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tion which should excite our liveliest gratitude. To see multitudes, of every different denomination, quietly proceeding, in open day, unmolested, and unquestioned, to their respective places of worship, is a beautiful evidence of the religious privileges we enjoy. "Every man may now sit under his own vine; and (whoever might wish to do it) none dares to make him afraid." It was not always thus in England; and when we are walking peaceably to our place of worship, we should not forget the times when our good fore-fathers were obliged to assemble in secret, often by night; and to hide" in dens and caves of the earth," from the rage of their persecutors. And now the voice of prayer and of praise is heard in our land. What numberless voices unite in that universal chorus which ascends, like a cloud of incense, to the heavens! This, then, is another animáting reflection for Sunday morning.

But there are many who are absent from these solemnities, not by choice but necessity. Sunday morning has a peculiar aspect in a sick chamber. Those now on the bed of languishing, who have hitherto neglected their Sabbaths, view it with peculiar emotions; feel its value, and resolve, if they are restored to health, to improve these precious seasons in future. While the true Christian from his sick bed hails its cheerful beams, and hopes for a Sabbath of rest and profit even there.

Others there are, on whom this Sabbath dawns, indeed, in vain; it is the first they have passed in eternity! Let our imagination visit the many chambers of death throughout our bor.

ders. These, like ourselves, have behield many a cheerful Sabbath sun; but now, their eyes are closed to its brightness. The beams of this fair morning have, perhaps, penetrated the gloom of their chambers, and shone upon the silent walls, but they know it not. The darkness of death has fallen upon them. Ah, then, how unspeakably important is the question, how their former Sabbaths have been improved; since they are no more of these "accepted times," these days of salvation," for them!

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But let our thoughts (already so excursive) wander from our own happy island, to distant climes; recollecting that within the passage of a few hours, the same sun that beams in so cheerfully at the windows of our sanctuaries, and on the walls of our pleasant school-rooms, shines upon the plains of India-the wilds of Africa the forests of America ;-upon the ices of the North, and the islands of the South. That the same rays are reflected from the gilded pagodas, where the millions of China flock to their idolatrous worship ;-from the mosques of the false prophet ;-from the gaudy temples of India; and light up the hideous features and grotesque shapes of ten thousand idol gods, "which are no gods," in every "dark corner" of our globe. While we are illumined by the rays of the Sun of Righteousness, and are instructed in the truth as it is in Jesus," the red Indian roams the desert in search of his prey, or of his enemies: the dark Hindoo muses idly on the banks of the Ganges: far in the impenetrable regions of Africa,

"The Negro village swarms abroad to play."

The fierce Arab hunts for spoil; or follows the slow caravan of spicy merchandise across the burning sands of the desert while, in the west, the poor negro slave toils beneath the lash of his hard task master. Ah, then, what are the privileges of a Sabbath in England! Here and there indeed, in those benighted regions, the solitary missionary goes forth in the midst of hardship and peril, to hold up the light of truth; and would not he unite in the exclamation, surrounded as he is by difficulties and discouragements, and say, What are the privileges of a Sabbath in England!

But now, let us return nearer home, to make a more practical reflection. This Sabbath sun that shines on the millions of the human race, beams also on us; "on me," let every reader say; and to me the question is, How I shall employ it? I am not one of the open Sabbathbreakers of the land; but am I not one of the countless multitude, who while, in form, they "keep a holy day," yet, secretly say, "what a weariness is it! When will it be over?" Oram I one of those to whom the Sabbath is a delight, who are "glad to go up to the house of the Lord." Am I a faithful, regular, zealous teacher, preparing with others to join my beloved class? Or have I never offered my services to that good work? Am I, on the contrary, spending the intervals of worship in idleness and indulgence, and attention to my dress? If so, reader, no longer, we beseech you, waste your time in pitying or despising the poor Indian and Ne

gro no longer censure the pleasure-taking Sabbath-breaker: let your charity begin at home; and remember, that if your Sabbaths are misimproved, you are in a far more alarming situation than the untaught savage, "who knows not his Lord's will?" Recollect, also, that the period is hastening, when the Angel of Death shall swear concerning you, that "Time and its Sabbaths shall be no longer."

XIII.

THE PLEASURES OF TASTE.

A DIALOGUE.

Father. Come girls, are you ready for a walk?

Mary. Quite ready, papa.

Martha. Ready in two minutes, sir.

Father. Which way will you go this even

ing.

Martha. To the parade, if you please, papa.
Mary. To the beach, papa.
We shall be in

time to see the sun set.

Martha. I don't like the beach: no body walks on the beach.

Father. Then we shall have it all to ourselves.

Martha. To ourselves, indeed! Mary always proposes those stupid walks where there is nothing to be seen.

Mary. O Martha! Nothing to be seen.

Martha.
Father.

Nothing in the world but the sea.
That is what we are come on pur-

pose to look at.

Martha. Yes, very true; but there is just as good a sea view on the parade, and every body walks on the parade.

Father. Come then, away to the parade, if you will; and to please you both, we will return by the beach, and then enjoy the scene to ourselves.

Mary. Yes, thank you, dear papa, so we will, (sings,)

"And listen to the tuneless cry

Of Fishing-gull, and Golden-eye."

Father. A delightful evening!

Martha. Yes, very pleasant; and what crowds of company !

Mary. I think I never saw the sea so calm. Martha. Pray look at those ladies, Mary. Did you ever see such frightful pelisses!

Mary. How bright that white sail looks, in the distance, with the sun upon it.

Martha. But the fringe was pretty.

Father. And the sea birds: see how they sparkle in the sun-shine.

Mary. Yes;

"The silver-winged sea-fowl on high, Like meteors bespangle the sky;

Or dive in the gulph, or triumphantly ride Like foam on the surges, the swans of the tide."

Martha. Genteel girls, are they not? those that just passed us ;-I wonder who they are! I wish our spencers had been of that colour, it

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