"The pleasures of life are just opening before us; oh! we cannot be christians."

The mother fell on her knees, and with all the earnestness of a warm and agonized heart besought their Heavenly Father to look upon, and bless, her dear children; to give them repentance for sin, to make them sensible of their own vileness and their inability to do anything to save themselves from the ruin in which they were involved, to wash them in that blood which alone can cleanse the soul, and to enable them now, come life or death, to resolve that they would serve Him. They arose from their knees; the mother turned an anxious eye upon her children; Emma threw herself into her arms.

"And Mary, my child," she exclaimed, 'have you, too, resolved to seek for forgiveness and happiness at the feet of this Saviour?"

Mary spoke not; she thought of her gay young friends, of the golden pleasures of rank and wealth, and her heart was hard. In vain her mother and sister entreated her, prayed for her; she took the fearful responsibility of preferring time to eternity.

Reader, would you know the consequences resulting from that solemn hour? Eternity alone can reveal them to their full extent. Emma remained firm in her resolutions, and was soon rejoicing in that brightest, most hallowed of all emotions, the sense of sins forgiven. Mary-but the heart sickens to follow farther-from that hour lost all care for her future destiny. Prayers and tears were alike ineffectual to arouse her. Alas! she had grieved the spirit of God, and it had departed from her; she had rejected the offers of mercy, and they were no more hers.

Youthful reader, you who are saying to the gracious offers of mercy, again and again presented to you, "Go thy way for this time," who are weighing the deceitful, perishing pleasures of time against the commands of God, the happiness of eter nity, pause and ponder your ways, ere, like Mary B., you shall be given over "to hardness of heart and blindness of mind."American Mother's Magazine.

WORK WHILE YOU HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY.

AN ANECDOTE FOR SUNDAY SCHOOL TEACHERS.

Many years ago, I opened a Sabbathschool in a distant, neglected neighbourhood. At first the project was greatly ridiculed, and many opposed. But ridicule and opposition soon gave way to a good cause, and in a short time I had seventy scholars. The room in which we met was an unfinished chamber of a poor lame woman, the only place that was offered. The floor was not nailed down, and neither ceiling nor plaster had ever been seen in the chamber. The chimney passed up the centre, and the bare rafters were over our heads. Yet never did I see brighter or happier faces than among the little groups which I regularly met. They lived so far from any church or chapel that few could attend; or rather, their parents felt too indifferent to take them: Iso that their Sabbath-school embraced all that was Sabbath to them. It is now many years since, and I suppose they have all grown up, or have been removed into eternity, ere this time; but I can never forget this, my first Sabbath-school, nor the happy countenances that composed it..

* One hot Sabbath I had walked out to meet my Sabbath-school, and at the close of the lessons I felt weary and unwell. The children were expecting me to give them a history of the holy Sabbath from its first appointment, and to tell them why God appointed it, and what are our duties in regard to it; for so I had promised them, and had in fact prepared myself to do it. But being weary and unwell, I told them that for these reasons I would defer it to the next Sabbath. While thus putting it off, I noticed a bright little boy, sitting near me, who seemed to look disappointed. He had expected to hear about the holy Sabbath. Oh, had I remembered how Christ taught the poor woman of Samaria, though he was weary and faint, should I not have done differently?

The next Sabbath came, and my scholars were again coming together. On arriving at the house, instead of finding them all quiet at their seats as usual, I found them standing around the door, some sobbing, others looking frightened,-all silent. enquiry, they told me that "little Lewis had just been killed by the mill!" This was all they knew about it. At the head of my little flock, I hastened to the house where

On

the little boy lived. At the door I was met by the father of the child, wringing his hands, his face red and swollen, his eyes sunken and glaring, and his breath loaded with the fumes of ardent spirits.

"Oh," cried the man, "I might have known it. I might have known it all."

Might have known what, Sir?"

"Oh, I might have known that to-day one of my family must go; but I did not think, could not think, it must be my youngest boy?"

"Pray, how might you have known one must die to-day?"

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Why, when I came home last evening, old Rover," pointing to the stupid old dog that lay under the table, "sat on the doorsteps with his face to the east, crying and howling. I knew then some one, or I might have known some one, must go to-day; but did not think it must be poor little Lewis!"

"Do you believe there is a God?" "Oh, yes! I have no doubt of it."

"And do you suppose he reveals events to a dog, a creature without a soul and without reason, which he does not reveal to the wisest men? Nothing is more common than for a dog to howl when his master is gone, and he feels lonely; and as to his face being towards the east, I see nothing strange in that, since your house faces the east."

"Ah, so you may say; but I might have known it would come." And again he turned away to sob and, I fear, to drink, and then wonder over his being more stupid than a dog.

I led my scholars into the room. They seemed to breathe only from the top of their lungs. I lifted up the white napkin, and there was little Lewis, a mangled corpse! The children were all hushed while we gazed. The little girls covered their faces with their aprons or handkerchiefs. The little boys wiped their eyes with their hands, or with the sleeves of their jackets.

For some weeks it had been dry, and the streams had become low. But during the preceding day and night, a heavy rain had fallen. A mill on a small stream close by, which had stood still for some time for want of water, was set a-going early on Sabbath morning. I need not ask if the miller feared God.

About an hour before the Sabbath-school usually came together, little Lewis went down to the mill-stream to bathe. The poor boy had never seen his parents keep

the Sabbath holy. He swam out into the stream. The current was too strong for him; he raised the cry of distress; the miller heard and saw him, but was too much frightened to do anything. The current swept along; the little boy struggled ; again he cried for help; the waters rushed on; he was sucked down under the grate; the great mill-wheel rolled round; and he was in a moment crushed and dead! Scarcely had his last cry reached the ears of the miller, before his mangled corpse came out from under the wheel. It was the same little boy who had looked so disappointed on the last Sunday, because I omitted to talk about the holy Sabbath!

While standing beside the lifeless clay of this fair child, with all the children about me, my feelings were sad indeed. It seemed as if every child would have cried out, "Oh, had you kept your word, and told us about breaking the Sabbath, he would not have gone into the water, he would not have lain there dead!" It seemed as if the lips, though sealed by the hand of death, would open and reproach me. "Had I not put off my duty, probably this life would have been saved; perhaps an undying soul would have been saved from the guilt of being the everlasting enemy of God. What sacrifice would I not make, could that child once more come into my Sabbath-school!" Such were my thoughts. I have never been able to look back upon that scene without the keenest anguish. I have sometimes mentioned it to Sabbath-school teachers, and by it urged them never to put off till next Sabbath any duty which can be performed on this. And since I have been a minister, when I have felt weary and feeble, and tempted to put off some duty to a more convenient season, I have recalled that scene to my mind. Todd.

THE PERSECUTOR SUBDued.

I was occupied as usual at the chapel, says Assman, a German minister, one Sunday afternoon, catechising the young of both sexes, when one of the Zietten's regiment of body-guards came strolling up the aisle. At first he listened; but he soon began to make a mock of our service, and sought by all means in his power to provoke to laughter the young labourers who stood before me at the altar. I could not overlook such disorderly conduct; so, making a dead pause, I turned towards the man, and look

ing at him seriously, said, "If thou fearest not man, dost thou not fear the Lord God? If thou art come to this holy house only to disturb the worshippers of God, it would be better for thee to keep without." This reproof he took so ill, that he left the church furiously, though without uttering a word. When he had passed the gates, the storm burst out, and with many oaths he swore he would be revenged on the priest, as he termed me. He went to his quarters, and buckling on his sabre, he returned quickly 'to watch for me at the chapel door.

Weary of waiting there for me, he withdrew into a public-house, which was not far from the door of the chapel through which I had to pass. Here he sat down, boasting aloud that he would cleave my head asunder, and drinking brandy to strengthen his purpose. Having catechised and examined the young, I dismissed my little flock, and followed them from the chapel. As I came out of the door, I saw him advancing towards me with a firm step. 1 judged his purpose to be evil, for his countenance was so. My way lay to the left; and I took it without looking directly at him. He now came striding after me. His boots being iron-bound, I could distinctly hear his footsteps, and perceived that he was rapidly advancing on me. From long and sweet experience, my trust in the protecting love of my heavenly Father was so firm that I was not in the least fearful. I would not even turn my head to watch his movements, but, in sheer contempt of his impotent though devilish hatred, kept my back toward him. In an instant he was with me, and putting his left hand to his side, he struck me rudely with his elbow as he passed, after the manner of those who seek a quarrel. I looked calmly at him, and, pointing with my fore-finger to heaven, said, "My son, how fearfully wilt thou have to answer for thy sin against God!" He stood still, trembling with rage, but spoke not a word. Seeing this, I continued, "O repent, and bring forth fruit for

repentance!" and then I slowly pursued my course. Some of his comrades, who, aware of his purpose, had come to witness the scene, began now to taunt and jeer him for his mighty words and for his little deeds. He excused himself, saying, "The cursed priest is an enchanter: he looked so peacefully at me, that I was awe-stricken, and could not utter a syllable, much less grasp my sabre."

But what was the end of all this? A few days afterwards, I went as usual to visit my little flock in that village. They were in prayer; and when I opened the door, I saw, to my great surprise, a man in the hussar uniform, kneeling meekly down among the people of God. "Is Saul among the prophets?" I said within myself; and looking more closely, recognized the bold, bad man, who a little while before had been bent on murdering me. It gave me no little satisfaction to see him bowed low at God's footstool under a sense of sin. After his meeting with me, he had gone to his room, and confessed on his knees his sinfulness towards God. He was made strongly to possess the iniquities of his youth, and peace fled from his heart. Shortly afterwards, the godly-disposed of this people were assembled in the house of a pious gardener, named Zepernich, when they were most unexpectedly interrupted by this man. He had come, however, not to scoff, but to pray. Confessing that he had long resisted the Holy Spirit, he declared he could bear the reproaches of his conscience no longer. He was resolved to turn from his evil ways to the Lord, and besought the assistance and comfort of their prayers. The tears flowed freely down his cheeks while he spake; and they had no reason to doubt the sincerity of his repentance, and of his purpose. They were greatly astonished. Some wept for joy to see how God can soften the hardest hearts; and all of them praised God, knelt down with the humble sinner, and prayed with him and for him.

MORAL INABILITY. Having found, as we stated in our last, that many of our intelligent young men wish for a little information on topics like the one before us, we added the note on

which brother Crowe has commented, for the very purpose of introducing a few remarks. Brevity will, indeed, be difficult, and to offer room for every correspondent impossible; but we hope to be able, in two

articles, to give our thinking young readers a clue at least to the portentous difficulties of the subject.

As our friends have read brother Crowe's letters, a few remarks on them may suitably prepare the way for a summary and distinct statement of the subject next month. Our brother says he has made "no reference to Edwards, and that he leaves us therefore to settle with Edwards any difference we have with him." He has made no reference by name, but we thought so well read a theologian as our brother intended all conversant with Edwards's well known treatise on the will, to understand that in using exactly his account of Natural and Moral Inability (which we subjoin),* the reference was to that great thinker. Moreover, if Edwards be right he is right, if Edwards be wrong he is so too.

Our brother objects to the phrase "unable to be inclined." We object to it too. We wished him to notice it. First, because it alludes to an error fundamental to his and Edwards's representation of the subject, namely, the identification of inclination and will. (See his first article, page 62.) Secondly, because it is a frequent mode of representing the subject. Thirdly, because if the will have (as many hold) indirect power to create inclinations, the expression is so far correct. Suffice it now, that attention is called to it. It will be observed that our entire expression is ́" unable to be inclined to, or to will, what is good."

Mr. Crowe says, our supposed case before a jury is one of insanity and organic physical derangement, and therefore the allusion is inapposite. Not so. He strongly asserts that "no man can come to Christ till he is drawn by the Holy Spirit in regeneration, because TILL THEN he wants the will to come." True; but, according to this, the will to come is a volition quite out of his reach till given him. He wills to keep away from Christ, and this is the single volition on that subject open to him. Why so?

On every other subject two volitions are possible-to do as well as not to do. Why not on this subject too? Mr. Crowe answers (page 62), he "lost it in the fall." Then he lost it by no act of his own. He

lost it in the sense of being born without it; and we repeat that any man proved to have lost by birth the faculty to will what justice requires, would, by a jury, be sent to a lunatic asylum. But then the portentous question arises, if men have lost by birth the faculty to will to do what is just towards Him who has sent his Son to save us,-if, viz: they have lost by birth the faculty of coming to Christ,-if it is competent to them by birth only to will to keep away from him,-why does not God too hold them to be lunatics in regard to this matter? And this is the question which Edwards' and Mr. Crowe's view cannot, we think, answer. Our brother seems, like Edwards, not to recognize the fact, that the faculty of will is as natural as the corporeal and intellectual faculties, which he terms natural (page 62); hence having excluded will from the list of our natural faculties, he draws the verbally correct inference that want of will is not a natural inability. Hence he says (in his second piece, p. 101), "mental and rational faculties constitute his power and ability to repent and believe," and the same view is brought forward in the first piece; but we reply, the active faculty in man, which we designate by the name will, is as essential to responsibility as reason itself.

Suppose a man literally a merely intellectual being, endowed with the faculty of comprehending most perfectly all the relations in which he stood to God and Christ, -yet suppose him to have no faculty of willing, or only the faculty of willing in violation of what he perceived clearly to be the claims of his relation to God; in either case he would not and could not be responsible. If he had no faculty of willing, he would not be responsible for acting at all, for will is our only mental activity, and the origin of all our personal actions too. If he were endowed, like the animals, with a faculty of willing only in accordance with the dictates of his senses and appetites, he would not be responsible for willing otherwise. But if he be endowed, not only, first, with understanding and reason, and, secondly, with passions and appetites, but also, thirdly, with a will capable of acceding to the claims of the first, or the im

pulses of the second, then he is responsible for hearkening to reason and to God, and for denying passion and appetite. Now, the theory of our brother, and of Jonathan Edwards, cuts off from the will the possibility of obeying God's claims; it allows it before regeneration only the faculty of disobeying, and yet holds the man to be as responsible as if it lay with him to will obedience! A human being cannot well stand erect without two feet, nor can human responsibility stand securely except on the basis of a will competent to do as well as not to do what is required.

To sum up, the grand difference between the Edwards school of thinkers and their opponents is this. Edwards places liberty, and free agency, and accountability, in a man's, being able to do as he pleases. His opponents reply, that he is responsible not only for what he does, but for what he wills-

that in morals to will is to do. Hence they argue that if his will itself be determined by some extraneous or necessary cause, such as birth, he is not a free and, consequently, not an accountable being.

We must defer till our next a further account of this most difficult of theological and philosophical subjects. We had almost forgotten to add, that we perfectly concur with Mr. Crowe in his criticism on the texts in question. "Cannot," in morals, means "will not;" but we think his illustrations in no way solve the question, to which, indeed, eternity alone perhaps will give us a perfectly satisfactory answer, viz: If I want the will, might I not as well want the power? that is, if I want it as all men do want it, by birth,-by having lost it through descent from a father who lost it for me?

WEEKLY HALF-HOLIDAYS. In the town in which we write (Bradford, Yorkshire,) the young men and others employed in the stuff warehouses, which are very numerous, have just held a meeting in the Temperance Hall, to commemorate their having, by earnest representations to their employers, obtained the valuable boon of a weekly half-holiday.

We thoroughly rejoice in their success,the more so because it was obtained by christian means, by persuasion only, without resort to threats of combination, striking, or any other intimidating measures. In the almost innumerable warehouses of Manchester, the same privilege has been long enjoyed,―enjoyed equally by masters and those whom they employ. Few of the former, we believe, could now be persuaded to give up their half-holiday any more than their men. They find that the same amount of business is easily done in less time. It only compels customers, not to buy less, but to squander less of the seller's time. We think shopkeepers of every class will soon find this out too. We are strong advocates for diminishing the hours of employment; but our theory has always been that a little patience and perseverance may do it, without calling in the mischief-making hand of legislation. We need-town's-people es

pecially-secular as well as sacred holidays. We need bodily as well as spiritual recreation; time for acquiring temporal as well as sacred knowledge. Even our Sunday-school teachers need time in the week to prepare intellectually to teach their scholars. An extract from the speech, at the above-mentioned meeting, of the Rev. J. P. Chown, Baptist minister, Sion Chapel, Bradford, taken from the Bradford Observer, will suggest some striking thoughts to our young men, stimulating them at once to gain the privilege and to use it well when gained.

Mr. Chown observed that although this was a world of toil,-and all must toil if they would succeed, much less attain anything like eminence,-yet it was well to snatch some intervals from toil to be devoted to some higher and nobler object of pursuit. He especially congratulated the young men that the boon of a half-holiday had been obtained at a period when there were such opportunities for its improvement. They were not now driven to seek recreation and amusement in scenes of guilt and infamy: they lived in better times. In the Mechanics' Institute, with its lecture-room, library, classes, and reading-room, whatever direction their mental powers might take, they might find the materials by which they should be improved and extended. Were