weary, wherever suffering, "will be at rest." Under an impression so profound, we feel our own hearts better. The cares, the animosities, the hatreds which society may have engendered, sink unperceived from our bosoms. In the general

desolation of nature, we feel the littleness of our own passions;-we look forward to that kindred evening which time must bring to all;—we anticipate the graves of those we hate, as of those we love. Every unlaid passion falls with the leaves that fall around us; and we return slowly to our homes, and to the society which surrounds us, with the wish only to enlighten or to bless them.

If there were no other effects of such appearances of nature upon our minds, they would still be valuable, they would teach us humility,and with it they would teach us charity. In the same hour in which they taught us our own fragility, they would teach us commiseration for the whole family of man.-But there is a farther sentiment which such scenes inspire, more valuable than all; and we know little the designs of Providence when we do not yield ourselves in such hours to the beneficent instincts of our imagination.

It is the unvarying character of nature, amid all its scenes, to lead us at last to its author; and it is for this final end that all its varieties have such dominion upon our minds. We are led by the appearances of spring to see his bounty; we are led by the splendours of summer to see his greatness. In the present hours, we are led to a higher sentiment; and, what is most

remarkable, the very circumstances of melancholy are those which guide us most securely to put our trust in him. We are witnessing the decay

of the year; we go back in imagination, and find that such in every generation has been the fate of man ;-we look forward, and we see that to such ends all must come at last;-we lift our desponding eyes in search of comfort, and we see above us one "who is ever the same, and to whose years there is no end." Amid the vicissitudes of nature, we discover that central majesty "in whom there is no variableness or shadow of turning." We feel that there is a God; and, from the tempestuous sea of life, we hail that polar star of nature, to which a sacred instinct had directed our eyes, and which burns with undecaying ray to lighten us among all the darkness of the deep.

From this great conviction there is another sentiment which succeeds. Nature, indeed, yearly perishes; but it is yearly renewed. Amid all its changes, the immortal spirit of Him that made it remains; and the same sun which now marks with his receding ray the autumn of the year, will again arise in his brightness, and bring along with him the promise of the spring and all the magnificence of summer. Under such convictions, hope dawns upon the sadness of the heart. melancholy of decay becomes the very herald of renewal; the magnificent circle of nature opens upon our view;-we anticipate the analogous resurrection of our being;—we see beyond the grave a greater spring, and we people it with those who have given joy to that which is passed. With

The

such final impressions, we submit ourselves gladly to the destiny of our being. While the sun of mortality sinks, we hail the rising of the Sun of Righteousness, and, in the hours when all the honours of nature are perishing around us, we prostrate ourselves in deeper adoration before Him" who sitteth upon its throne."

ALISON.

REFLECTIONS

ON THE RETURN OF SPRING.

THE words uttered by Job* are still applicable to us. Even now, the greatest and most important part of our religious knowledge, our knowledge of the nature and attributes of "Him that made us" is acquired solely by the hearing of the ear." The early instruction of the parent, the occasional hours of reading and meditation, and the public exhortations of the pulpit, constitute all that the generality of men know upon the most momentous subject of human information. There are few who have been taught in infancy to raise their minds to the contemplation of his works; who love to kindle their adoration at the altar of nature, or to lose themselves in astonishment amid the immensity of the universe; and who thus "seeing him with their eyes" learn to associate the truths of religion with all the most valued emotions of their hearts. It is the natural consequence of these partial views of the Deity

"I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear, but now mine eye seeth thee." Job, xlii. 5.

to narrow our conceptions of his being; to chill the native sensibility of our minds to devotion; and to render religion rather the gloomy companion of the church and the closet than the animating friend of our ordinary hours.

Reflections of this kind seem very naturally to arise to us from the season we experience, and the scenes we at present behold. In the beautiful language of the wise man, "the winter is now over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land." In these moments, we are the witnesses of the most beautiful and most astonishing spectacle that nature ever presents to our view. The earth, by an annual miracle, rises again, as from her grave, into life and beauty. A new creation peoples the wintry desert; and the voice of joy and gladness is heard among these scenes, which but of late lay in silence and desolation. The sun comes forth, "like a bridegroom from his chamber," to diffuse light and life over every thing he beholds ; and the breath of heaven seems to brood with maternal love over that infant creation it has so lately awakened into being. In such hours there is a natural impulse which leads us to meditation and praise. We love to go out amid the scenery of nature, to mark its progressive beauty, and to partake in the new joy of every thing that lives;

and we almost involuntarily lift up our eyes to that heaven from whence cometh the hope of man, "which openeth its hand, and filleth all things with plenteousness." Even upon the most uncultivated minds, these seasons have their in

fluence; and wherever, over the face of the earth, the spring is now returning, even amid nations uncheered by the light of the Gospel, the poor inhabitant is yet every where preparing some rude solemnity, to express the renewal of his joy and the return of his praise.

ALISON.

THE CONGREGATION OF THE WICKED SUFFICIENT TO CONSTITUTE HELL.

Now this is precisely the state of things in the nether world. There is no hope, there is no end, there are no good beings to hold the balance against evil, and there is no restraining providence of God. Were there nothing more, I hold this to be enough to constitute the hottest, cruelest hell. I ask no elemental fire, no furnace of living flames, no tormenting demons, nothing but a congregation of the wicked, in the wicked state in which they died and appeared at the tribunal, driven together into one settlement, to make the best or the worst of it they can. Let every man arise in his proper likeness, clothed in his proper nature, which he did not choose to put off, but to die with; let beauty arise with the same pure tints which death did nip, and wit with all its flashes, and knowledge with all its powers, and policy with all its address; let the generations of the unrighteous gather together;-and because of their possessing none of the qualities which God approves in his volume, nor caring to possess them, let them be shipped across the impassable