perversion of the Sabbath with the sins of which they were generally guilty (and I do not see how any good reasoner can help doing so), will see abundant reason to pray God that we, as a people, may learn to observe the Lord's day in such a way as God has commanded.

Time will not now allow me to endeavour to trace the same connexion in the later history of our own country. I do not urge my hearers to exertion in this blessed cause, on the ground that we are more negligent now in observing the Sabbath than we were in former days: I believe the contrary to be the fact. I believe myself, that, on the whole, the Sabbath was never better observed; but I well know that there is enough of evil now to make the heart of any Christian tremble; to make the servants of God all join in one common endeavour to promote the glory of God by the better observance of the Sabbath. May we promote this object by our prayers, by our examples, by the exertion of Christian influence! There is a dreadful apathy on this subject, particularly among the labouring classes. It cannot be overcome in a moment. I trust that the first and proper steps are now gradually taking;

and I believe that the cause of God is advancing, slowly perhaps, but, thank God, advancing. And will you be wanting in contributing your share to this blessed work? It requires every exertion, and let our exertions be strictly Christian; let us use persuasion-Christian persuasion.

And let us remember, that unless this day be to us "a delight, the holy of the Lord," we shall in vain attempt to inspire these feelings in the breasts of others. In order that we may honour the Lord's day, we must first learn to honour and to love that Lord to whose honour this day is set apart. Unless we be spiritually risen with Christ, we shall never love that day on which we record the resurrection of our Lord and Saviour. A vital sense of religion is the thing wanting. A formal observance of the Sabbath will be a weariness to those who so keep it. They will be longing to be again engaged in their farm, or their merchandise, or their own pleasure.

There is a rest above prepared for the servants of God. We shall there be free from pain, from weariness, from anxious cares. We shall be admitted into the presence of Him who died for our sakes. It

was for this blessed rest, this everlasting Sabbath, that God in mercy created his servants; and in order to prepare us for this blessed place, he hath appointed a Sab

Sabbath on

Sabbath of eternal joy: a which, laying aside our worldly cares, we may seek the Lord in soberness and truth; in which we may enjoy that peaceful foretaste of heaven which nothing but the Spirit of God can give. Such ought to be our Sabbath here; and then it would be leading us to the everlasting Sabbath hereafter. And if we personally enjoy any thing of this delight, is it possible that we should not strive to lead others to the same blessing? If we have ourselves as yet drunk of the free waters of grace, can we fail to wish to direct others to the same blessed fountain? God grant that we may both taste this joy ourselves, and be made the happy means of inducing others to do so too. And this we pray through Jesus Christ our Lord.

THE HABITS OF THE BEDOUINS.* THE last was by far the most interesting day of my journey to Mount Sinai. We were moving along a broad valley, bounded by ranges of lofty and crumbling mountains, forming an immense rocky rampart on each side of us; and rocky and barren as these mountains seemed, on their tops were gardens which produced oranges, dates, and figs in great abundance. children of the desert, the Bedouin pitches his tent, Here, on heights almost inaccessible to any but the pastures his sheep and goats, and gains the slender subsistence necessary for himself and family; and often, looking up the bare side of the mountain, we could see on its summit's edge the wild figure of a half-naked Arab, with his long matchlock gun in his hand, watching the movement of our little caravan. Sometimes, too, the eye rested upon the form of a woman stealing across the valley,-not a traveller or passer-by, but a dweller in the land where no smoke habitation was perceptible.

curled from the domestic hearth, and no sign of a There was something

very interesting to me in the greetings of my companions with the other young men of their tribe. They were just returning from a journey to Cairo-an event in the life of a young Bedouin; and they were bringing a stranger from a land that none of them had ever heard of; yet their greeting had the coldness of frosty age and the reserve of strangers; twice they would gently touch the palms of each other's hands, mutter a few words, and in a moment the welcomers were again climbing to their tents. One, I remember, greeted us more warmly, and stayed longer among us. He was by profession a beggar or robber, as occasion required, and wanted something from us, but it was not much; merely some bread and a charge of powder. Not far from the track we saw, hanging on a thornbush, the black cloth of a Bedouin's tent, with the pole, ropes, pegs, and every thing necessary to convert it into a habitation for a family. It had been there six months; the owner had gone to a new pastureground, and there it had hung, and there it would hang, sacred and untouched, until he returned to claim it. "It belongs to one of our tribe, and cursed be the hand that touches it!" is the feeling of every Bedouin. Uncounted gold might be exposed in the same way; and the poorest Bedouin, though a robber

From "Incidents of Travel in Egypt, Arabia Petræa, and the Holy Land." By George Stephens. 2 vols. 12mo. London, 1838. Bentley.-This extract will illustrate some of the remarks

though at a distance, resemble the blessed

Mr. Stephen's work will be read with peculiar interest. It contains much information illustrative of Scripture.

by birth and profession, would pass by and touch it

not.

66

On the very summit of the mountain, apparently ensconced behind it as a wall, his body not more than half visible, a Bedouin was looking down upon us; and one of my party, who had long kept his face turned that way, told me that there was the tent of his father. I talked with him about his kindred and his mountain-home, not expecting, however, to discover any thing of extraordinary interest or novelty. The sons of Ishmael have ever been the same inhabitants of the desert, despising the dwellers under a roof, wanderers and wild men from their birth, with their hands against every man, and every man's hand against them. "There is blood between us," says the Bedouin when he meets in the desert one of a tribe, by some individual of which an ancestor of his own was killed, perhaps a hundred years before. And then they draw their swords, and a new account of blood is opened, to be handed down as a legacy to their children. Thy aunt wants thy purse,' says the Bedouin when he meets the stranger travelling through his wild domain. "The desert is ours, and every man who passes over it must pay us tribute." These principal and distinguishing traits of the Bedouin character have long been known; but as I had now been with them ten days, and expected to be with them a month longer, to see them in their tents, and be thrown among different tribes, claiming friendship from those who were enemies to each other, I was curious to know something of the lighter shades, the details of their lives and habits; and I listened with exceeding interest while the young Bedouin, with his eyes constantly fixed upon it, told me that for more than four hundred years the tent of his fathers had been in that mountain. Wild and unsettled, robbers and plunderers as they are, they have laws which are as sacred as our own: and the tent, and the garden, and the little pastureground, are transmitted from father to son for centuries. I have probably forgotten more than half of our conversation; but I remember he told me that all the sons shared equally; that the daughters took nothing; that the children lived together; that if any of the brothers got married, the property must be divided; that if any difficulty arose on the division, the man who worked the place for a share of the profits must divide it; and, lastly, that the sisters must remain with the brothers until they (the sisters) are married. I asked him, if the brothers did not choose to keep a sister with them, what became of her; but he did not understand me. I repeated the question, but still he did not comprehend it, and looked to his companions for an explanation. And when, at last, the meaning of my question became apparent to his mind, he answered, with a look of wonder, "It is impossible-she is his own blood." I pressed my question again and again in various forms, suggesting the possibility that the brother's wife might dislike the sister, and other very supposable cases; but it was so strange an idea, that to the last he did not fully comprehend it, and his answer was still the same"It is impossible-she is his own blood." Paul was in ecstasies at the noble answers of the young savage, and declared him the finest fellow he had ever met since he left Cairo. This was not very high praise, to be sure; but Paul intended it as a compliment, and the young Bedouin was willing to believe him, though he could not exactly comprehend how Paul had found it out.

I asked him who governed them; he stretched himself up, and answered in one word, "God." I asked him if they paid tribute to the pacha; and his answer was, "No; we take tribute from him." I asked him how. "We plunder his caravans." Desirous to understand my exact position with the Sheik of Akaba, under his promise of protection, I asked him if they were governed by their sheik; to which he

| answered, "No; we govern him." The sheik was their representative, their mouthpiece with the pacha and with other tribes, and had a personal influence, but not more than any other member of the tribe. I asked him if the sheik had promised a stranger to conduct him through his territory, whether the tribe would not consider themselves bound by his promise. He said no; they would take the sheik apart, ask him what he was going to do with the stranger; how much he was going to get; and, if they were satisfied, would let him pass; otherwise they would send him back; but they would respect the promise of the sheik so far as not to do him any personal injury. In case of any quarrel or difference between members of a tribe, they had no law or tribunal to adjust it; but if one of them was wounded-and he spoke as if this was the regular consequence of a quarrel-upon his recovery he made out his account, charging a per-diem price for the loss of his services, and the other must pay it. But what if he will not? "He must," was the reply, given in the same tone with which he had before pronounced it "impossible" for the brother to withhold protection and shelter from his sister. If he does not, he will be visited with the contempt of his tribe, and very soon he or one of his near relations will be killed. They have a law which is as powerful in its operations as any that we have; and it is a strange and not uninteresting feature in their social compact, that what we call public opinion should be as powerful among them as among civilised people; and that even the wild and lawless Bedouin, a man who may fight, rob, and kill with impunity, cannot live under the contempt of his tribe.

NECESSITY OF STRIVING." Strive ye to enter in : for many shall seek to enter in, but shall not be able." Many-not one, or two, but many-shall seek to enter into the kingdom of God; that is, shall think about turning to him, and shall intend to do it one of these days, and shall talk about goodness, and shall now and then take up a Bible. They shall scek-they shall look-for the way to heaven as a rich man might look for a sixpence that he had dropped in a dusty road. But because they do not strive,-because they do not set about the work with all their heart, and mind, and soul, and strength,- because they do not look for salvation as one of you would look for a golden sovereign, if you had lost one from your month's wages,-therefore they shall not be able to enter in. They shall have the pain, the misery, the unspeakable woe and anguish of seeing thousands and tens of thousands entering in, but themselves shut out-shut out, observe, not because they were profligate, or drunken, or thievish, or oppressive; but because they only sought when they should have striven; because they crept when they should have walked, and walked when they should have run as in a race (1 Cor. ix. 24); because they did not feel during their life-time that this wilderness-world is no abiding place for an immortal spirit. No; they loved earth and the things of earth above God and the things of God. They gave their minds to this world, with its cares and pleasures; but knew and thought little about Christ, and had no wish to learn more. Their religion was one of days, and

rites, and outward forms; instead of being an active principle, running through their whole life. They served God, partly from habit, partly for decency's sake, partly because they knew they must: but they did not serve him in the spirit of faith and love; and therefore the service was a burden to them. Sunday was to them the dullest day of the seven; instead of longing to enter into the courts of the Lord, their secret pleasure was to get out again. In a word, they saw nothing lovely in holiness to make them desire and love it. What sort of welcome can such persons, who fancy they have been seeking heaven, but have been seeking it only as a dream-what sort of welcome, say, can they look for from the God of holiness? What can their lot be, but to be driven from his presence into the outer regions of sin and of death? God, who in his mercy has lately preserved us from one pestilence, preserve us all, my brethren, from this worse, this second death!-Sermons to a Country Congregation, by the Rev. A. W. Hare.

LOVE TO CHRIST.-Lord, within a little time I have heard the same precept in sundry places, and by several preachers pressed upon me. The doctrine seemeth to haunt my soul: whithersoever I turn, it meets me. Surely this is from thy providence, and should be for my profit. Is it because I am an ill proficient in this point, that I must not turn over a new leaf, but am still kept to my old lesson? Peter was grieved, because our Lord said unto him the third time," Lovest thou me ?" But I will not be offended at thy often inculcating the same precept, but rather conclude that I am much concerned therein, and that it is thy pleasure that the nail should be soundly fastened in me, which thou hast knocked in with so many hammers.-Thomas Fuller.

MORTAL AND VENIAL SIN.-That trite distinction of sin into mortal and venial, which is so common among the schoolmen, is not only vain and destitute of all support from the word of God, but is indeed very faulty, and, far from being itself venial, well deserves to be exploded as mortal, for that malignant influence which it has upon the morals of men. If the most open danger of the Divine displeasure and of eternal death cannot hinder the bold race of men from rushing on headlong to every crime, and breaking all the barriers of duty which God has prescribed them, will it not add great licentiousness to the crowd and tumult of headstrong desires, when some sins are said to be by their own nature, and in the whole kind of them, free from the condemning sentence of the Divine law? Give me the holiest man upon earth, the man who above all others stands at the remotest distance, both in the affections of his mind, and in the conduct of his life, from those sins which they acknowledge as mortal, will, he not deeply feel his need of daily forgiveness, from the multiplied pollutions of his daily infirmities? He truly accounts no sin little, which is committed against the ever-blessed God, nor any pardon little, which he knows to proceed from his infinite grace. Nor will he promise himself the pardon of the least fault which he indulges; nor will he despair of obtaining a pardon of the greatest for which he is truly penitent. And this is the law of grace.-Leighton on Psalm cxxx.

Poetry.

THE CHILD IN A GARDEN.

BY MRS. ABDY.

(For the Church of England Magazine.) CHILD of the flowing locks and laughing eye, Culling with hasty glee the flow'rets gay, Or chasing with light feet the butterfly; I love to mark thee at thy frolic-play.

Near thee I see thy tender father stand;
His anxious eye pursues thy roving track,
And oft with warning voice, and beck'ning hand,
He checks thy speed, and gently draws thee back.

Why dost thou meekly yield to his decree?
Fair boy, his fond regard to thee is known;
He does not check thy joys from tyranny-
Thou art his lov'd, his cherish'd, and his own.
When worldly lures, in manhood's coming hours,
Tempt thee to wander from discretion's way,
Oh! grasp not eagerly the offer'd flowers;
Pause, if thy heavenly Father bid thee stay.

Pause, and in him revere a friend and guide,

Who does not willingly thy faults reprove; But ever, when thou rovest from his side, Watches to win thee back with pitying love.

BYRON AND KIRKE WHITE.

On reading Lord Byron's lines (in his “English Bards," &c.) on the death of Henry Kirke White.

(For the Church of England Magazine.)

O BYRON! who can weep o'er Henry's urn,
Nor feel his heart in memory sadly turn

To thee, who pour'd this glorious burst of song ?
Who can but seek those numbers to prolong,
And wake the echoes of thy tuneful sigh,
To hymn thine own more fitting elegy?
Thine, thine, alas, the "noble heart undone,"
And genius' self was the destroying one !
Ah, why unheard that wiser charmer's voice,
Which would have bid thee tremblingly rejoice
In that rich dowry giv'n thee at thy birth,
To spread the Giver's glory o'er his earth!
Oh, couldest thou that precious gift abuse,
And thus thyself and thy bright genius lose!
She was thy nursling, in her beauty rare,
Thou shouldst have rear'd her with a parent's care;
But thou indulg'dst her, till thy wayward child
Became thy mistress, and thy soul beguil'd;
Lur'd thee to start from truth's, from reason's road,
To wound thy conscience and blaspheme thy God;
Urg'd thee forbidden regions to explore,
Or to supernal realms too rashly soar;
And, ever rising with presumptuous flight,
To rush unhallow'd on the source of light,
Till thy keen glance, which wildly sought to gaze
On heaven's own beam, grew dim beneath the blaze,

"Unhappy White! while life was in its spring,
And thy young muse just wav'd her joyous wing,
The spoiler came-and all thy promise fair
Has sought the grave, to sleep for ever there!
O, what a noble heart was here undone,
When Science' self destroyed her fav'rite son!
Yes; she too much indulg'd thy fond pursuit;
She sow'd the seeds-but death has reap'd the fruit.
'Twas thine own genius gave the final blow,
And help'd to plant the wound that laid thee low!
So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain,
No more through rolling clouds to soar again,
View'd his own feather on the fatal dart,
Which wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart!
Keen were his pangs; but keener far to feel
He nursed the pinion which impell'd the steel;
While the same plumage that had warm'd his nest
Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast!"

And (scorch'd thy wings in that " consuming fire")
Prostrate thou sank'st to grovel in earth's mire!
Perish'd thy genius then!-but ere she died
She tore thy blasted pinions from thy side,
And with those mud-clogged plumes, in madden'd
rage,

She trac'd thy shame on many a sullied page!
Thine was the eagle's pride, too daring bard;
And thine, alas, pride's sad but just reward!

But sure the spirit of a gentler bird

On White's more chasten'd genius was conferr'd;
On him the breathings of the heavenly Dove
Rested with gracious influence from above,
Till his whole soul, with inspiration fraught,
Pour'd forth the holy melody it caught;
And, like the fabled phoenix, he expires-
Consum'd, but not destroy'd, by ardent fires:
And though for ever scath'd his mortal wing,
And though no more in human notes he'll sing,
Yet shall he rise on plumes of glorious dye,
And soar triumphant to a brighter sky;
Where, purified from earthly dross and stains,
His blissful soul shall chant celestial strains,
And raise once more his heaven-taught song of love,
Begun on earth, but perfected above!

Miscellaneous.

P.

INFIDELS.—Among the rejecters of Scripture-revelation, who affect to disbelieve, after an accurate and candid examination of the subject, it is quite remarkable that few, if any of them, either in ancient or modern times, have possessed the qualifications essential to the attainment of religious truth, or a temper suited to religious inquiry. With all their superior advantages in point of knowledge, they have been deficient in fair, serious, and upright intentions. Their minds were warped by prejudice, and pre-occupied with false theories, before their judgment had come to a determination. They were either inflated with conceit, and so wanted proper humility of spirit; or affected a singularity of thinking; or were immoral, and consequently exerted every faculty to invent excuses, and were disposed to embrace, in contradiction to reason or evidence, any error that flattered their appetites and passions. Many of them were absolute buffoons, who sported with every thing sacred, and turned even the belief of a Deity into a jest; or they were lively and volatile, but superficial men, who had great literary information, and a desultory knowledge of the sciences, but without much solidity of understanding, and obviously unacquainted with the actual state of human nature. They were, moreover, utter strangers to the genius of Christianity, entertained a violent aversion to its ordinances, or dwelt altogether upon its abuses and corruptions, in the hope of giving it a mortal wound through the vices of its professors, or the false representations of its character.-Converts from Infidelity-Constable's Miscellany.

ON THE USE OF CREEDS.-The different articles of our belief, dispersed in the Scriptures, were very early collected in summaries, styled creeds, recited at baptism, and constituting thenceforth the badge and test of a man's profession. By a formulary of this kind, the catechumen himself was instructed; the faith, once delivered, transmitted down to posterity; the members of the spiritual society were kept together; the doctrines by them believed and taught made known to the world, and distinguished from a multitude of heterogeneous and erroneous opinions by them disclaimed; a connexion with the maintainers of

which would justly have brought discredit on themselves and their cause. For these reasons the use of creeds appears to have been at first introduced, and since continued. They who have at any time thought proper to depart from such as were established in the body to which they originally belonged, soon found it necessary to establish some of their own. The Arians, rejecting that agreed upon at Nice, drew up successively many others; I think not fewer than seventeen in the space of forty years.-Bishop Horne.

6

SUFFERINGS OF ACTORS.-The following affecting statement, from the Memoirs of Grimaldi, depicts, in strongest language, the wretchedness of many of those who, even when their own heart is sad, are employed to dissipate all serious thought from the minds of their fellow-creatures:-" In this piece (the Orphan of Peru'), which came out on the 23d of March, 1825, Grimaldi played a prominent character; but even during the earlier nights of its very successful representation, he could scarcely struggle through his part. His frame was weak and debilitated, his joints stiff, and his muscles relaxed; every effort he made was followed by cramps and spasms of the most agonising nature. Men were obliged to be kept waiting at the side-scenes, who caught him in their arms when he staggered from the stage, and supported him; while others chafed his limbs, which was obliged to be incessantly done until he was called for the next scene, or he could not have appeared again. Every time he came off, his sinews were gathered up into huge knots by the cramps that followed his exertions, which could only be reduced by violent rubbing, and even that frequently failed to produce the desired effect. The spectators, who were convulsed with laughter while he was on the stage, little thought that while their applause was resounding through the house, he was suffering the most excruciating and horrible pains. But so it was, until the twenty-fourth night of the piece, when he had no alternative, in consequence of his intense sufferings, but to throw up the part. On the preceding night, although every possible remedy was tried, he could scarcely drag himself through the piece; and on this occasion it was only with the most extreme difficulty, and by dint of extraordinary physical exertion and agony, that he could conclude the performance, when he was carried to his dressingroom exhausted and powerless. Here, when his bodily anguish had in some measure subsided, he began to reflect painfully and seriously on his sad condition. And when he remembered how long this illness had been hovering about him, how gradually it had crept over his frame and subdued his energies, with what obstinacy it had baffled the skill of the most eminent medical professors, and how utterly his powers had wasted away beneath it, he came to the painful conviction that his professional existence was over. Suffering from this terrible certainty a degree of mental anguish to which all his bodily sufferings were as nothing, he covered his face with his hands and wept like a child. The next morning he sent word to the theatre that he was disabled by illness from performing."-Surely the end of such amusements—is death! IN evil times it fares best with them that are most careful about duty and least about safety.-Dr. Ham

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CHRIST THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD.

BY THE REV. DENIS KELLY, M.A. Minister of Trinity Church, St. Bride's. "THE light of the age" is the epithet which we commonly apply to any very distinguished benefactor of the human race. The sovereign who, by his wise and enlightened administration, has conferred happiness and prosperity upon a nation, has procured for himself this honourable designation. The man who, by his wisdom, and erudition, and deep research, has advanced the cause of science and literature, or in any way promoted the improvement of his species, has been called "the light of his age." It is in this manner that the names of men of other days, and of distant times, have been embalmed in the grateful recollection of succeeding ages. He who first taught the rude barbarian the arts of civilised life; he who first drew the mantle from the mysteries of nature, and revealed the glorious mechanism of the celestial bodies; he who first taught men to venture on the perilous deep; or who instructed them in the principles of architecture, has each been handed down to posterity as the benefactor, "the light of his age."

But there is One who has assumed this title to himself, before whose claims the pretensions of the greatest sovereigns, and legislators, and sages, who ever lived, sink into insignificance. "I am the Light of the world," said the Redeemer. He spoke the words in the Temple, early in the morning, just when the sun had, as it is supposed, burst upon him with its cheering beams. And he, who at that time walked the earth in the garb of suffering humanity," the

VOL. V.-NO. CXXVIII.

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that great luminary, the most glorious object. in creation," of this great world both eye and soul," and finds in it the most appropriate emblem of himself.

The sun, we know, is the source of life, and light, and heat, to the whole of animated nature. Shew us the spot where his cheering beams never penetrate; and we will shew you darkness, and desolation, and death. Shew us, over the length and breadth of nature's great expanse, a single trace of life, of comfort, of freshness, of beauty; and we can say that the sun has visited that spot. Not a flower that blows, not a tree that blossoms, not a blade of grass that springs, not a glow of genial warmth that is felt, but speaks his presence. And he who said, "I am the Light of the world," is to the moral, what the sun in the heavens is to the material world. By this we mean, that not a ray of divine light the light of heavenly wisdom-has ever illumined the mind of man, but it has emanated from him. Not a ray of divine comfort has ever cheered the heart of man, but from him it has flowed. Shew us, on the surface of the moral world, the spot where spiritual life, and light, and joy, are to be found; and thither, we can say, the beam of his holy light has found its way.

What abundant confirmation of this fact do we possess in the history of heathen antiquity, or in the state of idolatrous nations in our own days! Look at the condition into which the nations fell when that holy light was withdrawn, and they were left to wander after their own vain imaginations. Look at the thick moral darkness, the blindness of mind, the perversity of feeling, which followed the

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