this foundation is moral, and because moral, But will not this supposed dignity vanish, immutable. As no distinction is made in these commandments, as nothing is said of the superior authority of any one above the rest, so we cannot but allow that the fourth possesses all the dignity that belongs to each and all of the remaining: we cannot violate the fourth, without confessing thereby that we think ourselves at liberty to transgress any one, or all of the remaining. And, if we examine this commandment, we shall see that, so far from its furnishing any appearances of inferiority, the very contrary will be evident; for it is at much greater length than any other; it enters, more than any other, into the reasons for its being observed; and its commencement is very remarkable, "Remember the Sabbathday, to keep it holy"-taking the mind back to the first appointment of it in Paradise, as a thing of long standing and well known; repeating, too, the reason of its appointment, to keep up the memory of God's rest from his finished work of creation. It is to be noticed, also, that the moral law stood quite distinct from the ceremonial institutions of the law of Moses it was not mixed up with them, so as to make it difficult to determine which laws were moral, and which ceremonial; but it stood aloof from the law of ceremonies, and (what is more) before that law. Did not the Lawgiver intimate by this, that it consisted of great, first principles of obedience, and must be firmly laid, before any other systems were to be introduced? when we find that many ceremonial additions were afterwards made to the laws of the Decalogue, and to the fourth among the rest? There were many judicial and civil statutes added on to the commandments; and what becomes, it may be asked, of the singularity of rank which is alleged to have belonged to that code? It stands unchanged. All the appointments connected with the Sabbath in the temple-worship were but as chains and ornaments hung about its neck during that temporary period. The body which they adorned was complete before they were appended to it,-received no addition to its completeness while they continued to invest it, and would remain complete after they should have been taken off from it. The Sabbath under this dispensation was marked by the offering of two lambs over and above the daily burnt-sacrifice; by the renewal of the shewbread on the golden table; by being the day on which the priests entered on their courses; by conferring the name of "Sabbaths" to other subordinate times of sacred observance; by laws to enforce the keeping it as a day of bodily rest; by the penalty of death falling on the contemptuous breaker of it; by being made the seal of God's covenant with that nation; and by being the standard raised against surrounding idolatry. But these things were the accompaniments, not the essence, of the Sabbath: that essence was the idea of a stated spiritual rest; and therefore we find that no mention is made in Some there are who contend that the Sab- the Decalogue of these circumstantials—all of bath is only a ceremonial thing, because our which keep, as it were, a reverential distance Lord reproved the rigorous observance of it from the commandment itself-from that law in his day. The dispensation of the Gospel which God wrote with his own finger on the being milder than that of the law, Jesus might sacred tables: this stands within a hallowed even have done this without at all weakening enclosure, and is encompassed with a majesty the original fundamental authority of the peculiarly its own. Try the question at any commandment; but we apprehend that our period of the Mosaic economy, at that moLord did not relax the observance of the pre- ment, if you please, when the law of cerecept. It was the formal Pharisee of that day monies was at its height, and when, accordwho had overloaded the Sabbath, and boundingly, if at any time, the ceremonial notion upon men's shoulders burdens grievous to be borne; Jesus did no more than take off this mass of uncommanded observance; and, in permitting works of necessity and mercy to be done on that day, he only explained the intention of the commandment as it was first given to Moses. When he said, "The Son of man is Lord also of the Sabbath," he asserted his sovereign right, not to repeal, but to explain, its obligation. Did Jesus by such explanation "make void" the original law? Nay; he established that law. We have said that the Ten Commandments stood before the other parts of the ceremonial law strictly so called; and that this marked out a special dignity as belonging to them. -and would be in its most triumphant state, generations for a perpetual covenant. It is a | sign between me and the children of Israel for ever: for in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, and on the seventh day he rested and was refreshed." 66 So much for the dignity of the Sabbath (under the ceremonial system) as a written law: we may turn to the living proof of that dignity, in the recorded examples of that period. A man is detected gathering sticks on the Sabbath: this might seem a trivial offence, but it was otherwise treated; it was viewed as an implied contempt of God, who had commanded that the Sabbath should be kept, and to whose honour it was dedicated. The council which sat upon the case pronounced the law to be solemn, by adjudging the penalty of death. He is stoned by the congregation," which included the civil tribunal of that time. Was not the Sabbath declared (in this instance at least) to belong to the cognizance of the rulers of the people, -to claim their vindication and support? Another example of the actual rank of the Sabbath under the Mosaic law is furnished by Moses himself just before his death. He was no longer giving laws, but solemn advice. He repeats the other nine commandments, with scarcely any addition to what had been delivered on Mount Sinai; but on the fourth he enlarges in a way that carries to the mind of the reader a full persuasion that there was, in that commandment, an essential dignity, causing it to tower high above the rest. Equally loud, too, are the "voices of the prophets" in extolling the glory of the Sabbath-day. The prophets lived in the latter days of the Jewish church; so that if the Sabbath were a fugitive thing, we should not expect to find them dwelling upon its claims, but rather neglecting it, as one of those transient lights, which had, indeed, illumined the expiring dispensation, but were to sink below the horizon in the near rising of the "Sun of Righteousness." But, instead of this, they urge the keeping of the day of rest, as a day which was to reach down to the times of the Gospel, and to be in full force in those times; they do this at the very time when they are pouring contempt on the mere ceremonies of the Jewish law: they speak of the transgression of the Sabbath as provoking the anger of God, next to the capital sin of idolatry: they labour to bring back the degenerate people to their duty in this matter more than in any other. Isaiah mixes it up with the broadest duties, and places it by the side of the first principles of morals (Is. lvi. 1, 2): nay, he connects it with a promise, quoted afterwards by our Lord himself as belonging to the Gospel state (Is. lvi. 7). Jeremiah makes obedience to the law of the Sabbath, the turning point of the continuance or the loss of God's favour to the whole nation (Jer. xvii. 19-27); and, in very remarkable words, bearing directly on the main argument, he shews the essential difference between the moral precepts given to the Jews (of which the fourth commandment was one), and any possible ceremonies: "For I spake not unto your fathers, nor commanded them in the day that I brought them out of the land of Egypt, concerning burnt-offerings or sacrifices. But this one thing commanded I them, saying, Obey my voice, and I will be your God, and ye shall be my people. In a similar tone spake Amos and Ezekiel, reproving and denouncing the sin of Sabbath-profanation. Later still, and when the Old Testament economy is fast waning, we find Ezra and Nehemiah actively zealous for their God in this matter; the one busied about the rebuilding of the Temple, the other boldly reproving the people and their rulers for violating the sacred rest. The Sabbath has now passed in review before us through several stages of its being. We have seen it spring from the ground of Paradise, with creation's dew fresh upon it; we have watched its observance during the days of the patriarchs, its revival after that period, and just before the Mosaic institution; its insertion in the Ten Commandments; its eminency above all the Jewish ceremonial; its solemn recognition by the prophets; its connexion with the Gospel day. It has cut its onward path to the portico of the second Temple. Here, for the present, we leave it; anticipating, however, that it will be found firmly planted in that house of the Lord, and flourishing in the courts of our God; encircled, too, with that peculiar glory which belonged to the second Temple, and which it received from the presence of "a greater than Solomon," from the irradiating presence of the Lord Jesus Christ. Who can retire from this contemplation of the Sabbath, asserting and reiterating its authority through a series of ages, and not feel the duty of often reminding himself of the dignity it has in itself, and the privileges it confers upon man? The Sabbath sits, through successive dispensations, upon an imperial throne, exalted thither by God, and by him upheld. Who will not shrink from the guilt of dragging it down from that elevation, either by opposing its claims, or refusing to use the spiritual opportunities which it holds out? E. THE BOOK OF COMMON PRAYER. THE following testimony to the value of the Liturgy of the Church of England, is borne by Bishop Chase, at the time when the circumstance occurred, Bishop | sang the metre Psalms and hymns, their version being of Ohio. A most interesting scene took place in my visitation of the Oneida and Mohawk Indians on the Sandusky River. They are the remnant, or rather a branch, of those once-famous tribes, which, in moving back from their former residence, accepted of an invitation from the Senecas, to settle on the lands reserved by Congress for the Senecas about the Sandusky River in this diocese. I had heard of them as being attached to the Church of England, but never could go and see them till this summer. I found them in their peaceful retreat, engaged in the duties of husbandry; raising corn, and cultivating their gardens. My friend and guide who conducted me through the devious footpaths in the wilderness, in the rain, for nearly a whole day's journey, introduced me to this most interesting people. Decent and dignified in their manners, they received me with great respect; and when I told them that I came among them to do them good, and not harm, to pray with them, and to preach the Gospel to them in the name of Jesus Christ our common Saviour, they fully comprehended my meaning, and gave me a hearty welcome. To shew the medium of our mutual good understanding, they produced their Common-Prayer Book, being that which was translated into the Indian language (the Mohawk), with very little alteration, from the English Liturgy, together with the Gospel of St. Mark, A.D. 1787; and printed in London (by the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel). What news was this to me! "And have you read this?" said I. "Constantly, every Sunday, in morning and evening prayer, with the poor scattered members of our tribe, providentially sojourning on this river," said they by their interpreter. I inquired, then, if they understood and felt the great importance of the truths which they uttered with their mouths. They replied that they hoped they did; but that many of their people were inclined to run astray into the wickednesses of the tribes that surrounded them, notwithstanding all that the old men could do. "Poor, blessed people!" thought I, while suppressing my tears: "God give me grace to be found worthy of serving you!" During the remainder of the evening, intelligence was spread throughout the woods, that, on the morrow, divine service would be performed, and a sermon preached at eight o'clock; while, wearied with the exercise of the day, I reposed myself on the hard bed of an Indian cabin, and slept sweetly till morning. The appointed hour came; and, though it rained most abundantly, a large number both of male and female natives assembled. How interesting the sight of so many devout worshippers; and how great the comfort, of joining with them in those prayers and praises which had been the vehicle of the piety of all whom I held dear through thirty years of Christian ministration in holy things, I leave you to conceive. By proceeding with all the prayers as the Church has directed, the whole congregation, through an aged reader, could join in repeating and offering up the same petitions and praises with myself-they in the Indian language, and I in English. And when we in the same measure with the English, I could join with them in this also: with voices uncommonly sweet and full, they sang tunes with which, most happily, I was well acquainted; and never did I witness more order, yet plainer indications of true devotion. Though many of them could speak a little English, yet the sermon was interpreted to them in their own language. They have used lay baptism, they say, out of necessity; yet would be much rejoiced, if they could have an authorised ministry. My mind was most favourably impressed toward these poor people; and my attachment to our primitive Liturgy mightily strengthened by this instance of its utility. Without such a help, how much of the missionary labour is lost, like oil spilt upon the ground, without a vessel to contain and perpetuate it! Had it not been for this prayer-book, the worship of God would, to all human view, never have been perpetuated, to the salvation of these now-interesting | people." RECOLLECTIONS OF A COUNTRY PASTOR. NO. III. THE INFIDEL. Visit Second. ON the following morning, as I had proposed, I rode over to the parish of a neighbouring minister, for the purpose of asking his advice as to the best plan to be adopted by me for impressing the mind of the wretched L. I was not altogether prepared to take the same view of religious matters as this excellent fellowlabourer; but I knew him to be a man of deep piety, and of much practical experience. Unfortunately, on my arrival at his vicarage, I found he had that morning left home for a few days, and that he would not return until the end of the week. I returned home much disappointed. The vestry meeting was held in the afternoon, and it was a most harmonious one. I felt it my duty to attend as the representative of the rector. The usual parochial elections took place. A sum of money was voted for the parochial Sundayschool. provisions to the poor at a reduced rate; and all exFresh means were adopted for furnishing pressed themselves thankful that we had had such a unanimous feeling. In the evening I visited Mr. L. On my entering the room, he exclaimed-" Well, sir, I am glad Taylor's physic, he said, had done him no good. He to see you-pray be seated." He looked much worse. had passed a sleepless night and a restless day. He felt himself much weaker; but he was sure all would be well. And so I hear," he said, "you got the fools to vote a sum of money for your school. I wish I had been amongst you-I'd soon have turned them. They're a pack of old women-fools one and all. But I'll be at you again." "Sir," I replied very gravely, "I'm not come this evening to talk over parish matters with you. The vestry was a most harmonious one. Every body expressed the utmost satisfaction. There seemed to be but one feeling, that of deepest sympathy at the cause of the rector's absence," (I could have added, and of thankfulness for his own.) My object is to talk with you about your religious principles. To come at once to the subject, let me ask, are you a believer in the truth of the Gospel?" He was evidently much agitated, and replied quickly-" Sir, I wish to dismiss the subject; I wished to see you this evening that we might talk over the vestry business. I wish to have no more talk about religion." 66 My good sir," I replied calmly but firmly, "you will excuse me when I say, that this is no time for talking over worldly matters; your case, let me tell you, is one of imminent danger. I have seen Mr. Taylor, and he has warranted me to say so. He thinks you cannot live long. This is the decided opinion of the physician whom he has called in. Both are agreed that your case is desperate." I shall never forget-I wish I could forget-the mingled look of horror and rage which presented itself before me. It is a tale of other years. The language he uttered, however, sounds even now in my cars: a volley of oaths, ended with the thricerepeated tale, "I'll cheat you all." "Sir," I continued, “ you are a dying man; no power but that of the omnipotent God can pluck you from the jaws of death. Do you believe in the existence of such a being?" "There may be a God," was his reply. "Can you doubt, sir, the fact, and be in your senses?" "I daresay there is such a being." Daresay there is a God!" "For God's sake," he exclaimed, "let me remain in peace; go away. O God! O God!" "Good sir; you have twice called on the name of God-what do you mean by this? Are you invoking his aid? Do you believe on the name of his only begotten Son?" "Go away!" he repeated angrily, and with much agitation. "What have I to do with God's Son? What can he do for me?" "Calm yourself, my good sir. heard of Jesus the Son of God?" Have you never Strange to say, I felt afraid of the dying man. Praying for grace, I once more said-"Have you any hope of God's mercy through Christ?" The reply was "I do not want his mercy. O, God! Stuff, all stuff-priestcraft-nonsense. Give me my physic! Where's Betty? Go away--no offence, sir -my physic-go away." "Once more, good sir," I exclaimed in agony, "do you believe in the name of the only begotten Son of God?" 'Sir, you'll drive me mad-where's Betty?-my physic-run for Taylor!" It was in vain to remain any longer. I therefore took my leave, and, with a heavy heart, returned to the rectory, where I now resided. No words can describe the horrors of that awful night. I felt the peril of the wretched man, and most fervently did I pray that pardon might be sought, and mercy found, even at the waning moments of the eleventh hour. After a long, disturbed, and harassed night, I fell asleep in the morning, from which I did not awake until it was very late. Starting from my bed, I heard the tolling of the bell. On going down to breakfast, I did not dare to ask a question. The servant, as I made tea, said—" Sir, the clerk wants to see you about Mr. L's funeral." The agony of that moment was fearful. The clerk entered" Sir," said he," Mr. L's cousin came late last night, and says he's to be buried at —.” I felt a momentary relief. I could not have gone to the funeral of that wretched man-and yet, perhaps, this feeling was wrong. Why should I have refused to read over his remains the beautiful and charitable language of our burial-service? I have often since thought that ignorance of the true nature of that service has proved a snare to many of my weak brethren. Whether L- - found mercy or no, God forbid that I should presume to decide! I dare not-I would not if I could. Of this I am sure, that, judging from his, and other instances which have come under my observation, there is no torment, short of the worm that shall never die, can equal that of the wretched infidel in a dying hour, who has no refuge from the storm and tempest under the covert of an Almighty Saviour, and who begins even now to experience the truth of the declaration, that "he that hath not the Son hath not life, but the wrath of God abideth on him." DIFFICULTY OF SPIRITUAL DISCIPLINE IN A GREAT NATIONAL CHURCH.* Or all the problems which can task the wisdom and the piety of man, there is none, perhaps, more full of perplexity than the construction of a scheme of spiritual discipline for a great national and established Church. When Christian communities were small, and surrounded by societies lost in the outer darkness of paganism, the task of spiritual government was one of comparative facility. Communion with the Church was, in primitive times, regarded as the highest and most transcendent of privileges. To be cast out from all participation in her services and sacraments, and to be held by her as a heathen and a publican, was of all sentences which could be pronounced upon a believer the most tremendous. It was dreaded as a suspension of all those hopes which can sweeten the enjoyments, or mitigate the calamities of life. It was almost to be driven back from the regions of God's marvellous light, deep into the valley of the shadow of death. In these latter days we can scarcely form a conception of the dismay with which a sinful brother heard doom of excommunication, he was shut out, not, himself condemned to such a separation. By the indeed, from all possibility of forgiveness, but from tatively pronounced by the consecrated ministers of the privilege of hearing the words of pardon authoriGod. The sinner who should remain impenitent till a late moment of the eleventh hour, or he whose transgressions were of so deep a dye that no penitential tears could wash out the stain which they left upon the Church, might possibly receive pardon in the next world, but he could receive no assurance of pardon in this. The Church could not declare him absolved, or admit him back to her consolatory offices. He was, therefore, left to die, not in absolute despair, but in a state of uncertainty and terror, which must have often driven the sinner almost to the very brink of desperation. And hence it was that years of contrition and sorrow, and rigorous self-infliction, were frequently submitted to, to secure, in time, this restoration of the transgressor to the ark of Christ's Church, and his deliverance from the deep waters in which his soul was in imminent danger of perishing. In circumstances like these, when the followers of the cross were comparatively but a little flock, the spiritual authority was a powerful preservative of human virtue. But when the visible boundaries of the Church were enlarged, the case was widely different. afterwards, when the world was called after the name of Christ, to be a Christian was, unhappily, no longer regarded as an honour so high and so inestimable as • Life of Cranmer, by Rev. C. W. Le Bas. And in the primitive days. The disciples of the Saviour could no longer be so effectually called upon to exhibit the glorious contrast between the Christian and the heathen character, when open heathenism was no more. The fold was then invaded by numbers, who wore indeed the fleeces of the flock, but who, in wardly, were little better than the ravening wolves, by which, in earlier times, the sheep were constantly surrounded and devoured. The inevitable consequence was, that the discipline of the Church was gradually overpowered by the abounding of iniquity. The suppression of personal vice, and the enforcement of what are called duties of imperfect obligation, became a task far too mighty for the human ministers of the "powers of the world to come." To expel the offender from the Church, when the Church was nearly identified with the whole community, was, in effect, to drive him beyond the pale of human society, to convert him into a desperate outcast, to send him forth with a mark like that of Cain upon his forehead. The punishment, if rigorously inflicted, was greater than man could bear; and the terrors of it would probably make more hypocrites than penitents. On the other hand, to relax the severities of spiritual censure would seem little less than to surrender the whole life and virtue of Christianity. It would be to tolerate many of those very evils which had made the heathen world abominable in the sight of heaven; to obliterate all the distinctions of a peculiar people, zealous of good works, and consecrated to the service of the living God. It would require a copious treatise, rather than a brief paragraph or two, adequately to describe, on the one hand, the multiplied difficulties with which this state of things would unavoidably bow down the spirits of the sincere guardians of the faith, or, on the other, to expose the multiplied temptations which it would offer to the lust of spiritual dominion. Neither will our limits allow us to trace the steps by which erroneous theological opinions were gradually brought under the edge of the civil sword, on the ground of their frequently involving principles dangerous to the public prosperity and peace. The result, however, may be summed up in very few words. Ecclesiastical discipline degenerated imperceptibly into a system of pernicious priestcraft. Its indulgences were too frequently so administered as almost to abolish the supremacy of conscience. Its severities were reserved as instruments for building up a despotism, such as never before had existed, even in the wildest dreams of human ambition. PASSING THOUGHTS. BY CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH. ONE of several things that are "too hard for me," and which I cannot by any means comprehend, is the passion thus designated in Scripture, with the awful character superadded, that it is "the root of all evil." I can readily conceive that money, as a means of procuring other gratifications, may be coveted almost beyond bounds. He who has a full purse may cast his eyes over every stall in Vanity Fair, and select whatever pleases them. He may command all that tends to fulfil "the desires of the flesh and of the mind," in the worst sense of their corrupt cravings; he may take a nobler range, and minister out of his substance to the temporal necessities of his poorer brethren; or he may ascend yet higher ground, and, the love of Christ constraining him, scatter the bread of life in the way of famishing souls. That the possession of money, therefore, should appear to men of all characters a desirable good, so far as to render a cautionary injunction needful even to the holiest of God's people, is natural enough. But there is a form sometimes taken by this money-loving principle that equally amazes and disgusts me, when found among those who profess more than nominal Christianity; while, in all cases, it is unspeakably contemptible and revolting to common sense. I mean the passion for hoarding money. When a person lays by a sum, without any intention of spending it, and without any defined object of future usefulness to other individuals, is it, ean it be of more value to him than an equal quantity of the dust that lies upon the earth's surface? or of pebbles that glitter in the brook? "Thou fool!" is the recognised title of him who lays up much goods for many years, in order to take his fill, to eat, drink, and be merry. Thou knave! may be safely superadded, when the wretched being grasps at gold, that it may lie by and canker, and the rust thereof be a witness against him, while the poor cry unto the Lord for lack of what he hoards in darkness. Still, the miser exercises a species of self-denialpreposterous and wicked indeed, but selfdenial nevertheless-and that is a thing not voluntarily submitted to by many. Such characters do cross my path, and I gaze after them and marvel; but the number is fearfully great of those who come within the meaning of the text, and whose love of money, though they hoard it not, is a prolific root of evil, sprouting forth on all sides. When I see a child, with a penny in his hand or pocket, carelessly glance at the halfnaked figure and wan countenance of another child, crying for bread, while he retains his penny, in the cherished prospect of the cake or toy-shop, where he hopes to barter it for some superfluous indulgence, I behold the unfolding germ of what will become a very evil tree. When I mark a purchaser striving to beat down the humble dealer, who, perhaps, consents to be robbed rather than lose a customer, I find the tree in blossom - and what blossoms! Often have I witnessed a scene that crimsons my cheek with the blush of shame and indignation: some poor, industrious creature offering for sale a few baskets, or some other little work of ingenuity, the pale face and gaunt figure bearing witness how important the trifle at which the article is priced must be to the seller; while the buyer, who would not miss thrice the sum, stands chaffering and "beating down" the |