THERE are certain moments in a man's life when, whether willing or not, he is compelled to think of another world. He may have long been possessed with a kind of conviction that the attractive scenes around him -the fascinations of pleasure, the glitter of ambition, and the hurry of business-were of a permanent nature; but suddenly the person on whom many of his enjoyments depended, or whom his ambition strove to please, is struck down by death at his side: and thus an ocular demonstration is given him of that instability of human affairs he is so inclined to forget. To-day, perhaps, two friends converse on familiar topics: their opinions are the same: their hopes reach forward to the same worldly object: and tomorrow, one only remains: his companion has fled to some unknown country, leaving but a cold corpse to mock the grasp which it cannot return. Between the two a vast gulf is now fixed: though, a short time previously, their wishes were blended in an almost perfect union, they are now severed by an infinite difference. To the one the high places of the earth, the hoards of wealth, the blandishments of society may still be precious but for the other, earth's highest joys are crushed into dust: her sun shines not for him: her sweetest sounds reach not his ear. Go to him now with that eloquent passage which yesterday you know he would have longed to read, and what audience will you find? Play before him that soft air which was wont to melt him into tears, and what response will you now awake? Surely this wondrous change must strike even the trifler with dread; if he can persuade himself that life is a jest, dares he think so of death? Even to himself he must feel that the thing is a reality: these silent remains of his friend speak to him with greater emphasis than do the thousands of fellow-creatures whom report tells him the earthquake, or war, or famine has swept from life. Though of the state of the departed he knows no

thing from the experience of the senses, yet he has in the lacerated condition of his own feelings a present evidence of the terrors of death: those tears that he sheds, those hopes that have been frustrated, that craving void in his heart, may assure him of the existence of some moral disorder which has called down on our race a calamity so overwhelming.

Nor can the Christian contemplate without awe the mysterious separation of death, even when it is a fellowbeliever that has been taken away. Though he may believe that his departed friend is now with God, yet in his change of condition, blissful though it be, there is something exceedingly solemn. The stupendous truths of religion, to which many of us have been accustomed from our infancy, we are too apt at times to treat as familiar and common things; we utter the words "eternity," "heaven," and "hell," without attaching to them that depth of meaning they contain. Nor, perhaps, from weak creatures like ourselves is it to be expected that our thoughts should exclusively dwell on these sublime topics: the exhaustion of mind which an earnest attempt to realize them even for a season produces, shews that we are not, in this world, capable of bestowing on them a constant contemplation. When, then, these wonderful truths are brought palpably before us: when, as it were, a miracle (for is not the cessation of life a miracle ?) is worked in our presence to convince us of what we already held in theory, how irresistibly are the reluctant thoughts urged to their consideration! with what intense energy does the idea of eternity awaken within us! Yes; a feeling of deep awe is occasioned by the departure, even, of those whose eternal welfare we have no reason to doubt. Even if we can succeed in stifling those yearnings of nature which still draw us towards the beloved object, no more here to be reached-even if we can brace up our fallen affection, which like the ivy rudely torn from its support, lies

languidly on the ground-even if we can succeed in appeasing that aching "want of the eyes" which persist in looking on every side for what is no longer to be seen-still the mere consideration of the immense distinction between ourselves and the departed, fills us with emotions of sublimity approaching almost to terror. A friend a part of ourselves in a sense is placed, disembodied, in the immediate presence of God: we thus seem to be brought into visible proximity with the Holy One: we cannot but still think of our friend, and we cannot now think of him without thinking of that exalted world of which he is become an inhabitant.

How earnestly do we long to know something of his abode, of his employments! We stood, it may be, by his dying pillow as the spirit took its flight, and would fain have caught sight of the retreating folds of its robes, or have heard some murmurs from that ocean on which it has launched-those waters which "no gallant ship" can cross-but no intimation has been given to the senses-no whisper has broken the silence into which the pulses of life have died away.

Of the blessings of real Christianity to the living, we have evident proofs. Is not a conscience calmed by the assurance of forgiveness better than the agony of remorse? Are not tranquil desires better than the restless impatience of passion? Is not a

continual consciousness that we have an Almighty and All-merciful Guardian at our side, better than the idea that we are living in a fatherless world, left to the caprices of chance, and liable to be crushed into annihilation by the unsympathising movements of the great machine of the universe? Here, then, we have proofs that Christianity has rewards to bestow; and we find them, also, where disease does not interfere, on the death-bed-in those smiles amid the tears of others, in that august calm, with which the Christian sinks to his rest. But when once the soul has fled, visible proofs seem to cease; for a short time, mortality is victorious: and the agonized survivor seeks for some sensible support in vain. "And

how dieth the wise man? As the fool."

So

But in this case, we can walk by faith, though not by sight. The truths of Revelation survive; and they teach us to believe that this seeming victory of corruption is preparing the way for its final defeat. So far, indeed, sin has triumphed. The strong intellect for whose expansion space, with its unnumbered firmaments, seemed a field too narrow-the regenerated spirit that pressed to the gates of heaven, and returned thence laden with blessings which it hastened to scatter on those around-the man in his highest development of genius and piety, is thwarted in his operations, and at last, apparently subdued by his mortal frame. Whatever may be the work on which he is engaged, it must for a time be stopped: the mortal lips must suspend for a while even the Redeemer's praises, and yield to silence and corruption, ere they can be united to a glorified soul, and renew the song for ever. deep a stain of sin has entered into our nature, that it is necessary that this body should be altogether dissolved into its original elements, or, pass through some supernatural: change, ere it can be fitted to be the habitation of a sinless spirit. When, then, the body has become the prey of corruption, sin has done its worst for the Christian. That innate proneness to transgression-that lukewarmness in spiritual things-those temporary intervals of doubt, making the heavens, for a time, a mass of starless darkness-which may have tormented him here, will not follow him beyond the grave. For then cometh thy triumph, O Saviour! The spirit, purified from all taint of iniquity, is welcomed by thee: Thou unfoldest to it ineffable visions of thy love and mercy on which none but an immortal could bear steadfastly to gaze, and the rescued sinner, beholding more clearly the danger whence thou hast snatched him, and rising to loftier conceptions of thy glory, is made at length fully conscious that "where sin abounded, grace did much more abound." And, at length, will thy victory be complete: death, the last enemy, will be destroyed;

the arid skeletons, the particles of dust which once were the bodies thou didst die to redeem, will be formed anew into more glorious shapes; and thy whole ransomed family be gathered around thee in some sheltered and blissful abode, irradiated by thy continual smiles. There, thou, "the resurrection and the life,” moving at the head of that happy company-once subject to trials which thou hast shared, to sorrows, and tears, and aching hearts, but now hushed to perfect repose, every wish gratified, every faculty expanding into ever new enjoymentswilt make them to lie down in green pastures, and lead them beside the still waters, pastures whose verdure no decay shall tarnish, waters whose tranquillity no storm can vex.

O glorious inheritance laid up for those whom the Saviour has redeemed and the Spirit sanctified! The feverish heats, the contentions and anxieties which may have distracted them here, will be exchanged for a calm of which nature's stillest scenes-the noon-day fields, the evening forest, the scarcely moving stream, the cloudless skyafford but feeble images; before their eyes, wearied with vain endeavours to comprehend the full beauty of truth in this twilight state, will be outspread a book of knowledge, of whose mighty contents the accumulated stores of human learning form only the opening sentence; but, above all, their communion with heaven, here so often interrupted by sin, will become unbroken and perpetual, and the goal of the Christian's wishes be reached, the constant fruition of God and perfect conformity to his likeness. For, (says the Apostle,) we know that when he shall appear, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is."

These reflections have been forced upon me, at this time, by the departure of a Christian friend. A few days ago, she was conversing with me: she is now gone: (for that pallid corpse is but the casket of the jewel that has been taken away, the robe of

the immortal being that it clothed :) she is gone and whither? Faith would follow her to a loftier worldto some one of those "many mansions" in our Father's house: and there would I believe that she is beholding the reality of those sublime verities which have occasionally formed the topic of our conversations here below. We have talked of the immortality of the soul, of the gradual development of man's finer faculties in a more genial atmosphere, of that fair country in which our Father isthat country of which the philosopher has muttered incoherent sentences, and which the poet has struggled, with trembling lips, to describe, but which Jesus came to make known, and died to secure for his people. Now one part of our conversation, at least, has become true: the antecedent night which we knew must precede the final glorification, has thrown its shadow over one of us; may I not humbly hope that the day also has followed? One of us has been delivered from the bondage of fleshly infirmities; may not faith trust that the enfranchised captive is enjoying the glorious liberty of the children of God?

Farewell, then, beloved friend! though, indeed, for thee this earthly spring is blooming in vain-though the undulating hills, the gay meadows with their embroidery of silver and gold, and the gentle river stealing through their midst, unite to form round thy quiet grave a scene of love→ liness on which thy closed eyes cannot gaze-yet would I believe that on thee another spring is smiling and immortal flowers. Surely One

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mighty to save" stood by thee at the final hour, and bore thee to himself; and now, associated with the perfected just-with the holy Bradford, whose writings consoled the last days of thy pilgrimage, and with all who loved their Saviour here thou hast entered into the joy of thy Lord. M. N.

JULY-1847.

We have endeavoured, in a previous number, to point out the close affinity that exists between Romanism and Hindooism, as regards the view which each of those corrupt systems takes of the powers inherent in fallen man. The parallel attempted to be instituted between them, of course fails, or rather is defective, in many particulars; as must always be the case when a form of Christianity, which however corrupt, still retains the great objective truths of revelation, is compared with a purely idolatrous system. The outlines, at least, of the great doctrines of man's original righteousness, of the fall, of redemption through Christ, and of regeneration by the Holy Spirit, are visible in the Romish Church; she has not destroyed the foundations of divine truth, but overlaid them with such a mass of error that they are hardly discernible; but they are still there, and may be found too by the diligent inquirer. This cannot be said of Hindooism, or of any idolatrous religion. Hence our comparative view is only inten le to establish the fact that in those points in which the Church of Rome has deviated from Scripture, she has become assimilated in spirit to the religion of corrupt human nature; that her peculiarities are nothing but emanations from the same impure source which has given birth to the false systems of religion prevalent in the world. We must, in justice, bear in mind, that what are merely corruptions in Romanism, constitute the very essence of heathenism; that we are comparing partial and distorted truth with total error; otherwise we shall be in danger of overstepping, in our statements, the bounds of truth and equity.

The Pelagianism of Romanism was what last occupied our attention. It was attempted to be proved that in the Romish statements respecting the condition on of f fallen man, both before and after regeneration, there was a

large admixture of that element which forms the basis of every false religion, an undue exaltation of the powers of unassisted nature. We have seen that this Pelagian tendency manifests itself both negatively and positively; negatively, by limiting, as far as may be, the effects of the fall to a mere privation of the gift of original righteousness, supposed to be conferred upon Adam as something extraordinary, and superadded to his nature; so that, with this exception, man is made out to be in no worse a position now than he was when he came from the hands of his Creator; and positively, by the assertions that in the regenerate there is no longer anything of the nature of sin, and that by such the law of God may be perfectly fulfilled. We proceed to another point of view, in which the two systems may be compared, that in which the great question comes before us, How can man be justified in the sight of God?

"Knowing," says Dr. Duff, "man's guilt, and his consequent desert of eternal punishment, we naturally enquire after some all-sufficient atone ment for transgression. But instead of pointing to the one-atoning sacrifice of infinite value-the mysterious all-prevailing sacrifice of the incarnate Deity-Hindooism, while it distinctly inculates the necessity of expiation and atonement, still directs to the blood of bulls and of goats, and a thousand varied tortures which shock and harrow the feelings of humanity: and it tells its deluded votaries that these be the propitiations for sin, which satisfy the divine law, and mollify and appease its own sanguinary divinities!"* It would far exceed our prescribed limits to give anything like a minute account of the Hindoo expiations, boundless as they are in number and variety; we shall select one or two specimens which will be found to confirm Dr. Duff's

* Duff, p. 213.