their obligations to the riches of Divine grace more clearly than they do now. This will be a day of great joy. The saints will see the Redeemer in their midst; they will all be like Him, and be for ever free from evil, and in the enjoyment of unutterable good. The congregation on the last day will be vast, glorious, harmonious, spotless, happy. Will you be of the number? Then you must be a saint in this world, you must praise God here, you must now sing the new song. H. H.

THE LOVE OF CHRIST. FROM the moment the Saviour undertook the work of redemption, His heart was set on its accomplishment with unextinguishable ardour. For four thousand years before He appeared in our world, love to sinners burned in His bosom with a quenchless flame. This is a part of that great mystery of godliness, into which angels desire to look, and which, with all their mighty intellects, they are unable fully to comprehend. That the Saviour should love His Father is not to be wondered at; that He should love Himself is not a matter of surprise; that He should love the pure spirits around His throne is in perfect harmony with the essential features of His nature; but that He should love unto death, even the death of the cross, a world of entirely depraved sinners, who were rebels against His throne, may well excite our admiration. It was love to sinners which constrained Jesus to fold and lay aside the vestments of His glory, to leave His crown and sceptre and regal

authority at His Father's right hand, and appear in our world in the form of a servant. It was love to sinners, which shone in His features, and beat in His bosom with the first pulsations of life, as He lay a helpless infant in the manger. It was love to sinners which carried Him through the streets of Jerusalem, administering life and health and comfort to the diseased and the dying. It was love to sinners which enabled Him to bear so meekly, and without a murmur, His agony in the garden, the treachery of a disciple, the false and bitter accusations of priests and scribes, their contemptuous spitting, smiting and mockery, the derision of Herod and his men of war, the unjust condemnation and cruel scourging of Pilate, the insulting crown of thorns, and the provoking, hypocritical worship of His malignant persecutors. It was love to sinners which summoned His powers to bear His cross to the place of execution, and then consent to be nailed to it by His merciless oppressors. Oh! it was dying love to sinners, which heaven could not contain, nor earth comprehend, that enabled Him to sustain the unutterable pressure of a world's iniquities, until He bowed His head in death and gave up the ghost. This is dying love, at which the sun hid his face in midnight, the earth quaked, the rocks rent, the graves were opened, and darkness covered the land at noon-day. Oh! dear reader, I am speaking to you of the dying love of Jesus, and can you not feel? It put out the sun, and can you gaze upon it without emotion? It shook the earth to its centre, and

will not your spirit tremble and bow before it? It rent asunder the flinty rocks of Judea, and will not your heart yield to its mighty power? It waked the dead, and will not you receive from it the impulses of spiritual life? It covered the land with mourning, and have you no tears of contrition to shed, no heart to mourn for those sins, which crucified the Son of God? Look upon Jesus in His agony. What kindness, what sympathy, what melting tenderness are here! The Son of God in tears, in death! Here is love, that moves and melts the soul; love that wept and bled, and

died to save the lost. Here is love, that invites the guilty. "Look unto me, and be ye saved." Here is love. that expostulates with the wandering. "Behold my hands and my feet." "Turn ye, for why will ye die?" Here is love, that heals the wounded, pouring in the oil and the wine, and binding up the broken in heart. Here is love, that proclaims liberty to the captive, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound.

The Convert's Corner.

PROTESTANT England has just been disgraced by the following exhibition of folly and impiety, which is adapted to the meridian of Spain or Italy, rather than to Great Britain :—

"Oh! for such love let rocks and hills

Their lasting silence break, And all harmonious human tongues The Saviour's praises speak."


There was a very large attendance at the Catholic Chapel, Upper St. James's-street, on Monday night,and the attendance, we regret to say, included some of the first Protestant families in the town,-to witness one of the most deceptive ceremonies connected with the Roman Romish Church, the taking of the veil, or "habit of religion," as it is technically termed, by two young ladies, who had already passed through a kind of novitiate as Sisters of Mercy.

The ceremony was conducted after this wise. The congregation on assembling found the church lighted, -candles blazing before the images of Virgin and Child; but the altar, though richly decorated with flowers, was in solemn gloom. This was hardly relieved when, as the com

mencement, six of the loftier tapers were lit up. At the same moment the organ burst forth in a solemn voluntary by Hiles, and the curiosity of the congregation was gratified by the first appearance of the chief actors in the impressive scene. A door on the left of the altar opened, and thence issued a procession such as is familiar to the eye in pictures of religious ceremonies on the Continent. It consisted of sisters, some wearing black and others white veils -some being, in fact, nuns and others novices-and each bearing the indispensable lighted taper. First walked one bearing a gilded cross; then followed the postulants,-those about to take the veil,-who were in full bridal costume, with wreaths, lace veils, white muslin dresses, white kid gloves, and other accessories. About a dozen sisters brought up the train; first the novices, then the professed, and last the superioress. On reaching the altar, all were admitted within the rails, and knelt in one long line for about a

quarter of an hour, while the hymn, 40 Gloriosa Virginum," was sung by the choir,-which, we may observe, was augmented on this occasion.

There was a considerable pause, after which, enter the titular Bishop of Southwark, the very Reverend Dr. Grant, wearing his mitre and richly embroidered robes, and accompanied by the Rev. Canon Reardon, and the Rev. Canon Rymer. Then the service commences with prayer: two wax candles are next blessed, and laid upon the altar, while Christ is impiously asked to "infuse into them, by virtue of thy holy cross, thy heavenly benediction." So that, "in whatsoever place they shall be lighted or placed, the princes of darkness, with all their powers, may depart, and tremble, and fly." Incense is then put into the thurible and blessed; the candles are sprinkled with holy water and incense, and are afterwards presented lighted to the postulants.


Having received the candles, the postulants knelt, holding them lighted in their hands. Then the bishop, being seated with much ceremony before the altar facing the congregation, and looking down at the postulants at his feet, delivered a short and very unpretending sermon. It commenced with an allusion to the remark of Christ to His mother, who found Him after three days sitting in the Temple," Why were ye seeking me? Did ye not know that I was about my Father's business?" From this we were to understand, that dear to us as may be the ties of home and families and friends, there are often duties which call us away from them; some to undertake perilous voyages and journeys, some to engage in war, some to watch over the sick and the afflicted, some to educate the children of the poor. These latter purposes especially appertain to the Order of Mercy. "It is to exercise this kind of charity," he continued, addressing the postulants, that "you have come here to-night,-come to seek and to say that you desire to begin the work of preparation, that,

in God's appointed time, you may be allowed to devote the whole of your lives to the care of the sick. And ought we not to rejoice that God has given you this desire? Ought we not to feel that God is kind and considerate towards us, since He inspires not only themselves (the postulants) to give not only their alms-which they have this day given so abundantly, but also the spirit and the ability to administer to the poor and the sick in their trouble, and to save the souls of their children? In conclusion, the bishop called upon the Virgin Mary, St. Joseph, St. Clare, and other saints, to pray for the postulants, that they may be worthy of their work, and never be found wanting in their duty of seeking the salvation of the poor and the salvation of their own souls, and for these duties they will receive the fulfilment of the promise-future happiness-life everlasting..

As the bishop concluded this address, one of the postulants was conducted to his feet, where she knelt while this dialogue took place in English

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The same ceremony was gone through with the other postulant; and both, accompanied by the superioress and assistant, then quitted the altar, and disappeared through the door-way from whence they had originally emerged. At this point the choir burst forth in the 113th Psalm, "In exitu Israel." The ceremony of blessing and sprinkling the habits (each neatly folded in a small basket) then took place; after which they were carried off by the sacristan. The veil was next blessed in like manner; and by this time the postulants, now novices, had assumed the habit, and were re-conducted into the chapel. Their reappearance was a point of superstitious interest, all eyes being fixed upon them. Hideous as is the costume,-a black dress, with a white veil over the head, they looked interesting. Their names have been given as Miss McMally and Miss Mothram, both of London.

As they approached the altar, the following antiphon was sung:

"Who is she that cometh up from the desert, flowing with delights, leaning upon her beloved? Thou art all fair, my beautiful. Come, my spouse, from Libanus; come, thou shalt be crowned."

The novices were next invested with the cincture by the superioress. The assistant then took off the veil which the novices already wore, and the bishop, putting the blessed white veil on their heads, said, "Receive the white veil, the emblem of inward purity, that thou mayest follow the

FAITH ILLUSTRATED.-Could any mature Christian give a truer idea of justification by faith than is in the following reply of a little child?

In "Kind Words for Children," Newcomb says: I remember talking with a very little girl, to whom I put the question, "Are you a sinner ?" She promptly replied, "No, Sir." But," said I, "have you never done anything that was wrong?" "O yes," she replied; "great many times."


Lamb without spot, and mayest walk with Him in white, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

The investiture with the cloak followed, and both novices were then sprinkled with holy water.

The choir here commenced the "Regnum mundi," and the novices sang the words, "My heart hath uttered a good word: I speak my words to the king." They were rather tremulous at first, but in time their voices gained strength, and they were distinctly heard throughout the chapel. At the close, both fell prostrate, their heads resting on the altar-steps, while the choir sang the hymn, "Veni Creator." After prayer, the novices were again sprinkled with holy water, and assisted to rise. They were then led to the superioress, to whom they knelt, and, rising, were embraced. Both novices then proceeded to bow to, and embrace the entire religious. At the same time the choir burst forth in "Ecce quam bonum" (Psalm cxxxii.), and this virtually ended the ceremony of the reception. The benediction was, as usual, given after the ceremony. This is a service which is performed every Sunday after Vespers, and on Wednesdays. It consists in the congregation asking and receiving a blessing. The music performed in this was the customary "O Salutaris, the Litany of the Blessed Virgin," "Tantum ergo," and "Laudate Dominum." It concluded with the elevation of the host.




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The Counsel Chamber.


""TIs well to walk with a cheerful heart, Wherever our fortunes call, With a friendly glance and an open hand,

And a gentle word for all.

"Since life is a thorny and difficult path,

Where toil is the portion of man, We all should endeavour, while passing along,

To make it as smooth as we can." There is no assertion of Scripture more strongly corroborated by experience and observation than this: "A man who would have friends must show himself friendly." As much as to say-Would you act on the self-interest principle of securing the friendship of others, for its own sake, there's no surer way of accomplishing your object than by cultivating a friendly disposition, by cherishing and manifesting an affectionate interest in the welfare of all. That little girl, mentioned by Dr.Doddridge, understood something of human nature, who, when asked why everybody loved her, artlessly replied, "I suppose because I love everybody."

There is much of true philosophy in Tupper's "Proverbial Sayings;" for instance, the following: "Those hours are not lost which are

spent in cementing affection. There be some who never had a friend because they be gross and selfish : But one that meriteth esteem need never lack a friend."

God, our heavenly Father, is the most friendly being in all the universe. His friendship extends to

each and every creature of His make. The best friend is He that even the wicked have. He's

"The sinner's friend, But sin's eternal foe."

The works of Creation, the indications of Providence, and the pages of Inspiration are full of evidences of His unbounded friendliness to the children of men. While His Son Jesus, our Saviour, has proved Himself to be a "Friend who sticketh closer than a brother," shall we not square our lives by the heavenly pattern, the Divine model, and warm our hearts by a contact with such celestial fires as burn in the bosom of the Infinite?

Religion itself is the highest order of friendship. Abraham was the friend of God. He who is a friend will never want a friend.


WOMAN WITHOUT RELIGION. A MAN without religion is at best a poor reprobate - the football of destiny, with no tie linking him to infinity and the wondrous eternity that is before him. But a woman that is without it is even worse-a flame without heat, a flower without perfume. A man may, in some sort, tie his frail hope and honours with weak and shifting ground, and tackle to his business of the world; but the woman without that anchor which they call faith, is a drift and a wreck. A man may clumsily continue a kind of responsibility or

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