his ghost must be appeased by a victim from the hostile clan; and thus feuds are perpetuated, no patience being too great to exercise for an opportunity of gratifying the thirst for vengeance. Each tribe, too, is anxious to extend its boundaries and enlarge its power: hence wars of aggression, and the practice of adopting prisoners spared from death. Very frequently, however, death is inflicted, accompanied with excruciating torments; in which, strange to say, the women take the most active interest. It is the women who have the chief influence in deciding on the fate of the captive. If they demand satisfaction for the loss of a husband or brother, the victim dies if they claim him to supply the place of the departed, he is received with the utmost tenderness into the family. In order to harden them to the endurance of what the chance of war may one day bring on them, they are accustomed to admit their youths into the rank of men only when they have given proof of insensibility to pain. Very severe tortures are frequently thus undergone.

The natives of North America have neither priests nor temples nor idols. They distinctly own a supreme Being, whom they usually call the Great Spirit. But their notions of him are low and inadequate; and they seem to imagine the brute creation endued with supernatural powers. Each man, too, has his own particular object of veneration, selected with appropriate rites. But if some misfortune occur, the "manitou," or guardian spirit, is changed for another. The Indians believe in a future existence, but it is supposed to be but a heightening of present enjoyments. In their "better land" the sun ever shines unclouded, the forests abound with deer, the lakes and rivers with fish-benefits which are further increased by a faithful wife and dutiful children.

Much, however, has been done to communicate the glad tidings of salvation; and, though far greater exertions are still needed, yet the labours of those who have carried the gospel to the Indian have not been in vain. A little narrative in proof of this shall conclude the present paper.

There are large and beautiful plains in the back parts of America. Clusters of pine-trees are seen to raise their tall forms in various parts: the grass grows to the height of five or six feet; which sometimes takes fire, and burns with a widespreading conflagration; and wild buffaloes and deer rove to and fro in large numbers. On one of these plains live a tribe of Cherokee Indians. As the colour of their skin is almost red, they are called the "Red children of the forest."

At the beginning of this century, a missionary came to the Indians, and offered to be their teacher. A council of chiefs was held; and then one of them addressed him: "We have listened to what you have said. We are glad to see you. We wish to have schools, and hope they will be of service to the nation." A school, therefore, was soon set up.

One hundred miles from where this council was held lived a Cherokee family. The news soon reached them that a teacher had arrived among their tribe. No one was more pleased than a little girl of this family. This daughter had an In

dian name; but the white people, who lived near her, called her Catherine. She wished to attend the school, and asked her parents to consent that she should go; and they granted her request.

Catherine was a vain, proud, ignorant girl, and, after the fashion of her tribe, was adorned with ornaments of feathers, beads, and trinkets; but she longed to be taught to read, and left her father's wigwam or hut, and came to the missionary's school.

First she was taught to speak in English; then she sat upon a form, and learned "Our Father which art in heaven." She was very quick in learning, and soon could read the bible; and next she began to learn to write. Until this time she had no knowledge of a Saviour. She thought that the Cherokees had no concern in the religion of the white people; and it was some time before she could believe that Jesus Christ died for the red children of the forest. But after she had been in the school a short time the kind instructions of her teachers impressed her heart; and she began to inquire how her soul could be saved. She wept and prayed in secret. At length, all who knew her saw that she had become a believer in Christ.

Catherine soon became concerned that others should hear the good news that she had heard, and took the rings from her ears; and, though they were worth more than two pounds in our money, she freely gave them to send missionaries to other heathen tribes. After a time, she became a teacher to a class of Cherokee girls, and laboured and prayed for the salvation of her family. God heard her prayers; and she saw her father, mother, brothers, and sisters, turn from their evil ways, and become disciples of the Saviour.

The life of this Cherokee girl was short: she was taken ill, and before she died she wished to send her last message to her brother. Among other things she wrote, "I have found it good to be afflicted. The Saviour is very precious to me. I often enjoy his presence, and I long to be where I can enjoy it without sin. We ought to be thankful for what the Lord has done for us. If he had not sent us the gospel, we should have died without any knowledge of the Saviour. Remember, this world is not our home: we must all die soon."

As she got weaker, she said: "Now I am ready to die. O how delightful is the view of my Saviour! How happy shall I be when I arrive at my father's house!" She gently closed her eyes in death, July 18, 1823.

A neat wooden tablet was placed over the grave of this convert from among the red Indians.