here to-night," said she, "who have never been here before, but there may be some present now who may never be here again." She then simply and earnestly unfolded to their young minds the Saviour's doctrine of the atonement. She told them that by Adam they had not only lost heaven and all earthly good, but were brought under the curse of a just and holy God, and how the blessed Jesus had fulfilled the law, and given the perfect obedience required, in order to buy heaven and all good back again for his people;-how he had suffered their punishment, and had bled and died on Calvary, that little children like them might be saved from endless misery, and taken to everlasting glory. She then told them that this salvation was offered to each of them, and that they had only to believe these simple truths-to trust in this kind Redeemer, and they would be saved. She also told them how they were to know whether they really believed and trusted in the Saviour or not, which was by trying to do all that Jesus bade because they loved him. It was sure, she said, that they would not do this of themselves, but if they would only ask it of God, he would give his Holy Spirit to help them. She then tried to show them how anxious Jesus was that little children should come to him and be saved, and long and earnestly pleaded with them to give themselves to Jesus that very night. "Oh, come now!" said she, "for this may be the last time he may ever invite you; some of you may never be here again, and Jesus himself is now waiting to see whether any of you are willing to be his children or not."

It was a full and free surrender of themselves to the Saviour that she pleaded for; nor did she plead in vain. The little band were by this time deeply interested; the teacher's own heart glowed with that love she wished to enkindle in theirs, and is she looked on the beaming faces and glistening eyes around her, she felt that the Lord was indeed in the midst of them. The full effects produced on these children that night, eternity alone will unfold. Some gave subsequent proof that they had given themselves to Jesus. Of these some are now in glory, others bearing a living testimony to the truth; while some, alas! are still in the "gall of bitterness and the bonds of iniquity;" and, notwithstanding all the warnings and entreaties of their teacher, are still pursuing the downward path. Their guilt will only be the greater that they were present on that memorable Sabbath evening.

Among those present that night, was Jessie P, a little girl about eight years old, a regular and attentive scholar. Jessie heard, believed, and loved. She resolved to give herself to Jesus; and her Lord very soon after took the gift home to him self. The above evening was the last time she ever entered the Sabbath school; and the blessed effects produced on her mind on that occasion might never have been known, had it not been for the peculiar circumstances connected with it at the time. But, though it was the last time she was to listen to the glad message upon earth, it was to be her portion early to enjoy it in heaven. Before the next Sabbath Jessie took ill, and in a short time was seized with all the symptoms of scarlet fever. It was of a malignant

kind, and ended fatally. But her's was a happy death. She talked much of what she had heard on the previous Sabbath, and spoke of having "given herself to Jesus." As long as she was able, sne delighted in singing or repeating those sweet hymns she had been accustomed to sing at the Sabbath school; and often, when suffering under pain or sickness, did she make the lowly room in which she lay resound with the voice of joy and praise.

One day, as her mother stood weeping by her bedside, she said, "Dinna greet for me, mother, for I'm no fear'd to die." On her mother asking her why she was not afraid to die, she answered, “Because I have given myself to Jesus, and I am going to him.” Sweet confidence! It was the language of the trusting love of a devoted child. "Are you not sorry to leave us?" said her mother to her at another time. "I am going to heaven," was her simple reply; but on seeing her mother look disappointed, she added, "I hope to see you all there soon, mother." As if she meant to say, "We shall not be long separated." Then turning to a younger sister she said, "Oh! Tina, be a good girl, and do what mother bids you." She also requested an elder sister to be regular and attentive at the Sabbath school, and earnestly entreated her " to give herself to Jesus," and added, “It is a happy thing to do so."

Sometimes during the silence of the night, when all were asleep but her watchful mother, she was heard frequently engaged in secret prayer, and often repeated such hymns as "The happy land," and "Oh, that will be joyful!" &c.; and often during the day she requested her sisters to sing them for her. "What hymn do you like best?" said her mother to her one day after she had asked some of those around her to sing. "I like The happy land," said she; "and, O mother! I like that verse the best which says:

Bright, in that happy land,
Beams every eye;
Kept by a Father's hand,
Love cannot die!"

She felt she was dying, but rejoiced that love would never die; and though her eye was now sunk and dim,' yet in that "happy land" to which she was hastening every eye was bright.

Her teacher, unfortunately, was prevented by indisposition from visiting her all this time. As soon as she was able, however, she repaired to the humble dwelling. She was not at that time fully aware of the happy state of Jessie's mind, and it was with hope and fear that she arrived at the cottage. Alas! she came too late. "The lily had been gathered," and little Jessie was now beyond the reach of all human aid. But, blessed be that love which hears and answers prayer, the seed so lately sown had taken root, sprung up, and borne much fruit in a little time. The shock of corn had become fully ripe, and was already removed to the garner above.

The teacher had come trembling and hoping to little Jessie's cottage, intending to sow the good seed; she left it weeping and rejoicing at the rich sheaves which had been gathered in. She had come expecting to find Jessie suffering bodily pain; but, instead

of that, there she lay, beautiful even in death, with a calm and placid countenance. Well might it have been said of her, "She is not dead, but sleepeth." She had suffered much before her death, and was quite insensible for some time previous; and it was a comfort to those around her when the Lord relieved her from her earthly sufferings, and took her home to glory-to that "happy land" where every eye is bright, and where love will never die.-Scottish Sabbath School Teachers' Magazine.

SOPHISTICAL OBJECTIONS AGAINST THE DOCTRINE OF THE BIBLE REGARDING SIN.

BY THE REV. CHARLES HODGE, D.D., PRINCETON. A CHIEF cause of the indifference of men to the charge of sin may be found in the objections which they urge against the truth. Such objections, indeed, are more frequently and effectually urged to perplex the advocates of religion, than to quiet the uneasiness of conscience. Still men endeavour to impose upon themselves, as well as to embarrass others. And the objections referred to, doubtless, are often obstacles in the way of the inquirer; or opiates to the consciences of those who desire to be deceived. It is objected, "That we are what God made us; that our character is determined either by our original constitution, or by the circumstances in which we are placed, and therefore we cannot be responsible for t; that, inasmuch as neither our belief nor our affections are under the control of the will, we cannot be accountable for either; that it is in vain to use means to escape the judgment of God, since what is to be, will be; that we must wait till God sees fit to change our hearts, since it is declared in Scripture to be his work."

It will be observed, that these and similar objecions relate to the reconciliation of different truths, and not to their separate validity or evidence. The proposition that men are responsible for their moral character, taken by itself, is so capable of demonstration, that all men do in fact believe it. Every man feels it to be true with regard to himself, and knows it to be true with regard to others. All self-condemnation and self-approbation rest on the consciousness of this truth. All our judgments regarding the moral conduct of others are founded on the same assumption. It is, therefore, one of those truths which is included in the universal consciousness of men, and has in all ages and nations been assumed as certain. Men cannot really doubt it, if they would. On the other hand, it is no less certain that our character does depend, in a measure, upon circumstances beyond our control, upon our original constitution, upon education, upon prevalent habits and opinions, upon Divine influence, etc. All this is proved by experience and observation. Here, then, are two facts resting on independent evidence, each certain, and each by itself securing general assent. Yet we see men constantly disposed to bring up the one against the other; and argue against their responsibility because they are dependent, or against their dependence because they are responsible.

In like manner, the proposition that man is a free agent commands immediate and universal assent, because it is an ultimate fact of consciousness. It can no more be doubted than we can doubt our own existence. Side by side, however, with this intimate persuasion of our moral liberty, lies the conviction, no less intimate, of our inability to change, by merely willing to do so, either our belief or our affections, for which, as before stated, every man knows himself

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to be responsible. Perhaps few men--perhaps no man-can see the harmony of these truths; yet they are truths, and as such are practically acknowledged by all men.

Again: all experience teaches us that we live in a world of means; that knowledge, religion, happiness, are all to be sought in a certain way, and that to neglect the means is to lose the end. It is, however, no less true, that there is no necessary or certain connexion between the means and the end; that God holds the result in his own hands, and decides the issues according to his sovereign pleasure. In all the ordinary affairs of life, men submit to this arrangement, and do not hesitate to use means, though the end is uncertain and beyond their control. But in religion they think this uncertainty of the result a sufficient excuse for neglect.

It is obvious that this method of reasoning, or rather of cavilling, which consists in bringing up one well-established truth against another, is unworthy of a rational being. We ought to (and practically we must) receive every truth on its own evidence. If we cannot reconcile one fact with another, it is because of our ignorance; better instructed men, or higher orders of beings, may see their perfect har mony. Our want of such knowledge does not in the least impair the force of the evidence on which they separately rest. In every department of knowledge, the number of irreconcilable truths depends on the progress of the student. That loose matter flies off from revolving bodies, and that every thing adheres to the surface of the earth, notwithstanding its rapid revolution, are irreconcilable facts to one man, though not to another. That two rays of light should produce darkness, or two sounds cause silence, are facts which many may be entirely unable to reconcile with other facts of which they are certain, while the philosopher sees not only their consistency, but that they are the necessary consequences of the same cause.

If the evidence of the constant revolution of the earth round its axis were presented to a man, it would certainly be unreasonable in him to deny the fact, merely because he could not reconcile it with the stability of every thing on the earth's surface. Or if he saw two rays of light made to produce darkness, must he resist the evidence of his senses because he knows that two candles give more light than one? Men do not commonly act thus irrationally in physical investigations. They let each fact stand on its own evidence. They strive to reconcile them, and are happy when they succeed. But they do not get rid of difficulties by denying facts.

If, in the department of physical knowledge, we are obliged to act upon the principle of receiving every fact upon its own evidence, even when unable to reconcile one with another, it is not wonderful that this necessity should be imposed upon us in those departments of knowledge which are less within the limits of our powers. It is certainly irrational for a man to reject all the evidence of the spirituality of the soul, because he cannot reconcile with that doctrine the fact, that a disease of the body disorders the mind. Must I do violence to my nature in denying the proof of design afforded by the human body, because I cannot account for the occasional occurrence of deformities of structure? Must I harden my heart against all the evidence of the benevolence of God, which streams upon me in a flood of light from all his works, because I may not know how to reconcile that benevolence with the existence of evil? Must I deny my free agency, the most intimate of all convictions, because I cannot see the consistency between the freeness of an act and the certainty of its occurrence? Must I deny that I am a moral being,

the very glory of my nature, because I cannot change my character at will?

It is impossible for any man to act, in any department of knowledge, upon the principle on which these cavilling objections to religion are founded. From youth to age we are obliged to take each fact as it comes, upon its own evidence, and reconcile it with other facts as best we may.

The unreasonableness of this method of arguing is further evident from the consideration, that, if it were universally adopted, it would render all progress in knowledge impossible. It would be tantamount to a resolution to know nothing until we know all things; for our knowledge at first is confined to isolated facts. To classify and harmonize these facts, is the slow work of the student's life. This is a most benevolent arrangement of Providence. It at once stimulates the desire of knowledge, and imposes on us the constant exercise of faith. And it is in virtue of these two important principles of our nature that all valuable knowledge is obtained. The desire of knowing, not merely facts, but their relations and harmony, leads to the constant effort to increase the number of known truths, and to obtain an insight into their nature; and the necessity we are under of believing what we cannot understand, or cannot reconcile, cultivates the habit of faith-of faith in evidence. faith in the laws of our nature, faith in God. It is thus our heavenly Father leads us along the paths of knowledge; and he who refuses to be thus led, must remain in ignorance. God deals with us as children; though as rational children. He does not require us to believe without evidence; but he does require us to believe what we cannot understand, and what we cannot reconcile with other parts of knowledge. This necessity of implicit faith is not confined to any one department of knowledge, but, as already stated, is constantly demanded with regard to all. The simplest objects in the physical world are surrounded with mysteries. A blade of grass has wonders about it which no philosopher can clear up; no man can tell what fixes the type of each species of plant or animal; by what process the materials of leaf and flower are selected and arranged; whence the beautiful tints are borrowed, or how applied; what conducts the silent process of formation of the eye or hand. Every thing we see is, even to the most enlightened, the index of something unknown and inscrutable.

If the visible and tangible forms of matter are replete with things past finding out, what may we expect when we turn our eyes on the world of spirits? Even that little world in our own bosoms which is pervaded by our own consciousness, the facts of which are most intimately known, is full of wonders; of phenomena which we can neither comprehend nor reconcile. Who can understand the secret union of the soul and body, which establishes their reciprocal influence? Why should the emotion of shame suffuse the cheek, or that of fear send the blood to the heart? Why does the soul suffer if the body be injured? What conception can we form, either of matter or mind, which is consistent with their mutual influence and communion? The operations of our rational and moral faculties are not less beyond our comprehension. We know certain facts, but the reason of them, or their consistency, we cannot understand. We know that certain feelings follow certain perceptions; the feeling of confidence, the perception of truth; the feeling of pleasure, the perception of beauty; the feeling of approbation, the perception of what is morally right. Why these feelings should thus rise, no one can tell. Such are the laws of our being; laws which we did not originate, and which we cannot control. That is, we can

not prevent the feeling of confidence or faith attending the perception of truth; nor that of pleasure the perception of beauty; nor that of approbation the perception of moral rectitude. Yet the consciousness of self-agency mingles with all these operations. We are free in being subject to the laws of our own nature. The necessity under which we form such judgments, or exercise such feelings, produces no sense of bondage. In these involuntary or necessary judgments or feelings, however, our moral character is largely concerned. If two men see an act of cruelty, and the one smiles at it, and the other is indignant, no sophistry can prevent our condemning the former and approving the latter. The feeling excited by the act arises in each spontaneously, and by an inward necessity, which neither, at the moment, can control. The knowledge of this fact does not interfere with our judgment in the case. And that judgment is not merely, that the feeling which produced the smile is an indication of a state of mind, or of previous conduct, worthy of disapprobation. but that the feeling itself was wrong. Moreover, the feeling of disapprobation which arises thus spontaneously in our bosoms at this delight in suffering. is itself a moral feeling. We should condemn our selves if it did not arise; we approve ourselves because of it. There are therefore, in our own breasts. enigmas which we cannot solve, depths which we cannot fathom. Must we, then, in order to be rational, deny these facts? Must we maintain that our nature is an illusion, and our constitution a falsehood? Shall we, on the one hand, deny that we are subject to the laws of our being, or, on the other. that the acts which result from those laws are not our own, do not express our character nor involve responsibility? This, happily, cannot be done; for faith in our own consciousness is one of the laws o our nature from which we can never effectually emancipate ourselves.

"For

If, then, there are in our own nature so many things which we cannot comprehend, how can we expect to understand God-to know the reasons and relations of his acts, or to be able to reconcile in ali cases his works with his attributes? To do this would require a more thorough knowledge of God than we have of ourselves. It would require a comprehension of his purposes, and of the mode in which he accomplishes them. It would require, in short, a knowledge which no creature can possess. what man knoweth the things of a man, save the spirit of man which is in him? even so the things of God knoweth no man, but the Spirit of God."—(1 Cor. ii. 11.) We, then, who are the least and lowest of God's rational creatures, may well expect to be required to live by faith; to receive as true, on his authority, much that we cannot understand and cannot reconcile. It is not, however, blind belief which is required of us. We are not required to believe any thing without adequate evidence; but, on the other hand, we are not allowed to reject any thing simply because we cannot understand it. We must not reject the existence of God, because we cannot comprehend self-existence; we must not deny his eternity, because we cannot conceive of duration without succession; nor his omnipresence, because we cannot see how a being can be equally and entirely in all places at the same time; nor omniscience, because we cannot see how free acts can be foreknown. In like manner, we are not required to believe in God's goodness without abundant evidence of his benevolence; but we are required to believe it, whether we can reconcile it with the existence of evil or not. We are not required to believe in the providence of God without evidence; but our being unable to reconcile his government with our liberty, is no rational

one thought of God; how she had been amused by passing events, and never experienced one feeling of holy gratitude to the Lord of glory, who had come down on this sinful earth to die the death of the cross, that we might be saved. But the tract did not tell the sinner that he was guilty before God, in order to leave him there. It told also the blessed truth that life and salvation are offered by the gospel. It showed that it was for the sinner that Christ's sacrifice was offered. "For scarcely for a righteous man will one die, yet peradventure for a good man some would even dare to die; but God commendeth his love towards us, in that, while we were sinners, Christ died for us." It showed, that while God | could not pardon the transgressor with justice, except Mediator between God and man had appeared, that tod's only beloved Son had become that Mediator, ind that "if any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, even Jesus Christ the righteous." Christ's own words invited the sinner to come to .im. "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and ye shall find rest to your souls." Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me." Katherine found that God's Holy Spirit was promised o sinners, to bring them to God. That he was to guide them into all truth;" and that our Saviour ad said, "If ye, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall God give his Holy Spirit to them that ask him?"

Every passage, as she read it, seemed to bring some new light to Katherine's mind God was teachng this poor child. He who had died for her soul was revealing himself gradually to her. Her illness was a long one; but she found, in communion with iod, and in the study of his promises, a deep and asting happiness. The bed of pain and sickness was o her the prelude to everlasting glory, and she longed to be absent from the body, that she might be present with the Lord.

Many months after she thus read the little tract, Katherine's happy spirit entered into the joy of her Lord. But the good done by the tract did not end

here.

Katherine had found "the pearl of great price," and she did not conceal it. She called on others to rejoice with her on finding it. She had one friend (whom I shall call Emma) who was much with her luring her long illness, and who had been her companion from her childhood. Katherine endeavoured to lead her to God; she entreated her to come as a sinner to the Saviour, and to seek the Holy Spirit by prayer. Emma had not before thought seriously of religion, but from this time she began to study the Scriptures for herself. She was led to embrace the offers of the gospel, and became a devout and humble child of God.

It is less than a twelvemonth since, that the writer of these pages was called to attend the sick-bed of Emma. Emma was an old friend and schoolfellow, and her illness was a source of deep sorrow to the writer. But the invalid's countenance bore no traces of sorrow or regret. The bright eye, and hectic flush, and continual cough, gave certain indications that consumption had made great advances in her

delicate frame. Emma knew this, and although sometimes, amid the changes of that flattering disease, she thought she might recover, the more permanent feeling was that she should die. Yet she had no fear of passing through the dark valley, for she knew that God would be with her, and that the valley of the shadow of death would be made light by his presence.

Emma possessed great talents and mental attainments; but it might truly be said of her that she "received the kingdom of God as a little child." Her faith was most simple and child-like. It was enough for her that God had said in his word that Christ would save the sinner. She had a firm conviction that "God is love," and the belief made her calmly, quietly happy. The medical attendant said of her, that she must have died much earlier in the course of the disease, but that her happy and quiet spirit enabled the body to resist its advances, "Thy will be done" was not only the expression of her lips, but the feeling of her heart. She had many friends whom she tenderly loved; yet, without an anxious thought, she commended them all to her Father in heaven. Emma would often on her sick-bed regret, that she had not from her childhood diligently studied the Scriptures. She said that she so often could remember the spirit of some text, but could not recollect the exact words, nor could she readily find it. She said, if life were spared, she thought she should try and learn all the New Testament by heart. One day, when speaking of the Bible, she said, "It is so different from other books. If I read any other book two or three times, I seem to know its contents, but every reading of the sacred volume seems to throw new light upon it; one finds out the meaning of its passages more and more." Her friend said to her,

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Yes, that has always struck me as a proof of the Divine authority of the sacred writings." She replied, "My own heart gives me abundance of proof that they are true."

It was a beautiful summer morning on which Emma looked her last on the world. She had always been a great admirer of nature, and had loved to trace the hand of God in adorning the earth and sky with beauty. A few hours before she died, she asked that the blind might be drawn up, that she might look out upon the garden and meadows once more. She gazed earnestly on them, as if to take a last farewell. She then beckoned to her friends, bade each a solemn and affectionate adieu; her last words were, "Happy, willing." She made signs that prayer should be offered, and while those around her were praying that her dismissal should be without pain, and that a glorious entrance might be granted into the heavenly kingdom, she quietly breathed her last, and her happy spirit entered the world where sin and

sorrow never enter.

The mode of Emma's death literally exemplified the Scripture description: "She fell asleep in Jesus," and her friend was reminded of the words of the good John Bunyan, in describing the passage through the dark river, which was taken by the pilgrim—" And the river was very calm at that time."

Many friends visited Emma during her long sick