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deep regrets at what had recently been enacted, and things gave promise of speedily resuming their wonted aspect. Meanwhile, I remained an observing spectator of passing occurrences. I still cherished feelings of kindliness to Zion, and always considered I should one day be numbered among her inhabitants, which, had my friend remained in the town, would probably have been the case. But about this time, circumstances removed him to a distance. With him went one of Zion's attractions. My feelings towards her assumed more the character of indifference than they had ever before felt. Subsequent injuries received at the hands of her disciples, have induced a feeling partaking more of the hostile than the indifferent; and if I am not in a state bordering upon open infi. delity at the present moment, it is certainly not because I have not witnessed quite sufficient of guile, evil speaking, malice, and wrong doing within her walls, to warrant my relapsing into so fearful a condition. I am, Sir,

Yours truly, VERITAS.

[We hope all our readers will learn from the above statement the solemn lessons it is calculated to teach. At the same time, we must think it singularly unphilosophical and unreasonable to forsake any system on account of the inconsistencies of its professors. The inconsistencies of which "Veritas" speaks, are to be accounted for either on the principle of the apostolical remark-" They went out from us because they were not of us," or they occurred through the weakness and imperfection of our nature, which no principles, however noble, can entirely remove. In any case, as has been said many a time, the counterfeit would not exist were there not sterling coin. It is CHRISTIANITY we ask men to accept: not to receive as unalloyed the always imperfect embodiments of it which are presented by its professors.]

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Notices of Books.

THE SUPREMACY OF THE POPE: A LECture. BY THE REV. JAMES EDWARDS, NOTTINGHAM. London: Benj. L. Green.

Mr. Edwards has taken the course, in regard to Papal assumptions, which commends itself most of all to our minds, viz., that of availing himself of awakened attention to enlighten Protestants on the almost forgotten abominations of Popery. He availed himself of a public lecture, which we think much better than so employing our ordinary services, to expose the leading imposture of the system, the "Supremacy of the Pope." The lecture makes a very excellent tract, characterized by the writer's well-known lucidness of thought and expression, and therefore peculiarly suitable for general distribution. In the town where the writer resides, the Catholics are making great efforts by means of a large establishment, a prodigious mass of buildings, filled with priests, nuns, sisters of mercy, &c., imported from no one knows where, but especially by getting into their schools a number of poor children, to train no doubt as tools for the priests, to spread their en

slaving and impious dogmas. The contents of the tract are:

"Papal pretensions at the public bar. "Priestly denunciations rebuked. "I. Pope's claim to Supremacy asserted. 1. Cannot be proved by mere assertion. 2. Nor by the testimony of Scripture. 3. Nor by the conduct of Christ towards Peter. 4. Nor by Peter's own conduct and history. 5. Nor by the traditionary records of Rome. 6. Therefore a groundless assumption.

"II. Pope's claim viewed in relation to Prophecy. 1. A grand Apostacy foretold in Scripture. 2. Popery its exact counterpart. 3. The Pope identical with the 'Man of Sin.' 4. Pope's arrogance dovetailing with Prophecy. 5. An invasion of God's prerogative. 6. A contravention to the Divine Will. 7. A gross insult to God.

"III. Duty of British Protestants respecting this claim. 1. To give all possible publicity to correct views on the subject. 2. To avoid neutrality and inaction. 3. Address to Roman Catholics."

We hope Cardinal Wiseman's impudence will call for hundreds of such telling tracts,

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This edition of Barnes's Notes on the Gospels has already sold so extensively, that it seems almost useless now to recommend it. We doubt not that it is already in the hands of a great many of our readers. We are much gratified, however, to be able to give it our cordial approval. It is the handsomest and best printed of the cheap editions we have seen; and, as far as we have been able to examine it, it appears to be carefully edited and correctly printed, and we understand that it has met with the high approval of the author himself. We have no doubt that those who have subscribed for the volume before us, will be encouraged to do so for the succeeding volumes on the remaining books in the New Testament.

THE PUBLIC GOOD. A MONTHLY MAGAZINE. PRICE TWOPENCE. London: J. Passmore Edwards.

This is a monthly publication of a popular character, "devoted to the advocacy of great principles, the advancement of useful institutions, and the elevation of man." We can honestly recommend it to our readers, as interesting and instructive, and admirably calculated to subserye the great

objects for which it has professedly been established.

THE DANGER AND DESTRUCTIVE TENDENCY OF NOVEL READING: A LECTURE. BY THE REV. W. WALTERS. Pp. 16. Pres

ton.

An eloquent and effective protest against the mere novel reading so painfully prevalent in the present day. We wish there had been a London publisher to the tract, as, in that case, it would have been much more easily accessible, and we should have been glad to give it a hearty recommendation to our readers.

Recent Publications.

Biographical Memoirs of Deceased Baptist Ministers. No. 1. To be continued Monthly. By Benjamin Swallow and W. A. Blake. (Pp. 24. London: Benjamin L. Green.)

Tract Society's Monthly Volumes,-Nineveh and the Tigris,-Lives of the Popes, vol. 1. Both these volumes are valuable additions to the Series of which they form a part. The latter work will be an acquisition to those who are unable to purchase larger and more expensive ones.

The Scholar's Friend, designed for the Use of Sabbath School Scholars. (Nos. 1, 2, and 3. Price One Penny. London: C. A. Bartlett.)

The Poetic Companion for the Fireside, the Fields, the Woods, and the Streams. (No. 1. London: J. Passmore Edwards.)

The Claims of Christian Missions on Young Men: a Lecture. By W. A. Blake. (Pp. 14. London: J. Kennedy.)

A Letter to the Hon. and Rev. Baptist W. Noel, M.A., on the Holy Spirit's Presence in the Church of God. By one who has been a Member of John Street. (Pp. 14. London: F. A. Ford.)

A Page for the Young.

LITTLE FISHER WILLY.

(From the German)

Fancy, dear children, you are standing on the coast of Kent. Yonder, on the high shore, stands a fisherman's hut, inhabited by a poor fisherman and his wife. But it will not be so long, at least not by .both. The fisherman's trade is a danger

ous one. You know that even on the little sea of Genesareth sometimes a storm arose which made the boatmen quail; how much more so on the open sea, where the waves are sometimes a hundred times bigger than a fishing boat! One day the man set out alone in his boat in good health and spirits, to cast his nets in the sea, hoping,

by God's blessing, to have a rich draught of fishes; for he and his family depended on the produce of the fishing. If all goes well, he will return in the evening; at least his wife hopes so; and in this hope she follows him with her eyes, as long as she can catch the least glimpse of the little ship, till it appears but a speck in the distance, and then it vanishes altogether. Sitting down with her needle-work at the open window of the hut, she cast her eye upon the sea and round the horizon. Yonder clouds, which are rising from the distant boundary of the sea, seem to her experienced eye to forebode a storm. She goes into the open air to examine the threatening danger, but soon the heavens are overcast; the breeze becomes a gale; the rain pours down in torrents, and the wind whistles and moans around the hut. She returns to her seat and strains her eyes to see if there is no appearance of the little boat upon the shore. She rings her hands, and sighs, and cries, "Have mercy, O God, and bring my husband safe to land!" Is yon not the white sail of his boat? Ah, no, it is only the illusive foam on the wavetop. Ever darker becomes the prospect; dusk comes on, and rapidly passes into the darkness of night. The lamp is trimmed and placed in the window to guide the poor fisherman to his hut if he should reach the shore; dry clothes are laid for him, and the teapot at the fire ready to afford refreshment. What an anxious night was that! But, like the longest night, it passed away; like the nights of the North, which last one half the year; like the night of death, to which the joyful resurrection morn succeeds. But no cheerful morning dawned upon this night. The storm, indeed, was past; the rising sun shone forth in a cloudless sky; the sea alone continued high, and beat its angry, restless waves upon the downs; but far and near no vessel could be seen. On a rock by the shore sat poor Margaret, gazing sorrowfully on the heaving billows, her hair fluttering in the fresh morning breeze, while her only son sat on her knee and rent her heart still more by his childlike questions. Long might she have sat waiting there, before the little boat would come dancing over the waves towards her. Her eyes would never see it more. He for whose return she was watching, had long ere this been engulfed in the raging deep, and the waves over which he had often rowed so bravely, now rolled above his corpse.

At last the mourning wife was convinced it was vain to wait for his return, and that, this time, it had not pleased her heavenly Father to listen to her heartfelt prayer. Poor widow, where shall you find consolation! True, she had no reason to regard her husband as lost. He had been a christian, and for many years had lived in the faith of the living God and his son Jesus Christ. And his parting words to her had been, "Margaret, trust in the Lord at all times; for if we fear God, we need fear nothing else. Bring up your child, while he is young, to render obedience and filial respect towards his mother; then, by Divine grace, he may be also led to render obedience to God, and reverence to all his commandments." This was very consol

ing, yet it cost the good Margaret no little struggle before she could bow to God's will without a murmur.

Indeed, her position was far from being an easy one, for she must now endeavour to maintain herself and her son; whereas, hitherto, she had had a faithful and industrious provider. And now Margaret committed an error, one of frequent occurrence with parents: she made her son, in a great measure, her idol; she was excessively afraid of losing him; which, especially in a widow who has an only child, is not to be wondered at, though not to be justified. Afraid that he might form a liking for the trade of his unfortunate father, and be as unfortunate as he, she made him promise solemnly, that he would never go to the fishing with the neighbours; thinking if she bound him in this way there could be no danger, for she never dreamt that he would venture alone upon the sea.

Willy kept his promise, and would not listen to the persuasions of his father's old comrades, nor to his young companions, who were most anxious to take him along with them in their expeditions. He was now twelve years old, a fine, strong boy. Whenever he could render his mother assistance, he did it with the greatest alacrity; but he had not yet fixed upon a trade; and, in fact, there were few other trades on that coast besides that of a fisherman.

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delf; but this he could not do, for, you know, there is only One of whom it could be said, surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows." But, on the other hand, his constant thought was, how he could earn a little money to buy sugar, and tea, and a piece of flannel to keep her warm, and render the pain more bearable. He saw no means but that of catching fish. But having been trained to be an obedient, truthful boy, and having promised his mother not to go with his neighbours to the fishing, he resolved anew to keep pointedly his promise. Yet he was most anxious to get these comforts for his mother, and often he ran up and down the beach reflecting how to effect his object; when the thought suddenly occurred to him, was it not possible to keep his promise and effect his object too? Here he was listening too much to the wishes and plans of his own mind; he was entering into a compromise with his conscience, and was wishing to do evil that good might come. He reflected how he could keep the commands of his mother to the letter and evade them in spirit. His eyes frequently rested on a little boat, seldom used, which was dancing on the rippling waves near to his hut. Willy placed himself in the way of temptation, and no wonder, therefore, he was ensnared. He wished to catch fish, and was himself in the net before he was aware. At first he only looked at the boat with a pleased and longing eye, like Eve on the tree of knowledge; then came the desire to step into it; and what was the danger in that; could not he step out again when he liked? But having once stepped in, he thought he would loose it and try if he could row it as he had seen his father do; perhaps he might then be able to set out alone to catch fish, and sell them for his mother.

The boat went straight forwards, and Willy's heart bounded with it over the heaving waves. Onwards it continued to glide, and beautifully receded from the land. Wind and tide were in his favour—a light wind and a strong tide. Foolish boy! like so many other thoughtless young wanderers through the wilderness of life, he rowed merrily on, without ever reflecting whither the fresh breeze and the lightly curling waves were bearing him,-without ever a thought of how he could return. He had a certain idea that all was not right; that the general direction of his course was seaward; but then, again, he

never doubted but he would be able to return as easily as he was now sailing out, and this was altogether easy and delightful. In the joy of his heart he waved his cap towards the shore, although nobody could see him, and uttered a loud, joyful hurrah! Foolish boy! wind and tide were now quite favourable, but when he would wish to return they would be all against him. Onwards went the boat, always further into the channel which separates England from France. Happily he did not lose his presence of mind. He noticed that he still made progress without any effort of his own, and that if he were to row against the wind and tide the boat would inevitably capsize. Still he was quite confident that sooner or later he would be able to return.

Now, however, a danger befel him which the little rogue had never dreamed of. It was just at this period, that the great war between France and England, some forty years ago, was at its height, when Napoleon Bonaparte had become the terror of all Europe, and had assembled in Boulogne, opposite to Dover, a great army for the purpose of invading England. His war-ships were cruising about the channel, on the look-out for English fishing vessels; for Napoleon had commanded every one to be seized that could be met with, and brought to France. One of these French ships had perceived Willy's little boat, and bore down upon it. But the French found only one poor boy; and Willy, who did not know they were enemies, never doubting but they would receive him kindly, began to relate his adventure, and tell them where he wished to go. But when he saw they did not understand him, and perceived their strange language, a light broke in upon his mind: he had been caught by the French, whom his poor neighbours on the coast were in continual dread of, and whom he had been taught to hate, as at that time all the boys in England were taught to do.

Willy was now in a sad plight indeed. They put him on board the great French war-ship, and bore him away from his native land, away from those who understood his language, and, worst of all, away from his poor, sick, and helpless mother. As Willy thought of all this, he could not restrain his tears, and though the sailors did not understand him, he still continued to beg and pray them to put him again in his little boat, and said, pointing to the English shore, "Yonder; I want to go yonder."

But they only laughed at his sad countenance, pointed to their coast, and cried in their own language, "It's yonder we're going!" Now the English national pride rose within him,-the French shall not see him cry, so he stood apart by himself. "What will they do with me now ?" he said to himself; "do they think to make a French sailor of me? no, that they won't; I'll rather die; for if I were in the French service I would need to fight against the English, and that they never will bring me to. No, if an English ship were just now to attack the French, I would jump into the sea and try to reach it, and they might

shoot at me if they liked." So courageous were Willy's thoughts, for his spirit was roused, and his heart wellnigh bursting. But as he became more calm, repentant thoughts arose in his mind, and he began to see he had been in a forbidden path, and was justly punished for his sin. Just now he had been quite sure of God's protection, though he were swimming in the sea, and the balls of the French were flying over him; but now this confidence vanished; he felt he had erred. It is only when in the path of obedience to God, that we can depend upon his protection. (To be continued.)

Miscellaneous.

GOD'S CONSTANCY.- Various circumstances have changed your human fellowship. Those in whom you once confided, are not what you thought they were. Peculiar excitements, outside life, the romance of the spirit, concealed the real character, as the wreath of lighted and tinctured cloud conceals the savage rock; but now the charm is fled, the colour gone, and you see only what is cold and unappealing as the ice, the snow, and the rugged stone. The companions of your youth are not always the same as the companions of your age. There is often a change from the warm affection, to the shy advance, the timid notice, the actions of polite formality. And when faithful friends are faithful still, perhaps they live in another country or in another world. You miss the "watchers," the "holy ones," who were the guides of your youth, or the sharers of your matured affection; you have missed one after another from "the place that knew them once;"have seen the gentle fading of nature, the slow gradations of decay. You have stood alone in the chamber of mourning. With awe-with the creep of a strange panic chill over every faculty-you have lifted the melancholy drapery of death, to gaze on the sad ruin, the still and stony brow, the dim, unconscious, transfixed face of your friend. You have heard, "earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust," pronounced over what was once lighted up with thought, and passion, and sensibility. You have felt the crowded solitude of life, the crushing sense of desolation. You have walked for a time in the "valley of the shadow of death." For you the star has lost its sparkle, the flower its beauty, the spring its song-I see some of you grey and drooping with years. An old man must feel pensively when he thinks of the many changes, even in the outward world, which he has witnessed since his youth. He must feel a stir of tender sorrow even when he thinks of the alterations in the country, of the old roads

that have been turned; of the fields where, as a child, he used to frolic amidst a wilderness of flowers, but which are now covered with grim factories, straight streets, and stark brick walls. He must have mournful thoughts, indeed, when he reviews the history of changes in the fellowship of spirit. "Joseph is not, Simeon is not,' and death

is about "to take Benjamin away.' "Our friend Lazarus sleepeth." "Demas hath forsaken me." But in God he may have a friend who changeth not." Man dies God lives. Man forgets to love; but, "whom God loveth he loveth to the end." Man changes; but God is "the same yesterday, to day, and for ever;" so that, amidst weakness and weariness, amidst farewells and mournings, he can lift his dim eye and clasp his trembling fingers, and say, "Thou, Lord, in the beginning didst lay the foundations of the earth; they shall perish, but thou remainest; they all shall wax old as a garment, as a vesture thou shalt change them, and they shall be changed; but thou art the same, and thy years have no end."-Friendship with God, a Sermon, by C. Stanford.

THE IMPORTANCE OF MOMENTS.-We commonly estimate the value of our time by what we can effect in it. And doubtless God will estimate its value on the same principle. The great purpose for which time is given us is to prepare for eternity. By the standard of eternity the true value of time is to be ascertained. And that we may by this standard form some conception of the value of passing hours and moments, it may be wise to consider what single hours and moments have done, and can do, in reference to eternal interests. Zaccheus went up into the tree a sinner, a rich extortioner; he came down a humble, liberalhearted christian. A moment only was requisite for the dying malefactor to raise the penitential prayer, and receive the gracious assurance from the Saviour's own lips. Three thousand in one assembly, earnestly

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