fidelity, to be sure, in most men, is a blameable want of confidence in their own spiritual nature-blameable, because they might have increased their Faith in unseen things by contemplation, self-examination, and prayer. If all the world were spiritual and holy, and religious, I do not doubt that they would all be Christians. Still, in the present state of mankind, there are many other causes of infidelity over which a man has no power. Association with Christians whose lives contradict their profession-being educated in a country where the spirit of Christianity is lost in its form-corruptions of scripture doctrines which teach as christianity, absurdities and contradictions which disgust the understanding, or statements which shock all the best moral feelings. These things are a source of a great deal of infidelity; and for infidelity springing from such sources, no man is to be blamed. And it is wholly out of our power to say when Infidelity does become blameable, because we can never distinguish with any certainty in particular cases. God alone can tell the bounds of innocent error and guilty wandering-let us leave it to him to judge.

But though Infidelity is not a thing to be looked upon with horror nor with anger, it is always to be regarded with pity, because it is a great evil. Look at the effects of a belief in Christ in the present world only, and we shall be convinced that firm and rational religious faith is the greatest blessing which can be conferred on a human being. It changes sorrow and pain into joy-guides him steadily through all the perplexities of his earthly way-gives him an object for which to striveunfolds his mind-enlarges his feelings-fills him with constant confidence and peace. He who disbelieves revelation wants all this. His soul wants a support, his life an aim.

We are still to show how it is that a want of faith produces disbelief in Christianity. The great cause of Deism is a reluctance to believe in miracles. These are the difficulties-the stumbling-block to a modern unbeliever. He would rest his argument on the statement of Hume.- "It is more likely that human testimony should be false, than that a miracle should be true." Now this, stated thus generally, is as much as to say, that no testimony could prove a miracle, or that it is impossible that a miracle should ever have taken place; that it is impossible in the nature of things, for the laws of nature ever to have been interrupted. Therefore, God himself could not have interrupted them-hence the unbeliever must think of God not as the author and supporter of the laws of nature, but as himself subject to them. He cannot therefore be considered as supreme. Now what a view this is to take of the most High! and on what grounds

do we suppose these laws of nature to be eternal? Because we have seen no interruption in them during the few short years we have inhabited this planet? Or because we have heard of none except those recorded in the Bible in any other age of the history of the earth. But what are the few thousand years of the life of this world to eternity. That God, as the author of nature, can perform miracles, or cause them to be performed, is certain-that He will do so, if a sufficient occasion and purpose should present itself, is also certain. That such a sufficient purpose is to be found in the communication of those truths which are to purify, exalt, enlighten, animate, and save the soul is believed by the man of Faith; that is, by the man who has accustomed himself to reflect on spiritual things. But he who hardly knows whether he has, or has not a soul-he who thinks the object of life to be the enjoyment of worldly pleasures, he sees no sufficient purpose for miracles, and therefore he will not believe them. A want of Faith, therefore, leads to a disbelief of Christianity, and that is, as I hope I have shown, a great evil.

2. The second evil resulting from a want of faith is Atheism. We have seen already that the principle of Hume by which he denies miracles, leads directly to atheism, since it involves their impossibility, and thus subjects God to the dominion of the laws of nature. In other words it dethrones God, and substitutes a cold, iron, system of laws at the head of the universe. John Neal, in one of his novels, says, that even the testimony of his senses could not convince him of the reality of a miracle. Nothing could convince him of it. Should he see a decaying corpse, from which life had long departed, raised up by a word, and standing and speaking-he would believe it some deception and no miracle. Is it necessary to prove that one who thinks thus is in fact an atheist-that he has no real conception of GoD-that his divinity is in reality a system of laws, and that he knows of no kind Providence, no loving Father, no spiritual Friend. That the principles of modern infidelity lead directly to atheism is proved likewise by facts. Most of the deists of the present time are avowed atheists. This is going a step beyond their masters. Spinoza has been called a pious man-Rousseau was religious in his own way— Hume thought it impossible for any one to deny the existence of God-Voltaire wrote one of the best of his novels to prove his existence from the marks of intelligence in the works of nature-but their followers carrying out their principles, openly deny that there exists in the universe any higher in

telligence than that of man. The infidels of the present day are generally atheists.

Is it necessary, in order to show that Atheism is an evil, to lift the veil which hangs over the grave, dividing Time from Eternity, and show you the wrath of God revealed against the impious blasphemer of his Majesty. Oh no. What sort of a hell may await him who has renounced his God, in the other world, I know not, but I know that this world is a hell to him. He carries his torments with him wherever he goes. He is like a child who has run away from his father's home and finds itself lost in the populous streets of a city, surrounded with strange faces, and seeing people hurrying by who do not see, or are careless, of its tears and terror. There is no one to whom it can appeal, or ask help with confidence. A God is necessary to us in this world of suffering, so necessary, that as Voltaire says, if there was none, we should invent one. The rich, the comfortable, the happy, may live for a time regardless of God-but what shall the poor; the neglected, the forsaken, those who suffer unjustly, those whose hopes are disappointed, whose strength and spirits are broken, what shall these do without a God?

That were a grief I could not bear,

Didst thou not hear and answer prayer-
But a prayer hearing, answering God
Supports me under every load.

The belief in God is "a necessary support to those on whom society imposes hard and heavy burdens, uncheered by any hopes of future fortune, or any of the solaces of self-love." So says the most profound French Philosopher of the day. A world full of atheists! Can we conceive a more horrible idea, than of such a state, where all the bad passions are let loose, freed from all restraints of religion. But such a time can never come. Religion is a natural want of our mind, and human beings can no more get rid of their religion, than of the necessity of eating or sleeping. The harangues of atheists against religion are about as sensible and likely to be as effectual, as if some one should rise up and tell us that it is nothing but an antiquated prejudice which makes us think it necessary to sleep during the night, that it is an injury to us to lose so much of our time from labor and enjoyment-that it is the mechanics who make our beds and bedsteads, who nourish and confirm this notion of the necessity of sleeping, for their own interest. Those who represent religion as a prejudice originated by priests for their own benefit, show as little knowledge of human nature as this. Let no one think to

reason out of man the tendencies which have been stamped upon his mind by the Almighty Father.

3. The last evil which flows from a want of Faith, is the debasing of our nature. It is a confidence in his spiritual relationship, his connexion with something better than dust and stones which gives man all his nobleness, and magnanimity, and greatness of mind. It is the consciousness that he and other men have sometimes high thoughts, and noble feelings, that he has the power of doing sometimes a generous action, it is the belief finally that he is the child of God, made in his image, acted upon by his spirit, and intended by him for immortality, these are the sort of thoughts which produce and strengthen magnanimity of character. Lord Bacon remarks that as a dog, who finds himself supported by a man, has more generosity and courage, because he depends on this nature which is higher and better than his own: so a man who rests and assures himself of divine protection and favor, gathers a force and faith, which human nature in itself could never attain. Is it not certain that a being made up of a soul and body, who wholly neglects to strengthen or improve his soul, and seeks only to gratify the wants of the body, must debase his nature. One of the old poets makes man's principal distinction over the other animals, consist in his having a face which looks up to the stars. But if he does not choose to employ it in such contemplation, but prefers to inspect the earth, he resigns his distinction and prerogative.

I have mentioned what I think to be some of the evils of a want of confident belief and persuasion of the reality of things of the spiritual world-of our soul, of God, of Truth, of Heaven. This confidence grows up by exercise. Accustom yourselves to think of God, to pray to him, to thank him for his goodness, and you will soon have a more real, and deep and living faith in his existence. Look into your own heart, examine your own character and tendencies and powers, and you will obtain a true faith and respect for your own soul and spirit. But no one ever has enough of Faith; all have constant occasion to make the prayer-"Lord! I believe-help thou mine unbelief."

ART. 2.-A VISION.

Is cum languore corporis nec membris uti, nec sensibus potest, incidit in visa varia, et incerta ex reliquiis, ut ait Aristoteles, inhærentibus earum rerum, quas vigilans gesserit aut cogitarit. Cic. de Divin. Lib. 11 c. 62.

In the last stage of a low nervous fever-when the powers of life, exhausted by protracted disease, seem to be gradually and silently fading away, like the flame of an expiring taperI had passed from the low muttering delirium, so common in this species of disease, into that calm and quiet, but altogether helpless state, which often precedes dissolution. I was perfectly sensible of what was passing in my chamber and at my bedside. I could hear the motions, the voices of those around me. I distinctly perceived the entrance and departure of my medical attendant-felt the pressure of his fingers on my pulse, and heard the mingled tone of despondence and sympathy with which he assured my friends that this must probably be his last visit. The family assembled at my bed-side; and I heard that voice which I should never cease to revere, had I only this recollection of it, lifting itself up to heaven in my behalf, and making application before the throne of God for the spirit that they believed was departing. It ceased—and, one after another, father, mother, brothers and sisters, came to take their last look of one so beloved,-though so imperfect. I felt the tender pressure of affection as they touched my passive hands, and heard the suppressed sobs, the whispers of condolence and comfort which were uttered as they left the room for the night. I would have given the world to have spoken, to have been able to recognize them by a look or a return of the pressure; yet such was my utter exhaustion that I was totally unable to command a single muscle of my frame. When I was thus left to the solitary stillness of my chamber, the most horrible and awful conceptions possessed me. It seemed as if the universe had ceased to be; as if God and man existed no longer, and I were a lonely and isolated being in the desolate immensity of space; and as if even I-the last existing thing--were about to be swallowed up in the infinite gulf of annihilation.

A few drops of cordial, with which my lips were wet by my attendant for the night, seemed to revive for a moment the spark of life. I opened my eyes, and with joy found myself able to gaze, for a last time, on the things around me. Oh! with what interest did I then look upon objects of the most trivial importance. The pitcher from which I was supplied