of it; among the world, but yet separate from it; passing through the world, without attachment to it.

The idolater boasts in his idols, the Mohammedan in the false prophet, and the Romanist in the virgin; but the Christian glories only in the cross of the Lord Jesus Christ.

The Christian is a man, and may err; an imperfect man, and may sin: but a renewed man, and shall have his fruit unto holiness, and the end everlasting life.

The Christian is a warrior, and must fight; but he is a conqueror, and must prevail.

The Christian sojourns on earth, but dwells in heaven; a pilgrim in the desert, but an enrolled denizen of the skies.

The Christian is the impress of Christ, the reflection of the Father, and the temple of the Holy Ghost.

Contrast him with the infidel, in his faith; with the profligate, in his life; with the merely moral, in his heart; and with the Pharisee, in his spirit. His pedigree, from Jehovah; his nature, from heaven; and his name, from Antioch. Oh, Christian! great is thy dignity, refulgent thy glory, interminable thy blessed hope. All things are thine; thou art Christ's, and Christ is God's.-Christian Philosophy.

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THE PRIVILEGED.

To what variety of experience is man subjected in this world! Hope and fear, gladness and gloom alternately preponderate; and sometimes the struggle between these contending emotions is so severe and long-continued, that the individual who is their subject finds it impossible to describe his real feelings. Doubtless such experience is necessary. Were our race perfect-that is, perfect so far as perfecever be predicated of finite beings there would be no need for subjection to these mental vicissitudes. There would be no fire and flood to test the qualities of the heart, no furnace for the trial of faith, and no making "perfect through sufferings." In such a case the thorn in the flesh would not urge the sufferer's petitions for deliverance; nor would the promise, "My grace is sufficient for thee," be hailed as a Divine boon. But man is a learner here; this world is the scene of moral lessons, whose blessed results, in the case of certain persons, are to go down through eternity!

These persons may be justly called

"the privileged." The term is not only obviously correct in view of their present enjoyments and immunities, but its application to them is warranted by Scripture. Thus in the first chapter of St. John's Gospel, we read, regarding believers in Jesus, "As many as received him, to them gave he power" (more appropriately rendered in the margin, "the privilege") "to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name." From this application of the term, denoting as it does parties who are described as receiving Christ, and believing on his name, it is clear that all men are not among the privileged. Were the enjoyments and prospects to which we are about to refer the common inheritance of the human race, without respect to moral character, there would be no need for the express description of the evangelist. But "the privilege" of being sons of God is expressly guarded as belonging to believers, and of course excludes all who do not receive Jesus, who do not believe on his name; that is, excludes them so long as they continue to reject Christ, and refuse to believe on him. Believers only, but believers always, whatever their nation, or however they may be locally distinguished from each other, are the privileged. It is to be noted, however, that exemption from the ordinary cares of human life, its losses, trials, tears, toils, and changes, is not among their privileges. They have, like other men, to eat their bread in the sweat of their brow. They experience solicitude, disquietude, and grief. They often hang the head under the burden of thought, and weep in secret places. They often wonder "what the end will be" of those dark providences with which they, among others, are occasionally visited. They feel the conflict, the heart-battle, the unexpressed sorrow of the soul. And they, too, have to bring their dead out of their sight, to weep over the graves of beloved ones, and to go as mourners about the streets. Believers are not exempted from these things. Nay more, strange as it may seem to those who cannot appreciate, because they do not understand their privileges, believers would not judge such exemption a privilege. They have been taught, for certain satisfactory reasons, to count it all joy when divers trials meet them in the course of Divine Providence ; — and though this also may seem strange, the true nature of their privileges could not

be fully understood by themselves, if, by some act of power on the part of God, they were exempted from the ordinary experience of their fellow-men. For among their privileges is to be reckoned the support which they receive from their God and Saviour amidst their trials. The value of their Redeemer's consolations is then increasingly felt. His grace imparted then enables them to glorify him in the fires. The dark and cloudy day is not unfrequently the time when his unwavering friendship is seen in its most attractive forms. He is then found to be a "brother, born for adversity.' When the disciple is sinking, the hand of Christ held out to save him, and the words of Christ, "It is I, be not afraid," calmly pronounced amidst the storm, give him a deeper impression of the value of his most holy faith, and a higher idea of the abounding mercy of God than he could have had under circumstances of unbroken prosperity. To "meditate on him in the night-watches," however dense the external gloom, is the way to have "the mouth filled with praise." To render the heated furnace harmless, the presence of the Son of God is amply sufficient. The doctrines of the gospel are found to be beyond all price in the hour of adversity, sickness, and death. Their value is then put to the severest test, and the result is that the sufferer exclaims, "I have not followed a cunningly devised fable!-I know whom I have believed!"

The believer in Christ has thus a privilege of which the worldly man, the impenitent, the unbeliever, or by whichever name he may be described, knows nothing. The ambitious would part with his honours, the rich man with his gold, and monarchs with their sceptres, could the exchange procure, in the hour of death, the joyful hope which animates the breast of the Christian, when, with his heart already in heaven, he falls asleep in Christ. But it is the privilege only of those who have passed from death unto life by faith in the Saviour, to pass from the scene of suffering and death to that of fulness of joy and life everlasting, in the presence of Him of whom he now says, "Whom having not seen I love." To depart and be with Christ is the privilege only of the man who can truly say, "I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord;" that I may "be found in him, not having mine own righteousness, which

is of the law, but that which is through the faith of Christ, the righteousness which is of God by faith."

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But believers have also the grand privilege of extracting permanent good out of temporary evil. They are taught to do So. The power is not theirs inherently. They are instructed by the Holy Spirit the Comforter to be "exercised" by "chastening;" for though for the present it is not joyous but grievous, theless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness." They are thus addressed, in language of wonderful import, and great tenderness, "My son, despise not thou the chastening of the Lord, nor faint when thou art rebuked of him. For whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth. If ye endure chastening, God dealeth with you as with sons: for what son is he whom the father chasteneth not? But if ye be without chastisement, whereof all (all the true children of God) are partakers, then are ye bastards, and not sons. Furthermore we have had fathers of our flesh which corrected us, and we gave them reverence; shall we not much rather be in subjection unto the Father of spirits, and live? For they verily for a few days chastened us after their own pleasure; but he for our profit, that we might be partakers of his holiness. Now no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous; nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby.” Thus, by the grace of God, good is brought out of evil, spiritual good out of short-lived trials, and song and joy out of that which is confessedly grievous. Out of the eater comes forth meat, and out of the strong sweetness. The man who went astray before he was afflicted, praises God for the affliction which had the happy disciplinary effect of leading him back to his Father; so that when enumerating some of his privileges-such as justification by faith, and peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, he adds, "And not only so, but we glory in tribulation also; knowing that tribulation worketh patience; and patience, experience; and experience, hope: and hope maketh not ashamed; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us.'

We have sometimes thought it strange that otherwise intelligent men can read over such passages as those we have

:

transcribed, without putting such questions as these Are the inspired writers in earnest? Do they mean what they say? Is the ordinary import of language to be understood here? If so, Christians are wonderfully privileged men; they must be happy; they alone are happy if they can honestly say, We glory in tribulation because of its salutary consequences. But as spiritual truths are discerned only by spiritual men, the ordinary reader of Scripture, however intelligent he may be, if he has no heart-relish for the things of God, will not be curious to ascertain the full meaning of inspired language, especially when that language relates to personal experience. Nevertheless, all must assent to the proposition that the man who is taught to educe abiding good out of transient evil, is not only one of the wisest, but also one of the most highly privileged of men.

But this is not all. The privileged have

also the assurance of ultimate deliverance from every trying visitation. It is one of the wondrous truths of the gospel-and the book in which it is written deserves the name were it only for this truth-that "all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose." What a priceless privilege is this! "All our afflictions and trials," says a judicious commentator, "all the persecutions and calamities to which we are exposed, though they are numerous and long-continued, yet they are among the means that are appointed for our welfare. They shall co-operate; they shall mutually contribute to our good. They take off our affections from this world; they teach us the truth about our frail, transitory, and dying condition; they lead us to look to God for support, and to heaven for a final home, and they produce a subdued spirit, a humble temper, a patient, tender, and kind disposition. This has been the experience of all saints; and at the end of life they have been able to say, it was good for them to be afflicted. And the time comes to them all when they are to be removed far beyond the reach of any trial, and introduced to the beatific vision of the Lamb, to the paradise of perpetual bliss, the mansions of glory, where there is nothing to hurt or to destroy; to the land of unmingled felicity

"Where on a green and flowery mount
Their weary souls shall sit,

And with transporting joys recount
The labours of their feet."

W. L.

THE BIBLE.

THE Bible is a universal boon to mankind; and we who believe in its inspiration should do our utmost to give it extension and effect. It is not written for any particular nation or age. It does not depend for its authority or its vouchers, upon any church or all churches. It stands upon its own peculiar evidences, and no more requires the indorsement of the church to make it current, than the sun requires the authority of the astronomers to warrant our belief in its existence, or our perception of its light and heat. The Bible belongs to the world, like the air, the ocean, the rivers, and the fountains of water. It is a common light, a common blessing, the imperishable heir-loom of humanity: our whole inheritance lies here. No party can claim any special property in it; none has any right to monopolise it, or dogmatise upon its contents. It adequately vindicates its own claims, by the light, and truth, and love, which never forsake it. Happily it has long since achieved for itself an emancipation from the priestcraft which had restricted its circulation, and dictated its import to the world. It has since been gradually diffusing its light, and advancing towards that universal dissemination which its own prophecies foreshow as certain, and the auguries of these times indicate as near. Great and auspicious events to mankind seem to be travailing for their birth-hour. But whatever character they may give to the eras which have yet to revolve, our own times have received their appropriate stamp; they can hardly miss the designation of the Bible age. Happy will it prove for ourselves, if we are found as diligent in studying the contents of the book, as we have been zealous in promoting its circulation.-Redford.

THE LIGHT OF GLORY.

THE light of glory will be a complete commentary on the Bible, and loose all the hard and knotty questions in divinity. There is no joy on earth comparable to that which ariseth from the discovery of truth; no discovery of truth comparable to the discovery of Scripture truth made by the Spirit of the Lord unto the soul. Yet it is but an imperfect discovery we have of it while here. How ravishing then will it be to see the opening of the whole treasure hid in that field!-Boston.

PEASANTRY.

IN a former paper, our readers will remember, we gave a description of one of the humblest order of Welsh cabins; we will now, by way of contrast, place before them one of the better sort of dwellings among the peasantry of Wales; and also add some particulars relating to the celebration of the nuptial rite among this singular but deeply interesting people. On the former occasion, our visit was made to a mud-built tenement, on a fine, clear morning in autumn, while yet the sun was shining in all his glory. Contrary to that which has been already described, our visit, on the occasion now before us, was made in the evening of a lovely day in the month of July. The sun had nearly sunk below the horizon, and had left a rich crimson tint above; the birds were whistling their farewell notes to departing day; the peasants were joyfully wending their steps homeward from the fields at the close of labour; so calm and silent was the hour, that distant sounds were distinctly heard, and each footfall occasioned an echo; every unkind feeling was hushed within the breast, which seemed alive only to the surrounding beauties of creation; the purer and gentler impulses of humanity, ay, every thought was in harmony with the serenity which universally prevailed.

While the eye was thus delighting itself with the objects which successively presented themselves, and the mind was ruminating upon the scenes and occurrences of the preceding day, the old woman in her mud cabin, her singular attire, her peculiar mien, her probable history, and such like themes, we espied some irregular and rustic-looking steps, formed principally of a few unshapely stones, with here and there a piece of wood between to make the footing more secure; these we traced up the side of a high bank which led from the main road to a field above. By carefully following this track, the eye might discover, between the waving foliage which embosomed it, a very small dwelling, to all appearance, at this distance, of a similar character to the one we have been describing. A spot so secluded excited our curiosity; it might be the haunt of robbers, or of some wandering tribe, of some recluse perhaps, who, disappointed in his earthly prospects, had retired to this spot hoping to escape the observation of man, and to spend the remainder of his days in

Slowly approaching towards what seemed a kind of out-house, which proved, however, to be a carpenter's workshed, we were met at the door with great courtesy by an honest-looking man with a saw in his hand, the teeth of which were full of fresh-made saw-dust. His whole appearance led us to conclude that he was still at work, notwithstanding the hour for labour had gone by. On being invited, we walked in and found it to be as we had just surmised. The man was a carpenter, and he was at work, not on his ordinary business, but in making some article of furniture to add to the stock which already conduced to the comforts of his little cot. We were somewhat amused to observe some fowls, which a ray of the setting sun gleaming through the rich umbrageous foliage, for an instant admitted into the apartment, revealed to us. They were roosting on some logs of useless timber which were piled up in one corner of the shed. At hearing, probably, the voices of strangers they slowly opened their eyes, casting a drowsy look towards us; but after shaking their feathers, changing the right for the left claw, on which they rested, putting their heads under their wings, they again composed themselves to sleep.

On inquiring of the good man whether he lived alone, or had a companion, he replied, as if delighted by the question, "No; not alone; I have a wife;" and without waiting any further questions, he hastily retired to the foot of some steps which appeared to lead up to a loft over the work-shop. We were not long left in suspense as to the fact. It was a loft which Charlotte (such was the name of his wife) used for the purposes of washing, and stowing away articles of lumber, in order to secure the perfect neatness of one room for the enjoyment of herself and her husband, when the toils of the day were ended. At the good man's call Charlotte appeared, and we needed no

longer to be told the reason for his apparent joy at the question, whether he lived alone. The most polished gentlewoman could not have received us with greater propriety or with a more graceful address than did this humble inmate of a Welsh cabin. In addition to this courtly behaviour, her expression of countenance was most interesting. Her figure was tall and elegant, though beyond the meridian of life. There was a touch of the sorrowful, mingled with the sweetest smile of acquiescence in an all-wise and overruling Providence, which seemed to say, "He doeth all things well!"

She conducted us into a little parlour, the cleanliness and order of which could not be surpassed: homely indeed and few were the articles of furniture which it contained, but there was a taste in their arrangement which told of no vulgar mind. A square, polished oak table stood in the centre of the room, on which lay a Welsh Testament, to all appearance in daily use, and yet without a thumb mark or a mutilated leaf; while the margin showed many a line penciled to denote a favourite passage. In one corner was a clock inclosed in a tall oak case, carved and polished similarly to the table, the surface of both being smooth as glass. The oak case-we were told by Charlotte with an enthusiasm of feeling of which only a mother is capable-was the work of her first-born son. His spirit may have returned to God who gave it, and in her possession perhaps remains but this one memento to tell of his sojourn in a world of tears. This case, with a few chairs, some cups and saucers, a firescreen, the work of Charlotte's early years, carefully covered over with a thin muslin to preserve it from dust, a footstool, and two hanging bookshelves, completed the furniture of the apartment. Here we sat down awhile with this interesting woman; and after making inquiries as to the number of her children, their occupations, and her husband-of whom she spoke in the warmest terms, as far as we could understand her, for she spoke more than half Welsh-she assured us that he had never uttered an unkind word to her for thirty years, the period they had been married, and that he was 66 one of the most industrious, good-hearted, conscientious, and respectable men in all Wales!" On rising to take our leave of this happy couple, we tendered an offering with as little ceremony as possible, putting it quietly into Charlotte's hand.

Hers was the gratitude of the heart, and therefore she knew well how to receive the gift: with inexpressible sweetness she smiled her thanks, while with a dignified bend of the head, which spoke louder than the most vociferous acknowledgments of inferior minds, she followed us to the door with regrets, observing that, "perhaps we might never meet again on earth;" and then adding, the silent tears trickling down her cheeks, "if not here, I trust we shall in that better land, where we shall not have to say farewell!"

The words of an English bard are not inapplicably associated with our estimate of this superior woman:

"Full many a gem of purest ray serene,

The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air." Having fulfilled our promise in reference to the cabin, we will now give a few particulars of former observances at the weddings of the peasantry. These were occasions of great stir and bustle in the towns and villages where they were celebrated. If our readers, in the course of an excursion into many parts of Wales, would visit some of these convenient houses where refreshments await more especially the pedestrian traveller, they would sometimes be reminded of a hive of bees at the moment in which the queen mother is about to lead forth the first swarm; and on inquiring as to the cause of all this hurry of business, they would be informed that a wedding was being celebrated, and the party, not unfrequently consisting of forty or fifty friends, were expected to dine there on their return from the place of worship. The bride on such occasions headed the table, which was spread with all the delicacies which the means of the party would allow. This part of the entertainment concluded, the room was cleared, and dancing commenced; the musicians were usually old Welsh harpers, and the village fiddler; and this description of revelry was often prolonged till after midnight.

In former times there were many ceremonies peculiar to these weddings, which time and the growth of refinement have now almost entirely abolished. For in stance, there was what in those days was termed a bidder. By this was to be understood, a person well skilled in pedigrees and anecdotes of families active, handsome, and sprightly, with good address and some pretensions to eloquence. His office was to bid friends to the wed