tion and the credulity of an ignorant | people. It is worthy of the darkest days of Mohammedanism.

66

66

Arriving at the Church of St. Augustine," she says, we ascended a long, narrow pair of dark stairs, and found ourselves looking directly down into the body of the edifice. The scene was curious. About 150 men were assembled in the body of the Church, enveloped in cloaks, with their faces entirely concealed. The church was dimly lighted, except where a monk stood, with his gray robes, and cowl thrown back. His discourse was rude, but eloquently descriptive of the torments of hell prepared for impenitent sinners. The effect was solemn. It appeared like the preparation for executing a multitude of condemned sinners. When the discourse was finished, they all united in prayer, beating their breasts and falling upon their faces. The monk then read several passages of Scripture, descriptive of the sufferings of Christ. Loud music from the organ succeeded, when suddenly the church was filled with profound darkness, except a sculptured representation of the crucifixion, which seemed suspended in the air illuminated! Gladly would I have left the church, but the darkness prevented. Then a terrible voice in the dark cried, My brother! when Christ was fastened to the pillar he was scourged!" Instantly the figure disappeared-not a

ray of light relieved the total darkness. Suddenly the sound of hundreds of Scourges upon the bare flesh was heard! The sensations I experienced were horrible. Before ten minutes had passed, the sound of splashing became distinct, from the quantity of blood that was flowing. Incredible as it may seem, this awful penance continued without intermission for half an hour!

"The scene was perfectly sickening, and had I not been able to take the hand of my lady companion, I could have fancied myself transported into a congregation of evil spirits. Now and then the voice of the monk could be heard encouraging them, and a suppressed groan would occasionally find utterance. At the end of the half hour a little bell was rung, and they were called to desist. But such was the

enthusiasm that the horrible lashings continued louder and fiercer than ever. The sound of the scourge is indescribable. In vain the monk entreated them to cease, assuring them that heaven would be satisfied, but renewed energy of the scourge was the only reply heard. At length, perfectly exhausted, the sound grew fainter and at last ceased, and glad were we to reach the open air. It is said the church floor is frequently covered with blood after these penances; the scourge is frequently made of iron, with sharp points, which enter the flesh; and it is reported that a man died the other day from his wounds received in the church from the scourge."

"With the consent of the archbishop," this lady says, "I visited the convent of Santa Teresa, with a female friend who has a sister there. There were but three novices and twenty-three nuns present. A young bishop went with us. He was goodlooking, tall, and very splendidly dressed. His robes were of purple satin, covered with fine point lace, with a large cross of diamonds and amethysts. He also wore a cloak of very fine purple cloth, lined with crimson velvet-crimson stockings, and an immense amethyst ring!

66

Among other things, they showed us a crown of thorns, which on certain days is worn by one of their number by way of penance. It is made of iron, so that the nails entering inwards run into the head and make it bleed. While she wears it, a wooden bit is put into her mouth, and she lies prostrate on her face; in this condition her food is given her; she eats as much as she can, which is probably nothing.

"We visited the different cells, and were horror-struck at the self-inflicted tortures. Each bed consists of a wooden plank, raised in the middle, and on the days of penance crossed by wooden bars. Round her waste the nun ocoasionally wears a band with iron points turning inwards. On her breast a cross with nails, having points entering the flesh, is placed, of the truth of which I had melancholy ocular demonstration. Then after having scourged herself with a whip covered with iron nails, she lies down for a few hours on the wooden bars, and rises at four

o'clock. All these instruments of discipline, which each nun keeps beside her bed, look as if their fitting place would be in the dungeons of the Inquisition." It is proper to add that the husband of the author of the work from which the above extracts are taken, was a Romanist, and was herself accustomed to attend that church, and observe its rites and ceremonies. She is an undoubted and unimpeachable witness.

THE CULTIVATION OF THE

ᎻᎬᎪᎡᎢ.

Ir appears to me, that the religion of the present day is too much of a public nature, and that the religion of the heart is not sufficiently cultivated and not so much as it has been at some periods. Far be it from me to suggest, that any one is or can be too actively engaged in the promotion of the cause of Christ; but in the constant call for action, action, which has been made by the various enterprises of the day, we have been led to feel too much as if all religion consisted in action, and thus neglected its chief, and in reality its only main spring, the heart; for there can be no right action, none that is acceptable to God, but that which proceeds from a heart under the actual influence of his grace. We have been too unmindful of the precept, "Keep thy heart with all diligence for out of it are the issues of life;" and, if we have not already done so, we shall ere long be joining in the mournful lamentation of the spouse, They made me the keeper of the vineyards, but mine own have I not kept.'

66

There are many reasons, aside from the tendency of the age, why the cultivation of the heart is neglected. It is a difficult work, To those who have never attempted it, the exercise may appear easy, but there is none harder, as many find to their discouragement in undertaking it. The very abstraction of the thoughts from the world without, and their direction to the world within, in the manner required for the right performance of this duty, is one of the most difficult exercises of the mind. And all the work is difficult to follow the heart through all its forms of sin, to trace out all its changing

365

varieties of iniquity, to detect its deceits, to study the motives that govern the conduct and ascertain their character, to distinguish in its religious exercises between that which is true and that which is false; all this is difficult, but this is not the whole. It calls for humiliation of soul, the mortification of the corruptions of the heart however eloquently they may plead to be spared; it calls for the most fixed and solemn resolutions to live nearer to God; it demands constant watchfulness against sin and constant resistance to temptation, and all this is difficult, exceedingly difficult.

It is a secret work, and for this reason it is neglected. We are too apt, even when we enter with vigour into any and every public enterprise, to shrink from those duties which must be performed in close retirement. Very few are aware how much they are influenced in religious matters by the opinion of others; if the desire of human applause be not a powerful motive, why is it, that we are so strict in attending to those duties which are performed before the world, when we can think lightly of passing by those duties which are performed before God alone? Are any so much afraid of being seen by the eye of God out of their closets at the appropriate seasons, as they are of being seen by their fellow worms out of the sanctuary in the time of public worship.

The cultivation of the heart is necessarily attended with self-abasement and is neglected on this account. Every one naturally desires, not only to be esteemed by his fellow men, but to entertain as good an opinion of himself as he consistently may, and is averse to that which will lower him in his own eyes. But one end of this work is to detect and bring to light all the sins and corruptions of the heart, to spread before the eyes all that is vile and loathsome within; to establish the mortifying and condemning assertions of God's word, and to make one abhor himself. And many fear that they will find their hearts in a desperate or lost condition if they are too rigid in inquiring into their state, and are unwilling to institute the scrutiny, vainly thinking, with the silly bird of the desert who only hides its head from

its pursuers, that shutting their eyes to their danger will be sufficient to avert it.

There are many cogent reasons which urge a diligent and laborious attention to the cultivation of the heart. Our personal salvation depends upon it. It is but another name for attending to the great concern. The heart must be cultivated or the soul will be lost. And every one must attend to the matter himself. It cannot be done by proxy, unless we can enter heaven by proxy, and this no one desires even if it could be.

Our growth in grace depends upon it. Every man's heart is a vineyard, which left to itself, will grow up with rank weeds. These need no cultivation. The heart, just let alone, will produce all manner of wickedness: but the soil is so hard and the plants of grace are so purely exotic, and the atmosphere by which they are surrounded is so uncongenial, that they will never strike down their roots and grow and yield fruit, without care and labour. If any fancy that they have found an easier way to advance in religion: if they suppose that they are progressing when they are devoting no careful attention to their hearts, it is all fancy, a mere delusion, and they will discover it sooner or later. The enemy of souls could desire no better cheat than this, with which to delude the people of God. Nor is there any true heavenly comfort, any real spiritual enjoyment to be found where the cultivation of the heart is neglected. There may be false peace, the natural emotions may be occasionally excited by religious truth, and something that appears like religious joy awakened, but they who can retain it, or even experience it, without attention to this duty, have reason to suspect its nature.

Our permanent usefulness demands it. There is no stable foundation for any extensive usefulness, but such as is laid in the knowledge of one's self and in the subjugation of one's own heart. He who goes forth to combat other evils, while this duty is not attended to, is like the soldier going out to wage war upon a foreign foe while his own country is falling a prey to civil strife. He that would arrest the evil that is in the world, must begin

with himself. He that would do good to others, must begin by doing good to himself. He that would be instrumental in promoting the glory of God, must first glorify him by offering him the homage of a pure heart, and must continue to cultivate that as the vineyard which God has committed to him above all others. He must not end here, but here must he begin, and here must he continue to labour, until God by his grace shall lay the final blow at the root of all his corruption, and translate him to a world where all his toils shall cease. IOTA.

LOOK OUT FOR A ROBBER!

(From the New York Evangelist.) A very daring robbery was committed last Sabbath in one of the churches in New York. The Rev. Mr. preached a capital sermon, and more than five hundred impressions were distributed about in the house. But a large number were stolen almost immediately after coming into possession of the hearers. Others were robbed of theirs before the benediction was pronounced, and others still before they reached home. It is believed that of the large number of the impressions of that sermon, the greater portion have been irrecoverably lost. This is most deeply to be regretted, as the discourse was one of great value, and might have been of greater advantage to the owners if retained, than any other species of property in their possession.

And, what is more strange, there was no commotion made on the occasion. The thief managed the thing so adroitly, that he got clear with his spoils without any "hue and cry" being raised after him. The police, so far as I can find, have had no notice of the robbery, and the papers say nothing about it. Indeed, I have learned that the people robbed, have said nothing to one another about their losses, and it seems doubtful whether many are aware yet of the greatness of their loss.

But I have thought best to make a stir about it, and to put the people upon their guard. I have collected some facts, which I submit for their consideration.

1. The thief is well known. That is a comfort. To be in a quandary about who it was that did us an injury, to be stirring up the depths of one's soul to find out, it is a sorry business. It is worth while to know who the villian is, if we cannot lay hands on him; and so much of comfort there is about the above-named robbery. There is no mistake about the thief, for his name is in print, and a good deal about him in print too. I quote for public information. "When any one heareth the word and understandeth it not, then cometh the Wicked One and catcheth

2. He is an old and notorious thief. That is on record too. He began his career as far back as when there was only a couple of people upon the earth. And it is well ascertained that there has not been a soul in any generation since but has suffered from his villainy. He has got his name up for as big a villain as there is at large.

3. And that he is a cunning villain, is as plain as his notoriety. One that knew him well, more than a thousand years ago, and had suffered much from him, affirmed that "he transformed himself into an angel of light," when necessary to effect his purposes. He had the cunning of a serpent when he began, and every generation of men can testify to the truth of an old record, that he deceiveth the whole world."

66

4. He is a very malignant robber. He rifles people of the very best things in their possession. If he took worldly property only, like some thieves, he might ease some people of their burdens, and be no more than a tolerable villain. But if he sees a man in possession for instance of peace of conscience, or on happy terms with his Maker, or enjoying the pleasure of doing good, or in possession of spiritual blessings of any kind, he will rob him of this kind of comfort if he can. human being shall be happy, in the best sense of that word, if he can despoil him. And the more of a reprobate is he from the fact that he can make no use, for his own good, of those things that he robs people of. Not one of his thefts ever brought him the slightest advantage. And, moreover, while some villains will leave their victims some comforts, this one will

No

367

not leave, if he can succeed in his mischief, a single shred of the robe of righteousness on any man's back, nor a spiritual sixpence of all his riches.

66

5. He is a good deal of a coward too, for so great a villain. That is strange, for one that has had the impudence, and the skill, and the wickedness to injure so many people. Though as "a roaring lion he seeks whom he may devour,' yet I have heard that if you resist him he will flee from you."-Though I have not learned, and therefore I have my doubts as to whether he has any conscience or sense of shame, yet I have known many cases where very weak persons, whom he came to rob, have put on a bold face, and he has no sooner seen them resolute and determined, than he has made off with great precipitation.

6. More about him. He contrives to throw dust in the people's eyes he does rob, most strangely. For while he filches the most precious things in their possession, they either do not seem to be aware of it at all, or are strangely backward to admit the Old Robber has had anything to do with them. It shall be as plain as the noonday that they have been most griev ously robbed by him, but your intimation of such fact, would change the calm to the scowling sky. They robbed? Not they!

7. That this thief is a kidnapper of the worst kind, is all I can further say about him. He has made victims of more people than I can tell of, and he is most desperately determined not to let them go. He has lost a good many, at one time and another, that he greatly triumphed over; and those who have once escaped out of his grasp, annoy him sorely by their efforts to get more victims away, and to prevent his making new captives. He has a bitter grudge against the most active of these.

I have thought it well to give the above account of this famous villain, inasmuch as the robbery, spoken of at the head of this article, seems to have failed of stirring any body else up. People had better look out for him. He will get locked up by and by, and an end will come to his depredations. But that is a good while ahead, and he will drive a desperate game of mischiefmaking while he is at large. PASCAL,

FOUR TOPICS FOR MOTHERS.

1. AN EXAMPLE.

The importunate mother.-The history of the mother whose character and example forms the basis of this sketch, is recorded in Matthew 15th, and Mark 7th. She was a descendent of the ancient Canaanites, who retained the maritime towns along the coast of the Mediterranean, in which the cities of Tyre and Sidon were situated. They were called Syro, or Syrian, because included in the kingdom of Syria. Hence we see the propriety of the terms used by the sacred historian to designate her descent and location. The object of the inspired penman seems to be to show, that this Gentile mother had no possible claim to the privileges of the Jews, and would of all persons, be the least expected to apply to their Messiah, by faith, for succour or salvation.

was

During a long season of painful watching and maternal solicitude over a distressed child, a mother would naturally inquire for some one who had power to dispossess her daughter of her tormentor. It was natural that she should hear of the mighty works of Jesus, the reputed Messiah of the Jews, to whose healing touch brought every human infirmity. She had evidently studied his character, and compared what she knew of the predicted Messiah of the Jews. Her faith was not the effect of sudden or momentary impulse, but a settled rational conviction that Jesus was "Him of whom Moses and the prophets did write."

But how was she to obtain relief from him? how have an opportunity to present the case of her daughter to him? Such would naturally be her painful inquiry, as she kept her daily watch and nightly vigils about her unhappy child, over whom the foul spirit still triumphed with undisputed sway. But he whom "having not seen she loved," knew all the sorrows of her maternal heart, heard her fervent prayer, and just as her knowledge of him was ripening to perfect faith, set out on his errand of mercy to the coasts of Tyre and Sidon. It would

be interesting to trace his divine footsteps on the way, amidst scenes of the most thrilling interest. While he and his disciples had no leisure" 80 much as to eat," he manifested his compassion for those who were as sheep having no shepherd; he taught and fed them; then remained behind his disciples, to send the multitude away; then retiring, not for rest, but to pray for a world yet unredeemed. From this sacred retirement we find him urged away to the succour of his beloved disciples, who were toiling in rowing" against contrary winds and raging waves. He goes to them, walking on the sea, saves a sinking Peter, calms the angry surges and brings them safe to land.

66

On reaching the borders of Tyre and Sidon, Jesus entered into a house, ostensibly for rest and refreshment, and "would that no man should know it." But as well might the sun be curtained, or extinguished in its orbit. He could not be hid. He was emphatically the light of the world. Rumours had already reached the neighbourhood that Jesus of Nazareth was nigh, and multitudes gathered about him. Among the rest came this sorrowing mother. She was first to hail his approach, as "tidings of great joy." As soon as her voice could reach his ear, we hear her cry "Have mercy upon me, O Lord, thou Son of David." Notwithstanding all the disadvantages of her situation, she approached him confident of success, and determined to take no denial. In her request were comprehended all the essential elements of the prayer of faith. It was a prayer of the spirit and of the understanding also, and proved that this Gentile mother was no novice at the throne of grace.

How long she continued her importunate request, while Jesus answered not a word, we are not informed; but we see that she soon wearied out human patience and forbearance, so that the disciples begged their Lord to send her away. Jesus for once pursued a course foreign to the compassion of his nature; but it was just such a course as the Jews would approve, if carried out -- first silent con