dered harmless; it becomes a chained foe. It is but a sleep, a rest, until the resurrection

morn.

ance;

(3.) Once more; it is Christ who offers life to man; who proposes it for his acceptwho calls back wandering sinners from the path of sin and ruin. "Turn ye, turn ye," is his language, "why will ye die?" Tender love and affection actuate his breast. What the Saviour's feelings were when walking this earth, and beholding a world sunk in ruin, lying in wickedness, hurrying to destruction, we may gather from his touching and affecting appeals,-" Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.' "How often would I have gathered thy children together, and ye would not!" "Ye will not come to me, that ye might have life." All his instructions tended to this point, the communication of life. He offers it freely, without money and without price. We have only to come to Christ to obtain it. To draw nigh, that is, in faith; to approach in the spirit of the sick man, "Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean." This is the cry of faith. It shall assuredly be answered, "I will; be thou clean." Such, my brethren, is the Gospel-offer of salvation. It proposes to you life. It offers to you salvation. It brings you the news of pardon, of grace, of acceptance in Jesus Christ.

But I hasten to consider,

II. The obstacles which exist to man's reception of the Gospel. These originate entirely in himself. He is most unwilling to admit this fact; but it is nevertheless true. Fain would the sinner throw the blame on his fellow-creatures, on his ministers, on his teachers, on the circumstances of his birth or education, on the obscurity of Scripture, on the differences of human opinion respecting religious truth, yea, even on God himself, rather than ascribe the fault to its true cause: for there is nothing which man understands less accurately than his own heart. He can understand languages, arts, and sciences. Nothing is too grand, nothing too minute, for the activity of the human mind: but he is blind to himself, to his own heart, and to the hinderances which exist there to his reception of the Gospel. But the truth must be told. It rests on the word of him who cannot lie. The sole impediment is in the mind of man. Christ is willing to receive the returning penitent. Heaven is ready to burst forth into a new song of joy at the restoration of the lost sheep to the fold. But man refuses. He will not hearken. He declines the offer. He shuts his eyes and hardens his heart, and will not return. The Saviour of love himself is compelled to confess, "Ye will not come to me that ye might have life." But how are

we to account for this unwillingness? Is the subject beyond his comprehension? No. Is it one beneath his notice? No. Is it one in which he is not personally interested? No. Is it one which may more conveniently be deferred to future consideration? Alas, no! It is most pressing and urgent. How is it, then, that he refuses?

(1.) The first obstacle to man's embracing the Gospel is, that he will not give the subject its due attention. He devotes to other objects of pursuit that degree of care and thought which their importance demands. He refuses it to this. Its infinite magnitude he does not dispute, but it does not arrest his attention. He treats it with comparative contempt. The meanest trifle is allowed to divert the thoughts from spiritual and eternal things. Beloved brethren, I appeal to yourselves. Put the question to your own consciences. Does the Gospel of salvation in Christ so occupy your minds as to become the one paramount object of pursuit? Is it the one thing needful? Is it uppermost in the thoughts? Is time so husbanded for purposes of devotion, and are the hours of the Sabbath so highly prized, that it is evident to all that your eternal interests engage the first place in your affec tions? Alas! is not the opposite the case? Is not religion confessedly and avowedly too much slighted and despised? If so, can we anticipate the divine blessing? Can we expect that God should regard us as sincere in our desires to serve him? Are we not rather dissembling with him, and acting the part of hypocrites? May not our Lord justly say to us, as to the Jews, "Ye will not come to me, that ye might have life?"

(2.) Again: not merely does man refuse attention; he also objects to several of the leading doctrines of the Gospel; not, perhaps, openly, but secretly and inwardly. He objects to the place which Christ holds in it. He objects to the humiliating doctrine of jus tification through faith in a Saviour. If you will allow him to alter, and amend, and frame the way of salvation to suit his own pride and prejudice, he will not object. But he shuns the cross. He loves not a religion which is every where spoken against. He cannot brook inward contrition for sin. External acts of penitence and sorrow he is forward to perform. They gratify pride, and make a merit of his humility: but when you come to insist on the interior doctrines of Christianity; when you bid him go to a Saviour's cross, and look upon him "whom he has pierced," and mourn, he starts back. This is contrary to nature. Pride is offended. He withdraws in disgust.

(3.) A third obstacle is this: man will not apply to God for that assistance of his Holy

(4.) Man is pursuing a course directly calculated to lead him further and further from God. Not only does he refuse the way of life; he deliberately pursues the path of destruction. He walks contrary to God. Every year at its close finds him further from God than at its commencement. And will such persons pretend to say that they are seeking God? Will they presume to make flimsy excuses for neglecting religion? Will they complain of its mysteries, its difficulties, the want of education, or time, or opportunity? The fact is, they have never once approached the subject. They have never given it one moment's solemn consideration. They are mocking God. They are inwardly opposed to his service. They will not come to Christ, that they may have life.

(5.) Once again; there is another fatal obstacle which the world are backward to admit, but which lies at the root of all this unwillingness to come to Christ, viz.: the secret love of sin. The natural heart of man being under subjection to Satan, has become habituated to iniquity. The sinner delights in it. It corresponds with his depraved taste. He "loves darkness rather than light, because his deeds are evil." It is not that he does not understand and appreciate in some measure the importance of the Gospel, but he dislikes its requirements. It demands holiness. It demands purity. It enjoins self-denial. It calls for the cross. All this is directly opposed to human nature. Each individual has also some besetting sin to which he clings, which he cannot resolve to relinquish, and he would rather reject the Gospel than surrender it. And therefore he refuses to hearken. He will not come, that he may have life.

(6.) Add to all this, that man uses every means to conceal from himself the real state of the case. He assents to the importance of

Allow me, then, in conclusion, once more to press upon you this solemn subject. Let the unwilling heart which now refuses to hearken, bear in mind that a time is hastening on, when all these fallacies and this self-delusion will be swept away, and the sinner be condemned out of his own mouth. Now he refuses to hearken. The call of mercy comes, and he rejects it. The invitation of love is offered, and he puts it from him. Hereafter, he will himself be compelled to renounce all these refuges of lies, and to confess himself condemned. At the last final account, conscience will itself speak, and bring him in guilty, and pronounce his final award. What will be the lost sinner's feelings at that awful moment, I leave you to imagine. The prospect of judgment will of itself be sufficiently fearful; but how deeply will his distress be aggravated by the reflection that the punishment is self-inflicted! Call after call has sounded in his ear; warning after warning has been given; and all have been rejected. God will now himself become the unwilling party. Repentance is too late. Before, the sinner would not come to Christ. Now, Christ will not accept the sinner. "I know you not," is the reply. The door is closed. The offer of mercy terminates, and eternal misery impends. My beloved brethren, fly to this gracious and compassionate Saviour, who now holds out to you the offers of mercy. Improve the present moment-the next may be too late. The answer may then be, not, "Ye will not come to me, that ye might have life;" but, " Because I have called, and ye refused; I have stretched out my hand, and no man regarded; I also will laugh at your calamity; I will mock when your fear cometh." "Then shall they call upon me, but I will not answer; they shall seek me early, but they shall not find me." God is here, you observe, the unwilling party, and refuses to hearken. But we must not close without reversing the picture. While there are those who will not come to Christ, that they may have life, there are also those who will. There are those who, when God

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calls, "Seek ye my face," respond to the invitation, "Thy face, Lord, will I seek." Mark the contrast. All excuses vanish; all obstacles give way. They are made willing in the day of Christ's power. They come to Christ in the spirit of the broken-hearted prodigal, Father, I have sinned against heaven and before thee, and am not worthy to be called thy son." Or in that of penitent Israel, " Behold, we come unto thee, for thou art the Lord our God:" and lo, a Father's arms are open to receive them. They find pardon, and acceptance, and eternal life, in a Saviour's blood. Here is a practical refutation of all the pretended excuses made by hardened sinners for not coming to Christ. Men do come, and can come, and have come, and are now coming to him. Converts are flocking to the cross, the stony heart is being changed for the heart of flesh. Christ is able, by his power and grace, to subdue every obstacle. Why, sinner, cannot you come? Only listen to the voice of mercy; repent of sin; seek God's face; renounce known sin; give to religion the attention which it demands; seek earnestly the grace of the Holy Spirit; discard your own strength and wisdom: and all is possible, all is easy: Satan cannot retain you. Divine grace is all-sufficient. Christ is both able and willing to receive all who come to him. You also shall be accepted in him. You shall obtain salvation; become an heir of immortality, and pass from death unto life-life immortal, unchangeable, in the presence of Him "whom to know is life eternal."

EXTRAORDINARY INSTANCE OF ROMISH

IMPOSITION.*

THE second church is the Dominicans' chapel, where I saw the famous hole that went to an image in the church, from one of the cells of the Dominicans, which leads me to set down that story at some length: for as it was one of the most signal cheats that the world has known, so it falling out about twenty years before the Reformation was received in Bern, it is very probable that it contributed not a little to the preparing of the spirits of the people to that change. I am the more able to give a particular account of it, because I read the original process in the Latin record, signed by the notaries of the court of the delegates that the pope sent to try the matter. The record is above 130 sheets, writ close and of all sides, it being indeed a large volume; and I found the printed accounts so defective, that I was at the pains of reading the whole process, of which I will give here a true abstract.

The two famous orders that had possessed themselves of the esteem of those dark ages were engaged in a mighty rivalry. The Dominicans were the more learned, they were the eminentest preachers of those times, and had the conduct of the courts of inquisition, and the other chief offices in the Church, in their hands. But, on the other hand, the Franciscans had an outward appearance of more severity, a ruder habit, stricter rules, and greater poverty: all which gave

From Letters containing an account of what seemed most remarkable in Switzerland, Italy, &c. by G. Burnet, D.D. Amsterdam, 1686.

them such advantages in the eyes of the simple multitude, as were able to balance the other honours of the Dominican order. In short, the two orders were engaged in a high rivalry; but the devotion towards the Virgin being the prevailing passion of those times, the Franciscans upon this had great advantages. The Dominicans, that are all engaged in the defence of Thomas Aquinas's opinions, were thereby obliged to assert that she was born in original sin; this was proposed to the people by the Franciscans as no less than blasphemy, and by this the Dominicans began to lose ground extremely in the minds of the people, who were strongly prepossessed in favour of the immaculate conception.

About the beginning of the fifteenth century, i Franciscan happened to preach at Frankfort, and one Wigand, a Dominican, coming into the church, the cordelier seeing him, broke out into exclamations, praising God that he was not of an order that profaned the Virgin, or that poisoned princes in the sacrament; (for a Dominican had poisoned the emperor, Henry the Seventh, with the sacrament). Wigand being extremely provoked with this bloody reproach, gave him the lie; upon which a dispute arose, which ended in a tumult, that had almost cost the Dominican his life, yet he got away. The whole order resolved to take their revenge; and in a chapter held at Vimpsen, porting the credit of their order, which was much sunk in the year 1504, they contrived a method for sup in the opinion of the people, and for bearing down the reputation of the Franciscans. Four of the junto undertook to manage the design; for they said, since the people were so much disposed to believe dreams and fables, they must dream of their side, and endeavour to cheat the people as well as the others had done. They resolved to make Bern the scene in which the project should be put in execution; for they found the people of Bern, at that time, apt to swallow any thing, and not disposed to make severe inquiries into extraordinary matters. When they had formed their design, a fit tool presented itself, for one Jetzer came to take their habit as a lay-brother, who had all the dispositions that were necessary for the execution of their project; for he was extremely simple, and was much inclined to austerities. So, having observed his temper well, they began to execute their project the very night after he took the habit, which was on Lady-day, 1507. One of the friars conveyed himself secretly into his cell, and ap peared to him as if he had been in purgatory, in a strange figure, and he had a box near his mouth, upon which, as he blew, fire seemed to come out of his mouth: he had also some dogs about him, that appeared as his tormentors. In this posture he came near the friar while he was a-bed, and took up a celebrated story that they used to tell all their friars, to beget in them a great dread at the laying aside their habit, which was, that one of the order, who was superior of their house at Soloturn had gone to Paris, but laying aside his habit, was killed in his lay-habit. The friar in the vizor said, he was that person, and was condemned to purgatory for that crime; but, he added, that he might be rescued out of it by his means, and he seconded this with most horrible cries, expressing the miseries in which he suffered. The poor friar Jetzer was excessively frighted; but the other advanced, and required a promise of him to do that which he should desire of him, in order to the delivering him out of his torment. The frighted friar promised all that he asked of him; then the other said, he knew he was a great saint, and that his prayers and mortifications would prevail, but they must be very extraordinary. The whole monastery must, for a week, together, discipline themselves with a whip, and he must lie prostrate in the form of one on a cross, in one of their chapels, while mass was said in the sight of all that should come together to it; and, he added,

that if he did this, he should find the effects of the love that the blessed Virgin did bear him, together with many other extraordinary things; and said he would appear again, accompanied with two other spirits; and assured him, that all that he did suffer for his deliverance should be most gloriously rewarded. Morning was no sooner come than the friar gave an account of this apparition to the rest of the convent, who seemed extremely surprised at it. They all pressed him to undergo the discipline that was enjoined him, and every one undertook to bear his share; so the deluded friar performed it all exactly in one of the chapels of their church: this drew a vast number of spectators together, who all considered the poor friar as a saint; and, in the meanwhile, the four friars that managed the imposture magnified the miracle of the apparition to the skies in their sermons. The friar's confessor was upon the secret, and, by this means, they knew all the little passages of the poor friar's life, even to his thoughts, which helped them not a little in the conduct of the matter. confessor gave him an hostie, with a piece of wood, that was, as he pretended, a true piece of the cross, and by these he was to fortify himself, if any other apparition should come to him, since evil spirits would certainly be chained up by them. The night after that, the former apparition was renewed, and the masked friar brought two others with him, in such vizards that the friar thought they were devils indeed. The friar presented the hostie to them, which gave them such a check, that he was fully satisfied of the virtue of this preservative.

The

The friar that pretended he was suffering in purgatory said so many things to him relating to the secrets of his life and thoughts, which he had from the confessor, that the poor friar was fully possessed in the opinion of the reality of the apparition. In two of these apparitions, that were both managed in the same manner, the friar in the mask talked much of the Dominican order, which he said was excessively dear to the blessed Virgin, who knew herself to be conceived in original sin, and that the doctors who taught the contrary were in purgatory: that the story of St. Bernard's appearing with a spot on him, for having opposed himself to the feast of the conception, was a forgery: but that it was true that some hideous flies had appeared on St. Bonaventure's tomb, who taught the contrary; that the blessed Virgin abhorred the cordeliers, for making her equal to her Son; that Scotus was damned, whose canonization the cordeliers were then soliciting hard at Rome; and that the town of Bern would be destroyed for harbouring such plagues within their walls. When the enjoined discipline was fully performed, the spirit appeared again, and said he was now delivered out of purgatory; but before he could be admitted to heaven he must receive the sacrament, having died without it; and that he would say mass for those who had, by their great charities, rescued him out of his pains. The friar fancied the voice resembled the prior's a little; but he was then so far from suspecting any thing, that he gave no great heed to this suspicion. Some days after this, the same friar appeared as a nun all in glory, and told the poor friar that she was St. Barbara, for whom he had a particular devotion, and added, that the blessed Virgin was so much pleased with his charity, that she intended to come and visit him. He immediately called the convent together, and gave the rest of the friars an account of this apparition, which was entertained by them all with great joy; and the friar languished in desires for the accomplishment of the promise that St. Barbara had made him. After some days the longed-for delusion appeared to him, clothed as the Virgin used to be on the great feasts, and indeed in the same habits; there were about her some angels, which he afterwards found were the little statues of angels which The consecrated wafer.

they set on the altars on the great holydays. There was also a pulley fastened in the room over his head, and a cord tied to the angels, that made them rise up in the air and fly about the Virgin, which increased the delusion. The Virgin, after some endearments to himself, extolling the merit of his charity and discipline, told him that she was conceived in original sin, and that Pope Julius the Second, that then reigned, was to put an end to the dispute, and was to abolish the feast of her conception, which Sixtus the Fourth had instituted, and that the friar was to be the instrument of persuading the pope of the truth in that matter: she gave him three drops of her Son's blood, which were three tears of blood that he had shed over Jerusalem; and this signified that she was three hours in original sin, after which she was, by his mercy, delivered out of that state. For it seems the Dominicans were resolved so to compound the matter, that they should gain the main point of her conception in sin; yet they would comply so far with the reverence for the Virgin with which the world was possessed, that she should be believed to have remained a very short time in that state. She gave him also five drops of blood in the form of a cross, which were tears of blood that she had shed while her Son was on the cross. And to convince him more fully, she presented an hostie to him, that appeared as an ordinary hostie, and of a sudden it appeared to be of a deep red colour. The cheat of those supposed visits was often repeated to the abused friar; at last the Virgin told him that she was to give him such marks of her Son's love to him, that the matter should be past all doubt. She said that the five wounds of St. Lucia and St. Catherine were real wounds, and that she would also imprint them on him. So she bid him reach his hand; he had no great mind to receive a favour in which he was to suffer so much; but she forced his hand, and struck a nail through it, the hole was as big as a grain of peas, and he saw the candle through it. This threw him out of a supposed transport into a real agony; but she seemed to touch his hand, and he thought he smelt an ointment with which she anointed him; though his confessor persuaded him that that was only an imagination: so the supposed Virgin left him for that time.

The next night the apparition returned, and brought some linen clothes, which had some real or imaginary virtue to allay his torments, and the pretended Virgin said, they were some of the linen in which Christ was wrapped, and with that she gave him a soporiferous draught; and while he was fast asleep, the other four wounds were imprinted on his body, in such a manner that he felt no pain.

But, in order to the doing of this, the friars betook themselves to charms, and the sub-prior shewed the rest a book full of them; but he said, that before they could be effectual, they must renounce God; and he not only did this himself, but by a formal act put in writing, signed with his blood, he dedicated himself to the devil: it is true, he did not oblige the rest to this, but only to renounce God.

The composition of the draught was a mixture of some fountain-water and chrism, the hairs of the eyebrows of a child, some quicksilver, some grains of incense, somewhat of an Easter wax-candle, some consecrated salt, and the blood of an unbaptised child. This composition was a secret, which the sub-prior did not communicate to the other friars. By this the poor friar Jetzer was made almost quite insensible: when he was awake, and came out of his deep sleep, he felt this wonderful impression on his body, and now he was ravished out of measure, and came to fancy himself to be acting all the parts of our Saviour's passion: he was exposed to the people, on the great altar, to the amazement of the whole town, and to the no small mortification of the Franciscans. The Dominicans gave him some other draughts, that threw him into convulsions; and when he came out of those,

a voice was heard, which came through that hole which yet remains and runs from one of the cells along a great part of the wall of the church; for a friar spoke through the pipe, and at the end of the hole there was an image of the Virgin, with a little Jesus in her arms, between whom and his mother the voice seemed to come. The image also seemed to shed tears; and a painter had drawn those on her face so lively, that the people were deceived by it. The little Jesus asked why she wept; and she said it was because his honour was given to her, since it was said that she was born without sin. In conclusion, the friars did so overact this matter, that at last even the poor deluded friar himself came to discover it, and resolved to quit the order.

It was in vain to delude him with more apparitions, for he well nigh killed a friar that came to him personating the Virgin in another shape, with a crown on her head. He also overheard the friars once talking among themselves of the contrivance and success of the imposture, so plainly, that he discovered the whole matter; and upon that, as may be easily imagined, he was filled with all the horror with which such a discovery could inspire him.

The friars, fearing that an imposture, which was carried on hitherto with so much success, should be quite spoiled, and be turned against them, thought the surest way was, to own the whole matter to him, and to engage him to carry on the cheat. They told him in what esteem he would be, if he continued to support the reputation that he had acquired-that he would become the chief person of the order; and in the end they persuaded him to go on with the imposture: but at last they, fearing lest he should discover all, resolved to poison him; of which he was so apprehensive, that once a loaf being brought him that was prepared with some spices, he kept it for some time, and it growing green, he threw it to some young wolves' whelps that were in the monastery, who died immediately. His constitution was also so vigorous, that though they gave him poison five several times, he was not destroyed by it. They also pressed him earnestly to renounce God, which they judged necessary, that so their charms might have their effect on him; but he would never consent to that. At last they forced him to take a poisoned hostie, which yet he vomited up soon after he had swallowed it down; that failing, they used him so cruelly, whipping him with an iron chain, and girding him about so strait with it, that, to avoid further torment, he swore to them, in a most imprecating style, that he would never discover the secret, but would still carry it on; and so he deluded them till he found an opportunity of getting out of the convent, and of throwing himself into the hands of the magistrates, to whom he discovered all.

The four friars were seized on, and put in prison; and an account of the whole matter was sent, first to the Bishop of Lausanne, and then to Rome; and it may be easily imagined that the Franciscans took all possible care to have it well examined: the bishops of Lausanne and of Zyon, with the provincial of the Dominicans, were appointed to form the process. The four friars first excepted to Jetzer's credit, but that was rejected. Then being threatened with the question, they put in a long plea against that; but though the provincial would not consent to that, yet they were put to the question. Some endured it long, but at last they all confessed the whole progress of the imposture. The provincial appeared concerned; for though Jetzer had opened the whole matter to him, yet he would give no credit to him: on the contrary, he charged him to be obedient to them; and one of the friars said plainly that he was in the whole secret, and so he withdrew; but he died some days after at Constance, having poisoned himself, as was believed. The matter lay asleep some time; but a

year after that, a Spanish bishop came, authorised with full powers from Rome; and the whole cheat being fully proved, the four friars were solemnly degraded from their priesthood, and eight days after, it being the last of May 1509, they were burnt in a meadow on the other side of the river, over agains: the great church. The place of their execution was shewed me, as well as the hole in the wall through which the voice was conveyed to the image. It was certainly one of the blackest, and yet the best-carried on cheat, that has been ever known; and no doubt had the poor friar died before the discovery, it had passed down to posterity as one of the greatest miracles that ever was: and it gives a shrewd suspicion that many of the other miracles of that church were of the same nature, but more successfully finished.

ALL NATURE PREACHES TO US.

IN the Quarterly Journal of Agriculture, under the head of what the writer calls, "The Waste of SeedCorn," these observations occur:-"It is calcu lated that only one-third of the seed-corn sown on the best land grows; the other two-thirds are destroyed. The quantity of seed annually sown in Great Britain and Ireland amounts to seven mil lions of quarters. Two-thirds of this quantity are rendered unproductive by some agency which has hitherto been uncontrolled. Thus four million, six hundred and sixty-six thousand, six hundred and sixty-six quarters of corn are annually wasted; a quantity which would support more than one million of human beings." But is it strictly correct to say that all this is wasted? Are human beings the sum-total of God's creation here below, and are there no other pensioners on the Divine bounty? Who, then, has made, and who supplies, the ravens, the sparrows, and the other multitudinous tribes of busy life? All are God's creatures, and our heavenly father feedeth all. He feedeth them by man's instrumentality, rendering the necessities of man instrumental to the supplies of the inferior creatures; and then, turning his all-working hand, he renders the inferior creatures so supplied subservient to the necessities and accommodation of mankind. The agriculturist sows for the harvestthis is his one design; but, in so doing, he is overruled of God to accomplish a number of collateral designs. Under the secret control of the beneficent design of the Creator, the farmer sows for the raven, for the sparrow, for the fly, for the slug : he cannot help himself. If, by a parsimonious sowing, he should attempt to defeat the benevolent designs of God, he would defeat his own design as regarded his harvest; and, on the contrary, if, by a liberal hand in sowing, he would secure his own object in a plentiful harvest, he cannot but choose to accomplish, passively and undesignedly, the bountiful designs and objects of the Creator of all. It is delightful to consider how even the very covetousness of man is made subservient to the bounty of God; how the sower is forced, by his own interest, to be lavish, to be profuse. Man must eat; in order to eat, he must reap; in order to reap, he must sow; in order to reap plentifully, he must sow plentifully, nay, he must sow profusely; for, as the Journal of Agriculture observes, "two-thirds of his seed is destroyed by an agency hitherto unconFrom Rev. Hugh M'Neile.