:

distinctly a distant vessel, which, tossing and heaving on the waters, was vainly endeavouring to enter the harbour. While I intently viewed it through my telescope, I was startled by a deep low voice just beside me; for I had supposed myself far from any living being "You seem much interested in that solitary bark: is it so new to you to look at a thing labouring in troubled waters? You may see that sight elsewhere." I instantly apologised to the stranger for blocking up his path; for I stood in the narrowest part, where no one could pass me, and this had caused his address. He bowed haughtily and went on; and I could hear him say in a tone of suppressed feeling, as he slowly paced along, "Ay, am not I too like yon heaving vessel, the sport of the wild winds?" and then, changing his humour, he laughed a sarcastic laugh. I saw him two or three times more during my stay at Boulogne, but he was always alone, and treading some unfrequented path. He shewed no inclination to speak, but merely greeted me with a cold and somewhat stern bow.

I afterwards learned a few particulars of his history. He was the younger branch of a noble family, and had possessed an estate suitable to his rank. In early life he had married an amiable lady, who bore him one fair daughter. To the world's eye he was happy, the object of envy or respect; but, alas, one fatal vice soon blighted the pleasant prospect. He was addicted to gaming; and after the usual fluctuations of fortune, he found himself reduced to a pittance of what he had formerly enjoyed. Still the baneful passion preserved its ascendency. He carefully collected the wrecks of his property, and staked them at one desperate throw. He was unsuccessful; when, roused almost to madness, he offered to play for, as it is called, double or quits. This, with similar bad fortune, he twice or thrice repeated, and Mr. left the den of iniquity that night, not merely stripped of every thing, but under engagements to pay besides more than he had ever owned. His wife was acquainted with his calamity only by the wild countenance with which he returned home that miserable night; and early in the morning, with a brief adieu, he left her and his child for ever. She sunk under the stroke; and the child was soon after laid by her side in the quiet grave. The news, it was said, had somewhat affected his hard heart; but he had imbibed infidel principles, and the sources of the best feelings were well-nigh dried up within him. He was now living, an outcast from society, on a small pension, just sufficient for his wants, granted him by a wealthy relative.

I saw him a second time in a city in the south of Europe, in which I happened one Sunday to perform a service for the English at the hotel where I was staying. I perceived him glide in and take his seat in a corner, as if he wished to escape notice; but there was no mistaking his lofty brow and commanding figure. He told me afterwards that it was mere curiosity, for which he hardly could account, that drew him that morning to our assembly. But I had no communication with him then, for the instant the service was concluded, with a cold haughty look, he walked out of the room.

Years rolled away, and I had almost forgotten the exile. At last I was spending a summer on the

banks of the Rhine; and one morning I sallied out to take a long ramble amid that lovely scenery. It was from Bingen that I started, and I sometimes kept close by the margin of the noble stream, and sometimes climbed the terraced heights that girded in its waters. I frequently paused to contemplate the prospect around me, with, I trust, something of the Christian aspiration, "My Father made all this." I know scarcely any country, in its particular kind, to be classed with this. It is true that the hills are not high enough to deserve the name sometimes given them of mountains, neither are the prospects astonishing for their magnitude, or sublime for their wildness; but there is a varied succession of rich and picturesque scenery, and as the traveller glides down the river, he may imagine himself traversing a fairyland. The vineyards thickly clothe in successive tiers the sides of the hills; every height is crested with some fantastic ruin; and in every nook is seated some rural village or fortified town. History lends her aid to throw a charm over the scene, as she testifies of the deeds of fame heretofore enacted on these spots; and imagination can almost repeople them with the fierce warriors that once here struggled for booty or for fame. It was a lovely morning when I set out on my excursion. I strolled along the river-bank till I came just opposite to Rüdesheim, with its three old castles. Then I climbed the pretty hill which is crowned by the white chapel of St. Roch, glistening in the bright sun. It was St. Roch's day, and multitudes of pilgrims were assembling to pay their vows there. But it was too melancholy a spectacle to contemplate their superstitious ceremonies; and therefore I cast only a hasty glance upon the magnificent Rhine laving the square tower of Bishop Hatto, and rushing over the rocks which stud its bed at the base of the castle of Ehrenfels, and then I resolved to explore the valley of the Nahe. I followed for a long time the course of this stream, and after traversing a considerable extent of country, I came to a small town, where I purposed to remain all night. Here the master of the inn informed me that there was a countryman of mine lying at the point of death. He was in, he said, a lodging close by; and his situation, as he appeared to have no friends, had excited some notice in the place; for his illness was brought on by an accidental fall while exploring a neighbouring ruined castle. This account was quite enough to awaken my sympathy; and therefore, sending in a message with my name and profession, I intimated that, if not disagreeable, I would visit the invalid that evening. The reply was a hearty expression of thankfulness and pleasure. Accordingly I proceeded to the lodging pointed out to me; and on entering the sick-room was astonished to recognise, stretched upon the bed, Mr.

I was yet more surprised to perceive an animated smile light up his faded features, and to see him eagerly stretch forth his hand to welcome me. "Do you then recollect me?" he said in a faltering voice; "if you do, you will perhaps wonder to hear me say that you, of all other persons, I have most wished to see." He added, "You cannot have forgotten the service you conducted some years back at When I remind you that I was there, and assure you that that service left an impression on my mind which

has never been effaced, you will easily comprehend the delight I feel in your visit." This was indeed a delightful assurance to me; and though unwilling to press the invalid beyond his strength, I could not help begging him to give me some further account of the change which appeared to have been wrought in him.

His narrative was simple and consistent. He had strolled into the hotel on the occasion alluded to from an undefined curiosity; he had left it feeling merely that he had listened to the specious argument of a partisan. But in his solitary moments the truths then stated came again and again to his thoughts. The sure consolation of the Gospel in a dying hour had been dwelt on, when worldly supports must fail; and he could not help reflecting, that if such a steady hope were really to be found, it was well worth securing. And then by degrees a doubt occurred to him whether he had examined with sufficient care the claims of revelation. He had imagined that he had detected inconsistencies in the Bible, enough to overthrow its authority. But had he not adopted this notion too rashly? and might there not be stronger proofs, which he had not properly and fully weighed ? He had leisure enough: he would therefore employ it in the inquiry. Accordingly he procured a Bible, and began carefully to peruse it. In this perusal he was affected with a majesty he had never before perceived in it; he was convinced that its descriptions of the corruption of the world were true. He admired the remedy proposed in it for the moral wretchedness of man. And when he considered the character of Christ, his meekness under suffering, the sublime tone of his instructions, his fulfilment of the things predicted of him, he came to the conclusion of the Roman officer, "Truly this man was the Son of God." He sought in earnest prayer the guidance of God's Holy Spirit, and endeavoured to become more and more acquainted with what he now felt to be the great power of God unto salvation. But it was long before he arrived at any peace and joy in believing. His conscience, once awakened, terribly condemned his past transgressions, and for a while he was tormented with the apprehension that he had committed the unpardonable sin. It was not, therefore, till after much bondage of spirit, that he was brought into the glorious liberty of the sons of God. But as he contemplated the finished work of Christ upon the cross, he began gradually to perceive that it must be commensurate with the whole extent of human guilt. He discovered, therefore, that there was no bar to his reconciliation with the Father, and adoption into God's family. He perceived that an open door was before him, which no man could shut. He approached the Saviour with a simple faith in the promises of the Gospel; he found acceptance and salvation, and that kingdom of God which is righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost was set up in his heart. And now his study became to live to the glory of Him whom he had formerly disowned; and ever since, in a meek, unostentatious manner, he had been endeavouring to lead a life of holy devotedness and active zeal. His health having declined, he was advised to make an excursion for change of air and scene; and it was in the course of this journey that he had met with the accident referred to. This, the breaking of a rib, had aggravated all

the symptoms of his disease, and he had lain for a month where I found him, gradually but surely sinking beneath the ravages of consumption. But as the outward man decayed, the inward man was day by day renewed, and he was calmly expecting with blessed hope the hour when, absent from the body, he should be present with the Lord,

It may easily be supposed that I did not gain all these particulars at one interview: his weakness permitted him to say little at a time; and his unaffected humility caused me to infer, rather than to learn from his lips, the advances he had made in vital godliness. It will also be anticipated that I did not leave him to the care of strangers. I felt it a duty, and I am sure it was a gratification, to tend the few failing hours of his life. I have never witnessed a frame of mind more contrite; I never saw a childlike trust in the Saviour more beautifully exemplified; I never had a surer hope that the once-dead soul was quickened into spiritual life. One afternoon, as I sat by his bedside, he asked me, "Do you remember our first interview? You were watching a solitary vessel, trying in vain to stem the opposition of a stormy sea. I know not how it was," he added, "but a thought came then powerfully across my mind, that I resembled that wavetossed bark. And, indeed, it was so; for I was a lonely being, cast off equally by God and man—a living exemplification of the Scripture declaration, that there is no peace to the wicked; they are like the troubled sea, whose waters cast up mire and dirt.' Even in the time of my worldly prosperity I was a miserable man, the prey of disquieting apprehensions. The pleasures I sought after never satisfied me; and I constantly felt an aching void in my soul, which neither rank nor riches could fill up." Then, halfraising himself in his bed, he cried, with unwonted energy, O, carry forth the testimony of one who speaks from experience-a testimony from my grave, that to seek happiness in the world is to seek the living among the dead, to spend money for that which is not bread, and labour for that which satisfieth not." He paused, exhausted by his earnestness, and in a few moments continued: "But I obtained mercy. I was driving a desolate wreck upon the billows; and He hath brought me into the haven, where my soul would be. How can I worthily praise him for it?"

"

He had long been anxious, as far as his means would allow, to make reparation to those whose just claims upon him were unpaid; and he gave me some directions how I might best fulfil his wishes. "I know," he said, "that God has, for Christ's sake, forgiven me my sins; but I desire, if possible, to undo some of the evil I have done; I desire at least to shew my hatred of injustice." And the greatest sorrow that he felt was, because his power herein fell short of his wishes.

The closing scene was near. I watched him one afternoon as he slept a quiet sleep. After a time he awoke, and I perceived a marked change in his features. "All is well," he softly said; "the everlasting arms are beneath me." Then turning to me, he uttered a few faltering words: "God repay to you your love to me. I trust to be in the eternal world one part of your joy and crown." He lay silent a few moments, and then breathed forth his humble aspira

THE PREDISPOSING CAUSES AND SYMPTOMS OF RELAPSE IN RELIGION.*

A DECLINE in religion may be sometimes traced to incorrect notions formed of the spiritual life. Some, it is believed, look for sensible evidences of the Divine favour. This is not unfrequently the case with young Christians; their language is not unlike Philip's, who said, "Lord, shew us the Father, and it sufficeth us" (John, xiv. 8). They expect unprecedented enjoyment in prayer, and perhaps look for miraculous answers; they forget, in fact, that the new life upon which they have entered is not a life of sense, or of sensible evidence, but a life of faith. They forget that it is their part to believe the promises of God, even though they see no prospect of their fulfilment; that they must wait upon God, even when he makes as though he heareth not; and that they must be content to forego the manifestations of his love, whenever he chooses to withdraw them. It is the Christian's part to hope and believe; but hope implies that the object of his wishes is not in sight: "for what a man seeth, why doth he yet hope for?" His belief, too, implies that there is not at present any perceptible substance or reality in heavenly things, but what they derive from the strength and energy of his faith; "faith being the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of things not seen." Now some persons, on making these discoveries, renounce their religious profession, or become careless about it. This disappointment, we think, is no unfruitful source of relapses from the spiritual

course.

Others, again, expect that there will be a freedom from all spiritual conflict. They enter on their Christian course with a determination to destroy every sin, not doubting that in time inbred sin will be destroyed; but sin still survives all their efforts to annihilate itthey still feel that "the flesh lusteth against the spirit, as well as the spirit against the flesh." Perhaps, after a time, they become disheartened; since their efforts are not wholly successful, they will cease to make any efforts at all; when they ought to console themselves as Paul did, "so then it is no more I that do it, but sin that dwelleth in me" (Rom. vii. 17), they foolishly give up the contest-they shrink from their posts in the day of battle-they allow their spiritual enemies to subdue them. It is thus that the perversity of our fallen nature shews itself; because these persons cannot do every thing, therefore they will do nothing. This carelessness of walk will soon plunge them into

From "The Backslider's Manual." By the Rev. James Whytt, M.A., curate of St. Peter's, Colchester. Colchester, J. Taylor; London, Hatchards, &c. This is a very excellent little work, from the perusal of which much important encou ragement and spiritual improvement may be obtained. subject of backsliding is handled in an experimental manner.

The

some grievous sin, from which they will not easily recover their footing. It appears, then, that the difficulty of overcoming sin is often a reason for persons yielding to its influence.

But there is sometimes yet another incorrect notion formed of the spiritual life; namely, that it is secure from sorrow and affliction. This idea determines some to profess themselves Christians. They begin the heavenly course with joy and alacrity; and while the sun shines upon them, they are pleased and gratified: but when, as our Saviour says, "tribulation or persecution ariseth because of the word, immediately they are offended:" they are, in fact, the stony-ground hearers. They have formed incorrect notions of the Christian course; they suppose that it is all peace, and joy, and satisfaction; they forget, in fact, the unerring word of Scripture, that "through much tribulation we must enter the kingdom." When, therefore, they find that religion does not exempt them from the ordinary trials and afflictions of life, and that, so far from doing this, it not unfrequently brings upon them trials and troubles peculiar to itself, they hastily give up the spiritual life in disgust, as being so very different from what they had fondly anticipated. Here, then, may be traced a cause, by no means uncommon, of declines or relapses from religion. How necessary, then, is it to receive proper impressions of the spiritual life in the first instance, as it would save so much chagrin and disappointment to the professor himself, and avert so much discredit from the sacred cause in the eyes of a scoffing and ungodly world! How necessary to remember our Saviour's admonition (Matt. xvi. 24), "If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me!"

But there are many causes tending to produce a relapse, which are unconnected with the era of conversion, or any incorrect notions formed immediately of the spiritual life. I may mention gradual entanglement in the snares or cares of life. The youthful convert is of course in danger from the snares of life,-by which I mean the pleasures, allurements, and temptations of this present evil world. Alas, how many has a love of sensual pleasure seduced from the stedfastness of their Christian walk! The ancient moralists would allow no young men to become their hearers or disciples, fearing that, at that early age, the love of pleasure would break through all moral restraints. Now, though the Saviour is willing to take by the hand the youngest disciple that comes to him, yet it cannot be denied, that many of his professed followers among the young have been drawn away from him "by the corruption that is in the world through lust." St. Paul's epistles to Timothy are peculiarly worthy the study of young men, as it respects the warnings which he gives him against these fatal fascinations. This love of pleasure, however, never reigns in the heart of any growing Christian, even though he may be young in years; and if it be allowed to seize hold of the affections, there is undeniable evidence of a decline from the good ways of God; and the professor becomes, as the result, "a lover of pleasure more than a lover of God." How wise, and how worthy of universal imitation, was the conduct of Moses," in choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God, than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season!" But not only the snares, but the cares of life are a predisposing cause of a decline in religion. There is probably no situation without its trials; but it is undeniable, that those who are contented with a little, are more secure from them than the covetous and ambitious. If the Christian, having food and raiment, and a convenient habitation, would therewith be content, what heartaches and what heartburnings might he frequently escape! "But they that will be rich fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and perdition." How much better to have a mode

rate competence, and a soul in a state of prosperity, than to have a larger share of worldly opulence, but to be retrograding in the divine life-to be, in fact,

thorny-ground hearers!" The cares of life as frequently produce a decline in religion as do its snares, and perhaps more so, as their approach is more gradual and imperceptible, and the boundary-lines between right and wrong are less clearly defined. How many, alas, have now degenerated into cold, worldly, time-serving professors, who were once running with alacrity the heavenly race, and were remarkable for their simplicity and godly sincerity! "No man can serve two masters," is declared by our Lord himself; but if, notwithstanding, we think to serve God and mammon at the same time, the result will be, that we shall leave off serving God, and we shall wholly serve mammon. The cares, then, of this life, and especially those which we make for our own shoulders, from our great desire of growing rich or exalted, are a most common cause in producing a relapse or decline from the good ways of God.

But another predisposing cause of a decline is the want of spiritual companions, and the curse of worldly and ungodly society. It would be gratifying to see Christians as anxious to secure the blessing of Christian society, as the world is to meet with gay and genteel company. Our characters and habits will take a very distinct hue from our friends and associates; we cannot be very dissimilar in our principles or practices from those with whom we constantly mix, especially if this intimacy be a matter, not of necessity, but of choice. In fact, Solomon says, "He that walketh with wise men shall be wise; but a companion of fools shall be destroyed" (Prov. xiii. 20). It is important that the Christian, and especially the young Christian, should have religious companions-friends who are making the same journey with himself, - who are coming out from the same ungodly world, and "seeking a better country, that is an heavenly." It is desirable, that those who fear the Lord should speak often one to another;" should speak words of exhortation, comfort, and advice. No Christian is so advanced, but that Christian society is an advantage and a blessing to him; in fact, the more spiritual any Christian is, the more irksome will he find any but Christian society. If, then, Christian society be a blessing, the want of it must be a proportionate loss. How often does a Christian grow cold and torpid by himself, whose heart might be kindled into Christian love and Christian zeal, by the inspiring example and fellowship of others! And if a Christian is not merely deprived of the benefit of Christian society, but is also brought into daily contact with men of the world, with those who love not the Lord Jesus, what is to be expected, but that his own love will wax cold, being chilled down by his constant intercourse with the children of darkness? How many have sacrificed their spiritual good on the altar of worldly prosperity, and have settled down in a neighbourhood, where indeed there may have been opportunities of making a fortune, but few or none of increasing in heavenly wisdom! A want of religious society, and constant intercourse with the world, has, in numberless cases, produced in the hearts of professing Christians a decline from the good ways of God.

A too eager engagement in political disputes may be considered another very frequent cause of decline in the present day. It is natural, proper, and commendable in the Christian to feel a warm interest in the happiness and prosperity of his country; and it is perhaps equally natural in him to wish for the adoption of such measures as he may conceive to be most expedient and beneficial. While such views will of course influence him in giving his vote, if he have this privilege, he will commit all the affairs of his country to the good and kind providence of God, and will not feel any undue anxiety respecting any mea

sures, or the issue of any measures, which may be adopted in parliament. This, as it appears to the writer, is all, or nearly all, which the private Christian has to do with the affairs of state. But it is to be feared that some Christians at least have not been content with this. They have forgot the privacy of their own station in life; they have been led away by the vain janglings of factious and designing demagogues; they have lost sight of the fact, that, after all, they are perhaps but ill qualified to judge of the measures of government, much less to propose and suggest new measures, or to decide on the alteration of those at present in force; they have further forgot all the privileges, advantages, and blessings, which they so freely enjoy in a government so mild and paternal as our own, and are impatient of those few trifling disadvantages or disabilities under which they fancy themselves to labour; they have failed to see that the removal of such disadvantages would be a general injury to the country at large, and might open the door to evils of much greater magnitude. It is to

be feared, then, that not a few professing Christians, by engaging in politics to an extent which by no means belonged to them, by doing so with an asperity which was as little calculated to promote the views of their own party, as it was to ripen in their hearts the graces of the Spirit, have in fact lost their religion, and all their religious feelings, in the din of political disputes. How many professors, alas, have pledged to the health and prosperity of their sect or party, in a cup which has proved a deadly poison to their souls! Their piety, their devotedness, their spirituality, their love of God's people, have all alike been sacrificed on the altar of political debate; and they have shewn themselves to be utterly devoid of " the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which in the sight of God is of great price." Let such persons recall to mind, that nothing can compensate for the loss or decline of personal piety; that nothing can support them in the hour of death, but a bright and cheering hope of God's mercy; and that none are so likely to have this hope, full of immortality, as those who commit every thing to the care of God, and wait on him in the discharge of their daily duties, with all humility and lowliness of mind.

The neglect of secret prayer, or the lifeless performance of this duty, may be considered both as a cause and a symptom of a backsliding state. Where this blessed habit is observed, and realised as a privilege of first-rate value, it is impossible for the Christian to be in a declining state; prayer is the greatest bulwark of the soul. There is no trouble, affliction, or temptation, which will not be disarmed of its sting by being brought to a throne of grace. Nay, it is here that troubles and afflictions, by a divine alchymy, are changed into blessings; and temptations themselves, however distressing, become bright illustrations of the purity and strength of the believer's faith. When the pure flame of devotion burns brightly on the altar of the affections, then nothing can do any serious harm; but when the believer neglects his closet-when it is not regularly frequented, but only visited now and then at intervals, and when devotion is considered chiefly in the light of a duty and a task, and as a weariness which he rejoices to have over,-then it is no wonder if the Christian decline from the ways of God. He has, in fact, already declined so much, that a further decline, though it may occasion regret, can scarcely excite surprise. Peter had not been in his closet just before he denied his Master; he had not been seeking Divine strength against the hour of trial; but he imagined he had so much inherent strength, that prayer was unnecessary. He said, "Though I die with thee, yet will I not deny thee." Had he prayed for strength, he would doubtless have been fortified against the day of trial. The backslider is not a man of prayer; he has no pleasure and no delight in the exercise, and

it is one in which he seldom engages. This, then, may be considered a principal cause of a decline in religion; namely, neglect of secret prayer, or a cold, formal, and unfrequent performance of this sacred, this edifying duty.

A comparative neglect of God's word, written and preached, may be considered as a predisposing cause and symptom of a relapse.. The Christian should read a portion of God's word every day. This word is a lamp unto our feet, and a light unto our path; and if we would not walk in the darkness of sin, we must use and follow its Divine guidance. David says, "Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way? Even by ruling himself after thy word" (Ps. cxix. 9). David also says, "Thy word have I hid within my heart, that I might not sin against thee." St. Paul also, in referring to the glorious promises of the Gospel, mentions their purifying nature, "Having, therefore, these promises, dearly beloved, let us cleanse ourselves from all filthiness of the flesh and spirit, perfecting holiness in the fear of God" (2 Cor. vii. 1). Neglect of the written word will probably issue in our wandering out of the right way. The professor that can find little pleasure in the Bible, or that cannot find more pleasure in it than in any other study, is unquestionably in a declining state.

But neglect of the preached word is no uncommon cause of a religious decline. The preached word is the means ordained of God to awaken the careless, to reclaim the relapsed, and to feed and nourish the faithful; he, therefore, who neglects this Divine appointment, is depriving himself of spiritual strength, and is exposing himself to a further fall. A decline, too, in religion is frequently marked by a morbid curiosity to hear different preachers-to prefer also not the most solid, experimental, and practical, but the most doctrinal and the most showy preaching,-where, for instance, the privileges of believers are much insisted upon, while due prominence is not given to their duties and practices; or again, where the hearer is amused by the originality of conception, the beauty of language, or the gracefulness of delivery. Undue attention to all these minor points marks a wandering state of the religious affections, proves a decline already begun, and assists in increasing and extending this decline.

A comparative neglect of the Sabbath is a predisposing cause and symptom of a decline in religion. It is to be regretted that the sanctity of the Sabbath is not sufficiently regarded even among Christians. There is, however, a great difference among many in this respect; but we may, without fear of mistake, pronounce those Christians the most spiritual who pay the greatest regard to its sanctity. Light and trifling conversation, or conversation on subjects foreign from religion, which would be harmless on another day, are criminal on this. The backslider may be generally marked by the levity of his mind on the Sabbath. In fact, it is in this way he succeeds in banishing from his mind those thoughts about his own state and character before God, which would otherwise occasion him much pain and uneasiness by their

unwelcome intrusion. But how foolish is this conduct! He is like a man in trade, whose affairs are becoming involved; but instead of endeavouring to rectify or retrieve them by a little present application and self-denial, he braves it out with a smiling face, though he knows the evil day must come, when his accounts will be called for, and that it will only be worse for him the longer it is delayed.

Neglect of the holy communion is the last predisposing cause and symptom which I shall mention of a decline in religion. This ordinance was especially intended by our blessed Saviour to impart spiritual strength to his people; in fact, it is here that he gives his flesh to be meat indeed, and his blood to be drink indeed." Here the humble penitent is encou

raged to cast down his burden, and with the eye of faith to behold "the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world." Here the poor in spirit, the sorrowful, the oppressed, the trembling, and the disconsolate, may all find balm, and consolation, and support, to heal their respective sicknesses; and here the faithful may find "meat to eat which the world knows not of," and in "the strength of which they may go many days." How plain, then, that he who absents himself from this sacred feast is robbing and injuring his own soul-is forfeiting that strength and support which he might here acquire, -and is losing the pleasure both of communion with his Master, and communion with the members of Christ's mystical body. Surely it is not uncharitable to suppose, that the Christian who has no wish to commemorate the dying love of Jesus, to confess his sins to Almighty God, and to obtain Divine forgiveness, must already be in a declining state. This neglect, too, of the communion is not only a proof or symptom of a relapse, but it will be the cause of a still further relapse. As the body cannot live and thrive without food, neither can the spiritual life be maintained without the most precious food of the body and blood of our Saviour Christ. Let no Christian, then, imagine he can desert the Lord's table with impunity. If this omission become a habit, then indeed some worldly lust has entered the heart; and it has become "corrupted from the simplicity that is in Christ."

DOMESTIC RELIGION:
A Sermon,

BY THE REV. C. R. MUSTON, M.A.
Curate of St. John's Chapel, Chelmsford.
2 SAM. vi. 20.

"Then David returned to bless his household." In the verses connected with these words the royal Psalmist is presented before us as alike the devout monarch and the father of his people. We are furnished with an account of the circumstances attending the conveyance of the ark from the house of Obededom to the city of Jerusalem. The ark was

the mysterious symbol of the Divine presence, and the pledge of mercy to the Jewish people. It was, therefore, conducted with much solemnity, pomp, and joy, to the place which it was permanently to occupy. At the close of this ceremony, David, we are informed, "offered burnt-offerings and peace-offerings before the Lord;" after which, the people, having received from his lips the words of benediction, and from his hands the provisions of royal bounty, "departed every one to his house." But to shew that the king of Israel was not attentive to the duties of his public station merely, and to hold him up as a striking example of domestic religion, we are further informed, that "he returned to bless his household."

These words seem to intimate, what at all events is certain from other accounts of this great and good man, that domestic devotion was his habitual practice. With him religion was not an affair restricted to times and places; but it was a hallowed habit, which