we have taken of this volume, we feel little disposed to give it a more close perusal; for this reason, that we discover nothing in it calculated to edify or benefit the soul; nothing that will cause a man to sink into insignificance in his own view, and exalt in the vacuum the person and work of Him to whom all real and vital religion tends. Upon the very threshold of the work we are literally disgusted with the folly betrayed on either side by the following:"Mr. Test" is made to observe in

page 6,

"Mr. True, I would not willingly cast any bitter thing into the cup of our evening enjoyment; neither would I willingly insinuate that there was anything ungracious in your observations on your parish church: and yet, I might just venture to direct your eye to yonder rooks and daws about the building. Do you not see that they are sailing round and round the spire in airy rings, or cawing from the battlements of yonder mouldering tower? Those sable birds are surely birds of omen, and you may rest assured that their unceasing clamour at your parish church, would certainly presage its fall."

"Mr. True," in reply, says very properly

"I rest assured that all such omens are imaginary, and are but the offspring of a morbid and sectarian prejudice, and that they betoken nothing more than your own unhappy hostility of feeling to the church."

But his subsequent remarks we consider ridiculous :—

"Those happy birds, whose voices are discordant in your ears, must always utter pleasing cadences and circumflections in the listening ear of Him who gave them their existence, and who inspires their buoyant hearts with joy; and who himself excites their sympathies with yonder venerable pile, wherein they find a glad asylum from their daily toils. No pilfering hand molests them in the house of prayer. Besides, my friend, they like that elevated region, far above this evil world; and they, methinks, would teach us, by their outstretched wings and airy flight around the spire, like them to emulate the skies.* INSTINCT, my friend, is INSPIRATION—and the inspiration of the Deity within their hearts inclines them to the House of Prayer, the PARISH CHURCH, to sing the praises of their great Creator, ere they take their nightly rest. And let me ask you, sir, if those birds of omen, as you call them, are not wiser in their generation than the envious and unthankful of mankind? Those birds are no Dissenters, Mr. Test; they wisely cleave to the ESTABLISHED CHURCH; and will continue so to do in all their generations to the end of time."

For our own part, we are continually annoyed by the inquiry, Are you a Churchman or a Dissenter ?" The former cleaves closely to the forms and ceremonies of his mother Church, and, lamentable to say, for the most part looks little beyond those forms and ceremonies; the latter is loud in his exclamations against a code of laws which compels him to support a system contrary to his own views, in the warmth of

* We presume that husbandmen, who are compelled to resort to various stratagems in order to keep these mischievous birds from rooting up the newly. scattered seed, or destroying the ripening corn, would not object to their spending more time at their devotions.

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which he loses sight of the protection that system affords him, notwithstanding all its acknowledged imperfections; between these conflicting opinions, the soul-the immortal soul-seems to be lost sight of, and treated as a subject of secondary importance. Brethren, these things ought not to be. Go, take your stand by a poor dying man, as we did a few hours ago, and then see if you feel inclined, as his soul lingers for a moment between life and death, time and eternity, to ask the question, Are you a Dissenter or a Churchman?" Of what little importance does it then appear! and say, brethren, would it not tend more to the comfort and prosperity of the souls of real believers, were they to resolve, in the strength of the Lord God, to avoid topics which though they professedly have to do with the souls of men, are made the subjects of mere political discussion-which, if indulged in, tend more to sever than to unite the hearts of men? We can vouch for the truth of these remarks, both from observation and experience.

With what pleasure do we turn from such a work as the foregoing to one similar to those which now lie by its side, and to which our attention, as reviewers, is called. We refer to the

Select Remains of the Rev. John Cooke, of the Tabernacle, Moorfields, London; and Maidenhead, Berks. By the Rev. Dr. REDFORD. In two volumes. London: Longman and Co.

DURING the few days these volumes have been in our possession, we have taken them up repeatedly, and are free to acknowledge that not a single page have we perused without profit and satisfaction. They are written in detached pieces, and altogether form a most valuable collection. Take for example the following:

A babe can neither reason, talk, walk, or work like a young man or a father. Ministers err when they set up their present and experienced views for a standard to young converts. They must look back, and compare the heart of a babe with a babe; one young man's experience with another; and one father with another. Otherwise, through "unskilfulness in the word of righteousness," and Satan's temptations, many will weep when they should be glad; and others presume when they should tremble. This is an error of many old Christians; they despise the broken language of a soul, whose views are obscure, whose gifts are small; but whose hearts are sincere in their attachment to Christ. Such forget that they themselves were once the "lambs" of Christ's flock. And ministers forget that Jesus hath said, "feed my lambs." Feed them, not starve and terrify them.

Again, upon the subject of prayer, the author most powerfully remarks, Alas! when I compare my ideas of prayer, and when my aims in prayer are brought together, how far my experience comes short! As, when I look at a picture representing Samuel at prayer, I have a general idea of a soul all devotion; but I do not see represented those conflicts, fears, hopes, joys, dejection, and anxiety, which I feel in my own breast. The picture seems like the prayer of innocence; but mine are the prayers of a sinner :a sinner who, in his devotions, finds variations of frame, like days in April. Now I seem to rise, and all is clear before my believing soul; then all is clouded. Now I am sure; then I doubt. One moment I am all earnestness, and the next I am more inclined to wish prayer over. Whence all

this? From" sin that dwelleth in me." Ah! "when I would do good, evil is present with me:" it is always present, but not always so manifest and operative as then. Then we discover most of that evil which seemed dead, when we did not actually oppose it; but awaked as from sleep when vigorously opposed. To hear a minister speak highly of prayer, as an unutterable privilege, and to experience it so, are not both alike easy. We may think, hear, and speak of prayer, in a manner which may charm another, and lead them to suppose we pray as we speak of prayer. But, alas! to pray, what is it? To groan under a burden, and sigh for deliverance. I desire and ask for mercy with an earnestness which no words can express, joined with grief that I cannot pray more earnestly. It is to wrestle with God! with faith, fervour, and agony-to wait upon God and for him—to request and plead with hope and fear, joy and sorrow, weakness and strength, disappointment and success. But who can describe a soul in all its various emotions at the throne of grace—rising in joy, and melting in sorrow; inflamed in love, and chilled in fear; filled with hope, and dejected with disappointment? What pencil can draw, what pen can describe, what tongue can express, those "unutterable groans ?" I assure you, reader, I remember the time when feelings so complicated, in the solemn season of approaching God, have filled my mind with anxiety, lest my experience should be singular in this particular. And I once could not believe any other soul felt as I felt. But now I view these sensations in a very different point of view; for I ask, shall I complain or rejoice in them? I will do both. But do all men feel thus? Do I always feel so? No, no, compassionate God! thou hast made me to differ. I do not forget that these groans and griefs are the groans of a soul! a redeemed and renewed soul! And I doubt not but that such breathings, however hindered and opposed, are as pleasing to God as the songs of angels. Is this mere fancy? Do I not presume? Am I not flattering myself? No! God declares, "I dwell also with him," &c. They are the fruit of God's Spirit, and recommended by a Saviour's blood, and a Saviour's pleas. I do not ask, can they succeed? Can they miscarry? No! Jesus knows where he may find him and come, even to his seat. He orders my cause before him, and fills his mouth with arguments. 'He ever liveth to make intercession," and the Father heareth him always. Ask your own soul, my brother, whether you have not found more benefit after prayers, fervent and broken, than after those which have flowed with ease, and been followed with self-complacency? And no wonder; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but God looketh on the heart. We often reject, both in others and ourselves, what God approves; and approve even where God abhors. Our views, even of ourselves, our general characters and particular actions, are, in many instances, superficial and mistaken.

Another paper entitled "Satan's Cruelty," struck us as very excellent; but our limits forbid farther extract. We therefore. with the greatest pleasure, direct the attention of the reader to the work itself.

The King's Daughter: and Comfort for the Weak; or, The Bruised Reed bound up and strengthened. Two short Tracts affectionately addressed to the "Church of the First-born, which are written in heaven." By ALFRED HEWLETT, B.A., Curate of Astley. Manchester Henry Smith. London: Groombridge, Panyer Alley. Two Gospel tracts calculated to convey divine instruction and conso

lation to the church of the living God. In the description of the King's Daughter we trace the footsteps of the flock; we behold her in her primeval state, as she came forth in her nature's purity from the hand of her Creator; we then witness her lamentable fall, with all its attendant misery and sorrow; next we view her recovery from her ruined condition and restoration to peace and joy in and through the mediation of her blessed Bridegroom, he who espouses her otherwise hapless cause and sustains in his own person the penalties due to her. As the effect of this espousal-when ratified and made known in her conscience -we behold her walking beneath his smile, and, as she “ comes up out of the wilderness leaning upon her Beloved," we see her countenance lighted up with unutterable joy as she listens to his glorious voice, and contemplates the benignity of his character, the greatness of his condescension, and the immensity of his love. Anon, we behold her apparently alone; her Lord and Husband has withdrawn himself, she looks upon the right hand and the left, backwards and forwards, but cannot behold him her fears arise, and presently she finds herself traversing with wearied and uncertain step a barren waste; the shades of evening draw around her, and mid the wind's fierce howlings she hears the murmurings of birds and beasts of prey, and already discovers their approach. Again, we look-the shades of evening are withdrawn, midnight darkness has fled, morning has broke, and with the dawn of day we again behold her reclining upon her Beloved. At length, after various exercises, joys, and sorrows; sometimes happy, unspeakably happy, in her Lord's embrace, at other times mourning his absence, and complaining that her soul is far off from peace, we see her approaching the end of her journey. Already has she attained the summit of the hill at the foot of which Jordan rolls its briny wave-with mingled emotions does she approach it; when she can have a Pisgah view of the promised land, then the pathway seems but narrow; but when she takes her stand upon the river's brink, and contemplates its cold waters, then the crossing appears broad and the undertaking mighty. But He who "hath loved her, and given himself for her," forsakes her not. With outstretched hand he invites her onward; and, with Bunyan's pilgrim, leaning upon his Almighty arm, "she feels the bottom that it is good." Another moment, and she enters

"Canaan's fair and happy land,
Where her possessions lie;"

and there she for ever dwells, with unknown rapture and felicity, in the sunshine of his presence, to come no more out for ever. Hallelujah! We cannot but recommend the tract that introduces such a glorious subject to our contemplation; nor do we feel less inclined to speak well of the "Bruised Reed bound up and strengthened," believing as we do, with the author, that every real desire after a knowledge of God, as manifested to the soul in and through the blood and righteousness of a dear Redeemer, comes from God; and as such, will be honoured by him, it being the work of his own Spirit in the heart. We acknowledge

that in the first buddings of grace-if we may be allowed the expression-it is difficult to anatomize or make judgment of this desire, as in its first operations it appears so much to resemble a desire merely to escape from the "wrath to come "-like that of a Balaam, a Judas, or a Saul; but as the desire which springs from the work and operations of God the Holy Ghost in a sinner's heart develops itself, it will prove, as he is graciously pleased to answer that desire, and communicate joy and peace in believing, that under his mighty operations it would have had an existence even were there no state of punishment hereafter-ay, we go further, and remark that this would be the case even were there no future inheritance.

Brethren, beloved, ye who may be classed among the weaklings of Christ's fold, may stagger at the expression; but it is the truth, and ye are witnesses of it; for say, whether when the Lord has been pleased graciously to reveal himself unto you, bearing your burden, carrying your sorrows, speaking peace and pardon to your troubled consciences, telling you that he is yours and that you are his—say, do you want any better heaven than this? Can you not at such times exclaim with the poet,

"'Tis heaven to rest in his embrace,

And nowhere else but there?"

Does it not make "the crooked things straight, and the rough places plain?" Is not every bitter made sweet, and though your path a few moments before seemed hedged up with sorrow and calamity, and you knew not where to look for relief, say, now your Lord shines upon you, would you have anything different? Is it not all right? But we know that the anticipation of an uninterrupted continuance of this blessedness, where no enemy within or without shall interrupt your enjoyment, nor Jesus even for a moment ever veil his face; this glorious anticipation, we repeat, cannot but enhance your happiness. But to contemplate heaven as a mere place of ease or security, is taking altogether anatural and improper view of it. Heaven is that glorious abode where God unveils his lovely face, and the Sun of Righteousness for ever shines; where the mystery of a Holy Trinity is explained; where faith is lost in sight, inasmuch as those things of which we now know but in part, and prophesy but in part, are fully unfolded to our astonished view; where angels and archangels, and the spirits of just men made perfect, even to a number that no man can number, out of every nation, tongue, and people, dwell, and for ever sing in untiring melody the praises of God and the Lamb.

The Changes of Ephraim; or, the Backslider's Warning. By the Rev. JOHN MACGOWAN. Second Edition. Brighton: Published for the Poor Man's Spiritual Book Society, by J. Tyler, 83, North Street.

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very excellent little tract, written upon Rev. xiv. 14. "The backslider in heart shall be filled with his own ways.' We wish it were in the hands of every poor sensible sinner in the kingdom.