Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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THE STRANGER AND HIS FRIEND. BY JAMES MONTGOMERY, ESQ. Matthew xxv, 25?40. A poor wayfiring mm of grief Hath often crossed me on my way. Who sued so humbly for relief That I could never answer nay ; I had not power to ask his name, ^ Whither ho went, or whence he came, \ et there was something in his eye That won my love?I know not why. Once, when my scanty meal was spread, Ho entered?not a word he spake? Just perishing from want of bread* I gave him all?he blessed it, brake, And ate, but give me part again. Time was an angel's portion thou : And while I fed with eager hasto, The crust was manna tc my taste. I spied him where a fountain burst Clear from the rock, his strength was gone; Thf? heedless water mocked his thirst. Ha heard it, saw it hurrying on. I ran and raised the sufferer up ; Tiurice from tue stream lie drained my cup, Dipt, and returned it running o'er, I drank, and never thiisled more. *Twas night, the floods were out. it blew A winter hurricane aloof; I lieard his voice abroad, and flow To bid him welcome to my roof; I warmed, I clothed, I cheered my guest, j I laid him on my couch to rest, Then m ido the oarth niy bed, and seemed In Eden's garden while I dreamed. Stript, wounded beaten nigh to death, j I found him by tho highway side ; I roused his pulse, brought back his breath, j Revived his spirit, and 6Uppli< d Wine, oil, refreshment; ho was healed. I had, tnyself, a wound concealed; ' Hut from that hour forgot the smart, And peaco bound up my broken heart. 1 l In prison I saw him next condemned , To meet a traitor's doom at morn : The tide of lying tonguos I stemmed, : And hono.ed him midst shame and scorn. ; ' My friendship's utmost zeal to try, i i He asked if I for him would die ? ! , ***'-- a L ...1. mn M/ln 1 Pin obill. I lue Il"Stl WliS n can, inj .... ....... But the free spirit cried, " I will!" Then in a moment to my view, j c Til stranger darted from disguise; j < The tokens in his hands 1 knew ; My Saviour stood before mine eyes ! He spake, and my poor name he named? j " Of mo thou hast not been ashamed : i i These deeds shall thy memorial be ; ! \ Fear not, thou didst thein unto me." j THE DYING COTTAGER. HAVE I BEEN BORN 4 AGAIN? The overseer of a pari>h, on the borders ^ of the New Forest in Hampshire (England,) v who had recently sustained a severe ufllic- t * " --J -C.__ , tion in l tie illness anu ucuui 01 uu i a? i-;n. in j wife, was one morning wandering for a walk i, he knew not whither, when he was roused a from his meditations by the sight of a cottage { at great distance, where lived a poor woman who had recently applied for parochial re. 5 lief. She was the m )ther of a large fami- t ]y, and it was illness that had compelled her 1 to make the humbling supplication. j No sooner did he find himself near the cottage, than he resolved to inquire of the I afflicted inmate whether any thing could be | done to alleviate her eufTerings. He found c her half standing, half kneeling, at the wash- c ing-tub; one foot beingplaced 011 the damp t floor, and the knee of the other leg resting v on a chair, 011 the back of wnich she occa- c sionally leaned for support. The following J conversation then began: 1 "Good morning, Mrs. West; how are you t to-day?" 1 ?4Bad enough, sure I am. I wish I was t 1 1 )) dead. I j "I see you are very bad: but remember j t that it is an awful thing to die!" ! r "O, for the matter ofthat, 1 don't know; r but I am quite willing to go. whenever it i may please God to take me!" 1 "Remember that after death comes the judgment, and for that you are unprepared." 1 "I think 1 am quite as good as my neigh- i bours." t "So you may be, and yet have no hope beyond the grave." 1 "I am sure I never did any body any t harm in all my life." < "You think not; but I can prove that you I are mistaken. I myself heard you swear- < ing at your children, when you were all j picking potatoes in my field last fall; and do j you think that there is no harm in teaching I your children to swear?' < "I own one ought not to do so; hut then i the Almighty is very mere ful, and won't bear too hard upon us." - j "All we can know of God's mercy we i must learn from the Bible, and there we rea l, that the Lord will no; hold him guilt iUi>S iilUt tilKCin HIS del I IK* Ml Villll. ?^u\V | therefore, it is quite certain that the founcta- j tion ofvourhope is not to be found in the j: Bible. ' "My cough is so bad I cant talk to you.'' j "Well, tiiough you cant talk to me, I must j say a few words to you before I go. I think you are in a very awful state. Vou are on the brink of the grave, <$ yet you are careless about eternity. The hope which you have mentioned, that all will be right because you have done no harm, is one which has deceived thousands, who never discovered their mistake until it was too late to rectify it. Now, listen particularly for a minute or two. We are all sinners in the sight of God, and though some may be greater sinners than others, we all deserve to go to hell. But *Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners,' even the very chief; and so, 'Whosover believeth in him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.' Now, in order to this, we must have new hearts. *We must be born again,' and then oid things v will pass away, und all things will become new. Unless we are born again, we cannot enter into the kingdom of God. Vou will find it so, if you will read the third chap. ter of the gospel according to St. John. Promise me you will read it." The poor woman here manifested so much impatience that he rose to begone. In pas. sing to the door he said, uOne object which 1 had in calling this morning, was to inquire whether I can send you any thing that vou would relish?" "Thank you, sir, but all things are alike o me. I Can't relish anv thing: but i? won't be for long. The doctor tells me that ho i !i can do nothing for me, but just g:ve mo a J v little stuff to quiet my cough." j a "Then think of what I have said. Itj) your time bo but short, so much the greater I reason have you to improve the little that re- t mains. Good morning." * Reflecting on this melancholy case, as he [ returned to his own dwelling, the visitor 1 thought it an altogether helpless one in re. f gard to both worlds: the body wasting with * the ravages of disease, and the mind given over to s rong delusion; refussing to listen 1 to instruction, and treating the most awful J subject of contemplation with carlessness, c and even with levity. What, indeed, could r be more unpromising? fie could not but * be thankful for the happy contrast which c had been presented to ins view in his own N family. There it had b x*n seen, that the 2 0 t influence of prettv can smooh the path to j the grave, and throw upon us darkness the | light of immorality. I lis meditations then j " reverted to their former topic. He thought IL of the chasm which death had made in his j1 own once cheerful, but now dreary and for- j2 saken home and when he arrived there, he i" had almost forgotten his visit Jo the cottage, jv Perhaps he would hardly have thought of it | again, but for the following circumstance, I ^ which took place a few weeks afterwards: j "I liope, sir," said a labourer, who had i been shown into the parlour, -you will excuse my making so bold; but would you be ^ so kind sir, as to come and see my wife? I can't think what's come to her. She is ^ reading her Bible, and cryi ig over, it, from morning till night; and taiking about you, s sir, and Jesus Chris; and the new birth! and yet slie s ivs, sir, that she is quite happy, j and that old things are all taken away! To my mind, sir, s ie is dow nright crazy; but 1 should like you to see her, and tell me what you think And she wan s to see you: she J las been wis!ting to send to you ever so nauy times, only I would not let her; but I 0 . J t T u >:ie gave me no peace, sir, ana so i prom- ^ ssed to come myself It was no: long before this summons was lC obeyed. D:s ase had made alarming pro- w jress. The afflicted inmate was now unable o leave her bed. Her kind visitor entered ^ he room where consumption was completing J ts work, and there, at intervals, as the cough vould allow, he heard the following narra- yj ive:? ^ , *" I bless God, sir, that ever you called to . ice me in my a mictions. I hope you will *! orgive my treating you so rudely when ou came. I knew no better then : and I II vas angry with you because you did not hink so well of me as I did of myself : but '1 Lnnu- hntfer now. I fnpl mvself a noor / . .. "~ - "v - -- r (4. ost sinner, but I cast myself on Him who is ^ tble to save ; and I hope I can say, * In the ^ord have 1 righteousness and strength." jr Chough I treated yon so rudely a fortnight igc,.and hardly iistened to what you said, here was one thing which I could not for;et. You told me about being born again, ind told mc to read some chapter in the Testament which would explain it. While was looking after littie makers about the bi louse, and trying to think of other tilings, I y< taught myself several times saying, loud L aiough for any one to hear,4 Have I been d< >orn again ?" Whereever I went, and al vhatever I did, it was still the same ; the b< inly thing I could think about was,4 Have ni been born again ?" I then tried to re- ai nember wiiat chapter it was you told me b< o read : and so I took down the Bible, and as ooked in the New Testament till I found n< he one I wanted. But when 1 had found oi t, it still seemed very hard to know what it n< noant ; and so 1 prayed in my poor way, g<" is well asl was able, that God would teach - t I V I ? i. lie what is meant oy ueing uorn again. > ind that if I were not lit to die and go to si leaven, he would make me sc. 44 I had just been praying in this way is vhen my eldest boy came running into the 'ooni with a tract, that some ladies had C brownout of a carriage into the road. if 44 This little book, sir, told me that being tc jorn again was the same tiling as having a !o icw heart, and being made like Christ. I th :annot tell you what 1 h it when I came to c< jo quite sure that I could never go to heav- lij 3ii without being born again, and just as oJ sure that I had never known any tlrng ni about it. But I read my Bible again, and 1 vi found that there was mercy for the chief of sinners.?Then I said, ifso, why not for ai me? And 1 have found mercy.? b I feel as 1 never fell before. I seem to be tl in a new world. 4 Old tilings are passed h away, and all things are become new,' d I am not afraid to die, for 1 believe in Hun s< who is 4 tiie resurrection and the life and, o therefore, * to live is Chris-, to die is gain." b Here is persented to the reader but a faint si sketch of the change which divine grace t* wrought in the heart of the dying cottager. 'I It may,perhu[ *, he imagined, that the con- a trast between the first and second interviews. as described above, is too strongly drawn. But tbat is not the case. The fact was, as her husband had stated, that she had been, dav after day, reading the word of God, from morning till night, and read- d ing it too with eari est prayer, and the con- a sequence was, that in a short time she had b become better acquainted with i's doctrines, >' precepts, and promises, than multitudes y who have listened to the preaching of the v Gospel all their lives. * n The subject of the foregoing narrative? ? lived much lodger than had been expected. Ii She seemed to be kept alive for the purpose r of showing to those around her the reality v of her conversion ; and when she died it a was with a hope full of immortality. This v is ono of the instances which encourages t us not to despair or neglect the most des- f perate cases ; but their is nothing in it to t encourage carelessness or putting offa'ten- 1 ding to the concerns of the soui. t WHAT A SAVIOUR. ' r What Christian has not sometimes given t expression of the feelings of his heart in I; some such language as mis, 'What a Sa- c viour!" That there should be to us, lost a and ruined sinners, any Saviour, is marvel- ^ lous mercy?is worthy of our highest ad- ) miration. But that there should be to s i; such a Saviour, is still more astonishing. I ave nought that we might have had a Saiour who would have been able to save us, nd should have actually saved many, and et not been such a Saviour as him we have, iess tender, less condescending, less forearing, I have thought he might have been, nd yet .have been a Saviour. Perhaps I ave thought wrong. Hut certainly there is i tile character of the blessed Jesus, much draw forth the exclamation, "What a Saiour!" It seems ns if Jesus had said more kind hings and done more kind ac's, than were bsolutely necessary to have been said anil lone by him. Need he have made thai pology for his disciples?who could sleep /hen he was in his agony?"the spirit inleed is willing, hut the llesh is weak?"' I ironuer Mow they couiU nave slept in such n hour; bm 1 wonder more at the apology heir master made for them. Need he have ttered that prayer on the cross. Father argive thenr, for they know not what they o?" We don't expect such things from ic innocent, when dying by the hand of vilonce. If he had maintained silence duing these hours of inconceivable anguisV, ?q should have been satisfied. But oh! ?ink of his forgetting himself, and when ley were deriding and every way insulting im, hear him meekly addressing Ills Father n ilieir behalf, asking him to forgive ihem, nd pleading for them that they knew not diat they did. It was not necessary that e should have paid any visible attention to ic supplication of the thief. It could not ave been expected of him. But that he lould have turned his head and looked jch forgiveness and love, while he said, This day, thou shalt be with me in paru. ise," is a strange mystery of love. 44What a S iviour?" IIow wonderfully instituted! He was God, as it was nccesiry he should be, and vet not merely God, Lit man too. A Saviour with too natures, ne reaching up to God, the other down to 5. How wonderful that he should not only ave taken ofTour nature, but come down > our condition, and surrounded himself itSi our circumstances, become suujeo; such temptations as we are subject to: 'h, "What a Saviour!'" Why, he knows om experience, what pain is; he has had e trials I havet; he has been through this lie of tears; he knows how 1 am tried.? he never smiled, yet he wept?even over e very city and people whose soil and mds were about to be stained with his ood. I wonder I love him so little; I wonder ? is not more precious to me; I wonder ... ?i i.i i? ?a* K:? IT i > diiuuiu uu uiit'iiucj in iiuij* iiu^v uan i appear a root out of a dry ground! Why m't all see his form and comeliness? erin's Remains, 'Itersfrom the Rev, John Neic'on to a littic girl. LETTER II. Old Jewry, October 22, 1779. y Dear Child, You may well expect to hear 1Y ?ttj mr; it you will hardly expect a long letter, if )u remember what little leisure I have in ondon. Almost every day loads me with :bt, and brings me letters which I am not >le to answer; but my dear Betsy must not > forgotten. We have been here a fort, ght and upwardsjthe Lord gave us a pleasit and safe journey. . Your mamma has :en, upon the whole comfortably well; and i you know wc are at Dr. 's, I need >t tell you that we are situated as much to ir minds as can be, in the midst of so muc1. >ise and smoke. But here I can have no irden; no pretty walks amongst trees and ;lds, no birds but such as are prisoners in in cages, so that I pity them, for all the:? nging. But the same suii that shines at N , often to be seen at Loudon; and the Lord (sus, like the sun, is in all places at otic . o where we will, we are not far from hiir, we have but eyes to see him, and heai :s perceive him. My dear child, when you ok at the sun, I wish it may lead your oughts to him who made it, and who p'a*1 it in the firmament, not only to give us ?ht, but to be the brightest, noblest emble * himself: there is but one sun, and there ?eds not another; so there is but one Saour; but he is complete and all-sufficient, ie sun of righteousness, the fountain of life id comfort;his beams,wherever they reach, ing healing, strength, peace, and joy to ic soul. Pray to him, my dear, to shine rtli, and reveal himself to you. O, how fTerent is he from all that you have ever ;en with your bodily eyes! he is the sun [the soul, and he can make you as sensile of his presence as you are of the sunline at noon-day; and when once you ob.in a clear sight at him, a thousand little lings, which have hitherto engaged your ttention, will in a manner disappear. As by the light of op'ning day, The stars are all concoald; o . l. i_ L?.<:?? OU earuuy ucauuco tauc away When Jesus is revenl'il. I entreat, I charge you to ask him every ay to show himself to you* Think of him 3 always being with you; about your path y day, about your bed by night, nearer to ou than any object you can see, though ou see him not; whether you are sitting or ralking, in company or alone. People of>n eonsidor God as if he saw them from a rea* distance: but this is wrong; for though e be in heaven, the heaven ofheavens can. ot contain him; he is as much with us as nth the angels; in him we live, and move, nd have our being; as we live in the air ,-hich surrounds us, and is within us, so tat it cannot be separated from us a moten'. And whatever thoughts you can obtin of God front the Scripture, as great, oly, wise, and good, endeavour to apply tern all to Jesus Christ, who once died upon te cross, for he is the true God and eteral life, with whom ycu have to do, and tough he be the King of kings, and Lord of trds, and rules over all; he is so condescen. ing and compassionate, that he wiH hear nd answer the prayer of a child. Seek im, and you shall find hint; whatever else ou seek, you may be disappointed, b he i never sought in vain. Your very afTectiountr. From the Western Christian Advocate COUNSEL FOR LADIES : Let every married woman be persuadej 1 that there arc two ways of governing a family. The firs* is by the expression of i that will which threatens force. The second is by the power of love, to which even >' strength will yield. Over the mind of the I husband, a wife should never employ any I other power than gentleness. When a wo! man accustoms herself to say,4i 1 will I she deserves to lose her empire. Avoid ! contradicting your husband. When we I smell a rose we expect to imbibe the sweott ness of its odor?So we look for every thing amiable iii woman. Whoever is often con tradi ted, feels insensible an aversion for the person weo contradicts, which gains s'rength by time. Employ yourself in household ' alFairs. Wait till your husband confides to 1 you those of a higher importance ; and do ' nrkt iv\nr n<lvir?n fill tn? not-c? if Mniiav IIV/l wit V/ ! vlll W'l I (111 I ivy U0(\0 11* 11' ??.! take upon yourself to be a censor of your husband's morals, to rend lectures to him. Let your preaching be, a good example. Practice virtue yourself, to make him in love with it. Command his attention by being always attentive to him. Never exnc any thing and you will obtain much. Ap. pear always fl ittered by the little he docs for you, which will excite him to perform more. Men, as well as woman, are vain. Never wound this vanity, not even in the most trifling instance. A wife may have more sense than her husband, but she should never seem to know it. When a man gives wrong councel, never make him feel that he has done so but lead him oil by I degrees to what is rational with mildness and gentleness. When lie is convi iced leave him all the merit of having found out what is reasonably and jus*. When a bus band is out of temper behave obligingly to him. If he is abusive, never never retort, and never prevail on him to humble him self; but enter thy closet, and pour out thy complaints in prayer to God in behalf. The prayers of the righteous avail much.? Choose carefully your female friends. Have but few, and be backward to follow their advice?particularly if inimical to the foregoing instructions. Cherish neatness without luxury, and pleasure without excess. "Whose adorning, let it not be that outward adorning, of plaiting of hair and of wearing ofgold or putting on of apparel. Vary the fashions of your dress in regard to colors. It gives a change to ideas, and recalls [ leasing recollections. Such things may appear trifling, but they are of more importance than imagined. "Likewise ye wives, be in subjection to your own busi bands." "Husbands, love your wives; /~1[ _1 1 ) ,L I I 1 even as V/unsi mso loveu inc cnurcn anu gave himself for it." "Submit yourselves one to another in tiic fear of God. J. P. Y. A Good Wife.?She loves her home believing with Milton, that "The wife where danger and dishonor lurks, Saftest and seemliest by her husband stays, Whv/gnartto hcrvvf. rrixK lrcr it re rrui at. trti? dures. The place of woman is, eminently ut the fireside. It is at home that you must see her to know what she is. It is less material what she is abroad; but what she is in family circle, is all important. It is bad merchandize in any department of trade, to pay a premium for other men's opinions; in matrimony, he who selects a wife for he applause or wonder of his neighbors, is in a fair way towards domestic bankruptcy. Having got a wife, there is but one rule? Honor and love her. Seek to improve her understanding and her heart. S rive to make her, more and, more, such a one as yon can cordially respcc'. Shame on the brute in man's shape, who can afFront or vex, not say to neglect, the woman who has embarked with him for life, "for better, for worse," and whose happiness if severed from h:s smiles must be unnatural and monstrous. In fine, I am proud of nothing in America so much as of our American wives. LETTER TO A LADY ON DRESS. My Dear L.?Will you bear with my impertinence, if I attempt to give you my direction on a subject where you sex are ali lowed to possess infinitely more taste and judgment than our own?that of dress. I offer, however, my plain and undisguished sentiments, only for your advantage ; and I am sure you will receive them with that candor and indulgence to which my friend, ship for you lias an indisputable claim. Neatness you cannot cultivate with too much attention. I would press it on every female, as strongly, if possible, as Lord Chesterfied did the graces on his son. The want of it is shocking in u ma n but in a I woman it is unpardonable. It disgusts all her friends and intimates; has estranged the affections of many a husband, made him seek that satisfaction abroad, which he found not at home. i InAif.c. ivhn nrn r/?mnrknhlv UUIIIV/ muivu, " w w . _ %%fc4Vi|. tive to their persons before marriage neglect them afterwards in an egregious manner. They cannot pay a worse complement their own delicacy, or to their husbands. If they conceived some efforts necessary to gain the prize, more, I am sure, arc required to preserve it. It is the opinion of some, that the affections of woman increase after marriage, whilst that of man is apt to decline. Whatever be the cause, a prudent woman will, at least, use every method in her power to guard against so mortifying a change. Neatness, however, is easily practised and will always have considarable weight. In the eyes of domestics, a woman looses her consequence and authority by neglect of her person. She will not be obeyed with cheerfulnsss ; she wiil become an object of ridicule in all their private parlies and conversations. Neatness is the natural garb of a well ordered mind, and has a near alliance to purity of heart. i Finery is seldom graceful. The easy I undress of a morning often pleases more ! than the most elaborate and costlv orna; mcnts. I need not say of how much time and monev thev rob us. which arc sacred to viiiii; aid to the poor, nor how soon this very embellished body will bo dust and ashes. The perfection of the art is convey id in two words an elegant simplicity. TilE PARTING KISS. A FRAGMENT. ' i was but five years old when my mother died ; but her image is as distinct in iny recollection, now that twelve years have elapsed, as it was at the time of her death. I remember her as a pale, beautiful, gentle being, wit a sweet snnle, and a voice that was soft and cheerful when she praised me; and when I erred, for I was a wild, thoughtless child, there was a trembling mildness about it that always went to my lRile heart. And then .she was so kind, so patient; methinks I can now see her large blue eyes moist witli sorrow, because of my childish waywardness, and hear her repeat, My chill, how can you grieve me so ?" I re. collect she had for a longtime been pale and feeble, and that sometimes there would come a bright spot on her chock, which made her lo.>k so lovely, I thought she must be well. But then she sometimes spoke of dying, and pressed mo to Iter bosom, and told me " to bo good when she was gone, and to love mv father a great deal, and be kind to him, for he would have no one else to love." 1 recollect she was very sick all day, and my little hobby-horse and whip were laid as de, and 1 tried to be very quiet. I did not see her for the whole day, and it seemed very long. At night they told mo my mother was too sick to kiss me, as she always used I to do before I went to bed, and I must go I without it. But I could not. I stole into the room, and laying my bps close to hers, 'whispcrd, " Mother, mother, wont you kiss me ?" Her lips were very col J ; and when she put her arm around me, laid my head upon her bosom, and one hand upon my cheek, 1 felt a cold shlddcring creep all over me. My father carried me from the room, hut hpfnnld nnt ennnlc. ?\ thnv nn! me in bod, I lay a long while thinking. I feared my mother would indeed die, for her cheek felt as cold as my little sister's did when she died, and they laid her in the ground. But the in pressions of mortality are always indistinct in childhood, and I soon foil asleep. In the morning I hast?tiled to my mother's room. A white napkin covered her face. I removed it-Mt was just as I feared. Her eyes were closed; her cheek was cold and hard the lovely expression that a1 "avs rested upon her lips remained. In an ins ant all the little faul.s for which she hud so often reproved me, rushed upon my mind. I longed to tell her ho.v good I would always he, if she would _ t- m i J t ?. remain wun me. one was uuriea ; nui uiv re.nemboranco of the funeral is indistinct. 1 only retain the impression which her precepts and example ieft upon my mind. I was a passionate, headstrong boy ; but I never yielded to this turn of my disposition, wit out fancying f saw her mild, tearful eye fixed upon me just as she used to do in life. _Anrl then whon 1 had succeeded in overcoming ir. her sweet smile brapprobation beamed upon me, and I was happy. My whole character underwent a cliange, even from the moment of her death. Iler spirit was forever with me, strenthening my good resolutions, and weakening my propensity to evil. I felt that it would grieve her gentle spirit to see m? err, and I could not, would not do it. 1 was the child of her ailcctiot); I knew she had prayed and wept over, me, and that even on the threshold of eternity her affection for ??>. I.n.l /..iii^n/l l>ni. ?rr>n4ln ctittM* t.i linTCl'. I}IU IHIU ^.lUOl/U I.V.I ^utl i. .w .-..J,- , tint she might pray for me once more. I resolved to become all that she could desire. This resolution I have never forgotton. It helped me to subdue the waywardness of childhood, protected mc through the temptations of youth, and will comfort and support me throjgh the busier, scenes of manhood. Whatever there is tiiat is estimable in my character, I owe to the impressions of goodness made upon my infant mind by the ex emplary conduct and faithful instructions of my excellent mother." THE TWO EXTREMES In religion, as in other things, there are GXtremts. The tendency of the human mind to settle on one, and be iudiflerent to the other, has always been strong. At times the attention lias been chiefly devoted to doctrines, and then at others, it has been diverted from doctrines, and makes the whole of religion consist in practice. I f the two extremes the latter is the more dangerous. Doctrines art4 - ~ 11"?? > tflmt tlm {V\iirwl*i 11 nn ID |;icij nnui iiiu uuiiubuuu is to the building. With obscure, partial, and defective views of these, it is vain expect the fruits of holy living. As the church has verged to one of these extremes, she has always undervalued the other. The very act implies a separation of things in themselves closely allied. In an undue ascendancy of docttrines, the graces of Christianity have declined. But from the native repugnance of the heart tc them, they have rarely gained such an ascendancy; and from other causes, always in operation, it could not long be maintained. In the neglect of doctrines, and the ascendency of practice, the church has always plunged into the sorest spiritual evils which have ever afflicted her. Self-righteousness, spiritual pride, extravagance, and fanati. cism, have always marked the declineand disuse of definite doctrinal instruction. For though churches might once have been well indoctrinated, yet, owing to frequent changes in their members by the removal of old, and the accession of new ones, it would soon appear, in the disuse of doctrinal instruction, that many were deficent in this necessary branch of Christian knowledge. In the rush to effort, which has characterized the past period in her history, and the neglect of doctrinal knowledge, it lias been almost forgotton that the doctrines of religion are as im. portant to the practical, consistent Chris, tian, as are the rules of navigation to the practical mariner. Defects in the rules of the arithmetician, or the mariner.would endanger, and ultimately defeat the object | of his practice. So any theories of tne divine government, of human agency and of tegeneration, which go to subvert the plain enforcements of the Bible on these points, go directly to corrupt Christian practice. Overrating the "exercise sys. tern" to the disparagement of doctrinal knowledge, has always induced a lax and superficial practice. It no longer remains doubtful, that New Divinity, with its ex. tolled improvements, has disordered the fountains of Christian practice. It is well known, too, that the boast of modern Perfectionism has issued in the rankest immorality, and is at the present time wallowing in its own filth and shame. It must be confessed, too, that the great bustle and stir of the past period have, to some extent, been hollow and deceitful. All that the chuich has gained by excited effort, has not been solid gain. If it were possible to prolong the state of excitement which has been induced, and extended it so that the church, in all her branches, should be under its spell, her real advance would not only be doubtful, but highly improbable. And yet this is the danger. I ous extreme to which pa$t efforts have been directed, and with too much success for the purity nnd increase in holiness of the church. So fur as she has been forced to believe that religion consists in outward effort, she has exhibited a spectacle not unlike a shin wiihnut hulloa* A* ? ?WUIIU9II il I UIIC time blown about by every wind of docttrine, and seeking with avidity new things because they were new, and despising old things because they were old. At another buoyed up with deceitful hopes, and redi. culing the claims of religion on the heart, and magnifying them on the life; depreciating and turning with aversion from that solid instruction which was not only essential to a healthful and deeptoned piety within her, but equally essential to those without her communion who might soon be brought in. Her hold on the great and distinguishing doctrines of the gospel relaxed, she became an easy prey to unsusnected dangers and evils. It is not n remarkable, that the advocates of practice disparagement of doctrines and personal religion, have so completely failed of their object; and, instead of urging forward the church to higher attainments in holiness, have driven it backward. While looking for a piety of power and purity on this extreme, they have seen one coropariiively puny and sickly?one that is afraid of scrutiny, and which looks upon self-examination and Christian experience as relics of u former age of mysticism, to prevent which from deforming the present, is their great and constant endeavor. The piety of the present day is one which poorly distinguishes between truth and error, and puts both upon the same level, and sometimes urges that there is no difference between them.?Hartford Watchman. . ? FRANCE. Increased number of Evangelical^ ii _ ministers?But it is now tune that I should take some notice ef the Protestant National Church, ns they call themselves, or the reformed Calvinistic Church.- ?ou are no doubt uware that this church had sunk very low.?Many of the pastors had become Socinians; but the greater part had fallen into a state of complete indifference; so that in the year 1828, there were not among all the Protestant pastors in France more than three or four who preached the gospel faith, fully; but suchj is the change which has taken place among them, that now more than one.fourth of them are truly evangeli cal, and preach the gospel with faithfulness, and warmth. There are about three hun? cJred and sixty-three pastors connected with the reformed chnrchin France, and about one hundred ofthem are now pious, and their number is daily increasing. This is a great annoyance, to the Socinian, indifferent party and as they are still the strongest they do not fail to show their resentment, and in a few instances persecute the evangelical, and cast them out of the church. This lately happened to the Rev. Adolphus Monod at Lyons, the mosi popular preachperhaps in France ; buttiiis has tiirned out to the furtherance of the gospel. He lias opened a place of worship on the voluntary plan in Lyons, and is now more extensively useful than he ever could have been in the national church, especially as many Catholics now attend his ministry who would never go to hear him in the national temple. This has been the case in several other instances of the same kind. Thus God makes the wrath of man to praise him. Connected with the Oratorie, or reformed / ?h111*0U n% Pu*?o nowi ^nuii/u uj & aii*9) MIVIW ui\j tivc wiuigj iijafif two of whom are evangelical. Mr. Feeder. ick Monoc! is one of them, and one of th. chief suportersof all the religious institutions'in this city.?There is nowa vacanc y in this church, and I hope that the Lor 1 may send them a gospel minister, and ther ?. by give the evangelicals the majority in tli.> important church, with which there a?*o many of the richest and most influential mi i in Paris connected. The evangelical ck i gv in the reformed church are exercising a great and most salutary influence in their different eircles, not only among Protestants, but also among Roman Catholics ; and if all her ministers were really ministers of Christ, this church might yet prove a bitssing to France.?London Evan. Mag. A gentleman lately kept the follow "ig meteorological journal of his wife's tem *r. Monday?Rather cloudy ; in the afi rnoon, rainy. Tuesday?Vaporish; brightened u; a little at night. Wendesday?Changeable, gloomy,s ia;. ly inclined to rain ; variable at night. Thursday?High wind and some pe s > f thunder. Fridhy?Fair in the morning ; va J e till the afternoon ; cloudy all nighr. Saturday?A gentle breeze, have a ah k fog and a few flashes of lightning.?A. f. Times. A good man will rather lie in the dus than rise by wickedness.?Chureh.