justly remarks that the disciples objecting to it is proof "that our Lord did not then sanction infant baptism, for had he done so the disciples would not have reproved those who were fulfilling a customary duty," and that too after they had themselves been some time in the habit of baptizing.

The extraordinary absurdity of grounding infant baptism on a passage which professor Neander justly cites to disprove its apostolic origin Cor. vii. 14), Mr. Noel vigorously exposes; adopting substantially the view which we presented to our readers in a former volume; he cites also what we too deem the less correct view of Barnes. Besides entering into detail, he puts the household argument quite unanswerably, in a form in which we have not seen it before :

"Three households are said to have been baptized, and five households are said to have believed. If, then, because three households were baptized with their heads, households generally, including infants, were baptized when their heads were baptized, so because five households believed with their heads, households generally, including infants, believed when their heads believed.

"If it be objected, respecting the five believing households, that either they contained no children, or else that children were excluded from the statement as being incapable of faith, I reply respecting the three baptized households, either they contained no children, or children were excluded from the statement as being incapable of the faith required in baptism, and therefore unfit to receive the rite. The meaning of the word

'household' must be as comprehensive in the second series of instances as in the first. If children were included in the first, they are included in the second, if they are excluded from the second, they are also excluded from the first: and consequently the baptism of the three households contains no proof that the infants within them, or that any infants, were baptized by the Apostles."

The argument from the silence of the New Testament respecting the baptism of any adult children of believers, is thoroughly conclusive; and there is a rather amusing chapter, shewing that even the argument, if it deserve the name, "from the number of those who practise pædobaptism is really in our favour." The chapter on the effects of baptism is very good. The work concludes with about fifteen pages on free communion, and a "form of baptismal selfdedication to God."

It is hardly needful to observe that we do not profess to agree with every criticism on scripture, or every sentence of argument, in this truly interesting book. Mr. Noel himself expects to correct some details when he allows himself to read Baptist works. We admire his noble determination to be undeniably an independent witness to "the force of truth." Mr. Noel has become a Baptist against all temporal interests,against all theological prepossessions,— against all the arguments of the first pædobaptists of the day,-and through the study of inspired Baptist writers only. "Well may we glorify God in him." Let us pray that his example and his teaching may be richly blessed!

THE POOR ORPHAN.

A NARRATIVE.

BY THE REV. JOHN CAMPBELL.

There lived in Edinburgh a respectable couple, who had two children. In consequence of the husband being a long time in a consumption before he died, they were greatly reduced in their circumstances. He was no sooner dead than symptoms of a decline appeared also in his widow, perhaps derived from him. From her circumstances she was under the necessity of applying for public assistance, and the Sick Society received her as one of their pensioners. Being

in my district, I was appointed to visit her weekly. The youngest boy soon after died, and the mother continued for several months wasting away in a decline; but during her protracted illness, she appeared to have obtained mercy through faith in Christ Jesus. When near the end she told me that, having the hope of heaven, she had nothing to trouble her, except what would become of that poor boy, pointing to her son, Kenneth Duncan, who was then about his eighth year. The kind manner in which he had acted towards his mother during her illness, his prudence in laying out her money according to her directions, and his keeping so

"After her funeral, I disposed of her furniture, which paid the rent that was owing, defrayed her funeral expenses, and supported the boy for nearly a year. At that very time I heard of one vacancy in the Orphan Hospital, for which there were about one-and-thirty applications. Properly to understand the issue, it is needful to know that what I am relating happened soon after the French revolution had taken place, and when the mass of people of Britain were ripe for a revolution in their own country, even to the dividing of the estates of landed proprietors among themselves. No wonder, then, that gentlemen of property were under peculiar alarm. There was a rich old gentleman, who had at that time, the chief management of the Orphan Hospital, and who for some time had made it his hobby; he added, at his own expense, an additional wing to the building, to complete the original plan, and various other things; and, being aged, the Committee let him take a good deal of its government. Like others, he was alarmed for the safety of his property. His name was Thomas Todd, Esq. Dr. Hardy, one of the ministers of Edinburgh, and Professor of Church History in the University, wrote confessedly the best defence of the British constitution that had been published. Among several others, I got that Dr. Hardy to sign Kenneth's peti tion for admission into the hospital. On calling on Mr. Todd with the petition and boy, he said, 'Oh, there are thirty-one petitions already for supplying that one vacancy!' However, I put my petition into his hand. On looking to it, he soon observed the name of Thomas Hardy; on which he looked to the boy, saying, 'You are a lucky fellow, there is a name here that secures your admission; look to me, boy, as your father; I will be a friend to you for the sake of that name.' You may believe this was a very important occurrence to me; for had he not been admitted, I had the whole of the support and education of the boy thrown upon myself; but by this decision I had it taken off for at least five or six years. His conduct was highly approved by his teachers; and, as a proof of it, when

he came to the age at which he must go out of the hospital, the teachers petitioned the governors that he might remain another year, merely to be an example to the others; which was not agreed to.

"On leaving the hospital, he was bound apprentice to two brothers, who were clothiers, (whom I well knew), for five years. He gave complete satisfaction to them during the whole of his apprenticeship, and by the end of which he had become a tall, good-looking young man, and very expert in business. They told me they could not afford to give him as a salary what he was actually worth as a clerk, wherefore they recommended him to a relative of their own in London, who received him into his counting-house.

"In process of time he went out as super. cargo of a vessel to the Cape-of-Good-Hope, and to remain there as agent for a London house, where he got on remarkably well. On my first going out to Africa for the Missionary Society, we had a very long passage, -four months. However, one morning we cast anchor in Table-Bay, about a mile from Cape - Town. After feasting our eyes in viewing the town, and the interesting mountain scenery by which it was surrounded, (which was the more interesting to us, from not having seen an acre of land for a quarter of a year), I went down to the cabin to dress, in order to go ashore; and while thus employed, I heard some person outside the vessel addressing the captain in an angry tone of voice, which made me lay down my razor and ascend to the deck to learn the cause. How astonished was I to find that the voice proceeded from my young friend, Kenneth Duncan, who was standing up in a small boat between two Malays. Most of our cargo belonged to him: in ordinary passages he should have had the goods a month before, and the want of them had caused both loss and inconvenience; and he was attributing the length of the passage to the ignorance of the captain. He was so engaged with the captain, that for some time he did not notice me, though I was looking over nearly opposite to him. At length his eyes and mine met, which so overwhelmed him, that down he fell to the bottom of the boat, which, being small, he nearly overturned. On rising and getting to the side of the vessel, he climbed and got to the deck in a moment, and in a confused voice asked,' What is it? what is it? You are the last man, knowing your engage

ments in London, I should have expected to have seen here.' I think, on seeing me, he must have suspected, that on some account, I had been obliged to leave England, and had come to him for help. Seeing his agitation, I told him' all was right, and if he would step down to the cabin, I should tell him my object in coming to Africa, which was a very important one;' and could not help expressing my surprise that he should be the first man belonging to Africa whom I should see after the ship had let down her anchor.

"On reaching the cabin, I immediately told the object of my visit to Africa, viz., as a deputation from the London Missionary Society to visit their missionary stations, &c. With this information he was satisfied that all was correct. He then told me that he had lately married the eldest daughter of the chief magistrate of Cape-Town; that they had a large house, and he and his wife lived with her parents; that I was well known to the whole family, as he had often spoken of me to them; to which he added, 'And you will find yourself as much at home to-night, as you would in your own house at Kingsland;' which I actually did. I saw the hand of God through all this, working in favour of the missionary cause in which I was embarked; for, lodging with such a family as a friend, gave me at once a respectability in the eyes of some, which I found helpful to my object. Sometimes, on going to bed at night, I could not refrain reflecting on the numerous links in the chain of Providence, by which I was brought to that house, and the bed on which I lay. The whole family were most kind and attentive all the time I remained under their hospitable roof. After two or three months passed over, living chiefly there, and part of the time at Mr. Kuyper's, of Stellenbosch, the hour of my departure for the interior came; my waggon, with twelve oxen, stood in front of the house; the whole family were assembled to take leave of me, which they did on the terrace, most affectionately, with several of their slaves, males and females. I never saw them more in the same position; for on my return, about a year after, I found the father was dead, the family removed to another house, and the young couple to a house of their own, to which I was invited to take

up my residence so long as I remained in Africa, which I did very comfortably.

"When the day of my departure for England came, my friend Mr. Duncan and another young friend, went with me in a boat to the brig in which I was to sail. When I took leave of my two young friends, how little I suspected that they were soon to be removed to an eternal world; but so it was, that as my friend, a few months after, was taking a ride on his grey horse, to which he was much attached, he had fallen from it; whether by a fit, or otherwise, remains unknown. He was found on the road insensible, in which state he continued till he died; of course, unable to explain the circumstances attending his death. His widow was afterwards married to a Cape gentleman, who heard, long, before I went out a second time, that it was probable I should pay another visit to the Cape; and therefore kindly invited me by a letter I received in London before I set off, to take up my residence under his roof, the same as I had done under his wife's, when her name was Mrs. Duncan. This I did during the whole of my second visit to Cape-Town. Being saved board and lodgings both times I resided at the Cape-of-Good-Hope, through that little Edinburgh orphan boy, was a considerable saving to the Missionary Society, for these are very expensive at the Cape; and then my additional comfort, by living among friends instead of strangers, was very great."*

LIGHT IN DARKNESS.
"Oh, who would bear life's stormy doom
Did not the wind of love

Come, brightly wafting through the foam,
Our Peace-branch from above?

Then sorrow, touched by thee, grows bright,
With more than rapture's ray;

As darkness shows us worlds of light
We never saw by day."

I remember being much startled, and almost shocked, one day, when in conversation with a friend, by hearing him quote and adopt the sentiments contained in the following couplet:

"There is a joy in being mad That only Madmen know." It then appeared to me as a state of suffering without mitigation-a dark and dismal cloud, in which no bright spot could be discerned-a bitter cup of sorrow, without

one drop of sweet-a frowning providence, through which a Father's smile could never be discernible.

I was at that time young, and the friend with whom I conversed was advanced in life, and had had much experience, which perhaps attracted my attention to what appeared at first so uninviting; and in after years my own views seemed gradually to coincide with the sentiments alluded to, as opportunities occurred which brought the subject more immediately before my view.

The very insensibility to the misfortunes which are sometimes the means of producing this malady, seems in itself a merciful amelioration of suffering. The torpor into which the feelings are hushed must afford temporary relief; and past occurrences, if recalled, appearing like indistinct dreams, cast a shade over the vividness of painful truths from which they have escaped.

The imagination, in such cases, often becomes strong and vivid, even when it had previously seemed to lie dormant ; and lends its aid in emancipating the sufferer from former scenes and circumstances. A kind of mental transmigration takes place, by which identity is lost sight of, and a new character assumed, accompanied by new trains of thought, as we may suppose, attended by an entire change of feelings. In this way, poverty is often exchanged for the possession of wealth, sorrow for joyousness and mirth, and the lowest state of abject wretchedness for all the refinements of polished life, and the society, not only of the great and noble in birth, but even of royalty itself.

Who could deny that relief is found from living in a world of vision, shaded, as it were, by the dark veil of eclipsed reason, from realities once so visible in all their sad truthfulness?

It has been observed, that many true christians who have become insane on every other point, have been recalled at once from the most absurd aberrations to calmness and rationality, by the introduction of sacred subjects. "The anchor of the soul, sure and steadfast," will sustain those who rest their hopes upon it, even in this hour of "stormy gloom," though reason may have suffered shipwreck. The pearl of great price, hid though it may be beneath the deep waters of affliction, can never be lost.

Many years since I was requested to visit

a person under these circumstances, of whose history I had previously learned enough to excite in me much interest and sympathy.

She was the wife of a respectable tradesman, who had, for many years, been justly respected for integrity and uprightness; through some unforeseen causes, his circumstances had become involved, without any blame having been attached to himself, and, overpowered by the fear of meeting his creditors, in an evil hour he left his home and family, consisting of a wife, and it might be, three or four small children, and either left the country altogether, or concealed himself so that his retreat could not be discovered. His poor agonized wife was not aware of his intentions, and totally ignorant of what had become of him.

The embarrassed state of her husband's affairs was no longer a secret, and to find herself deserted at such a crisis almost drove her to despair.

The creditors came immediately and seized all his effects, and an auction was summoned for the purpose of selling every thing. The poor, distracted wife and mother was witness to all the preparations usual on such occasions, and one by one, she looked at each article of furniture belonging to herself and children, as they were brought out to be handed over to the highest bidder. One thing only at length remained of all that was once called hers-a little cabinet, for which she pleaded, as being the gift, perhaps, of a beloved mother; it contained her private letters and papers, with which many recollections of happier days were, no doubt, associated, and probably some little trinkets made valuable from the persons by whom they were bestowed.

"Will you take that, too ?" was her melancholy, but despairing appeal, as she tried to retain it from the merciless grasp of the obdurate beings employed on such occasions as the agents in those tragic scenes. That, too, must go; poor afflicted one, it seemed as if this refusal inflicted a deeper wound than she had felt when all beside was being removed from her, it convinced her that no spark of pity was felt for her destitution, and that all were alike insensible to her

sorrows.

Her crushed spirit sunk in a struggle which was too much for her feeble frame, and, overwhelmed with complicated trials, she became almost instantly deprived of reason, and was obliged to be removed from her family to

one of those asylums provided for persons afflicted with this dreadful malady.

That dismal chamber, with its lofty ceiling, and prison-like windows, placed so high as to elude the daring even of the fevered maniac, is still in my remembrance, and the impressions made upon my mind by the appearance of that lone one, have never been effaced by the varied scenes of many revolving years.

On entering the room, the object of my visit was soon pointed out to me; she was sitting up in bed, dressed with the plain, unbordered cap usually worn by hospital patients, her face flushed with fever, her eye restless and wandering, and one arm tied up as if from some recent accident, caused, as I afterwards learned, from dislocation produced by her own endeavours to free herself from the bandages made use of to prevent self-injury, during violent paroxysms of the disorder.

The distressing crisis was, however, now past, and had been exchanged for a less alarming stage of the disorder.

A favourite dog seemed to occupy all her thoughts just then, and she talked to it as if it were near her with the utmost volubility, begging of imaginary persons, to whom she addressed herself, to be kind to it; but Fido was nowhere to be seen, though she called for him loudly and repeatedly; it was one of the aberrations of her disordered brain, and soon passed away, like a feverish dream.

As I had no means of introduction to the invalid, to whom I was a perfect stranger, I felt somewhat at a loss how to address her, or make the enquiries after her health which my friend, who was at that time incapable of doing so, had requested me.

I at length ventured, with some degree of perturbation, I confess, to approach her bed, and timidly enquired how she felt herself. She seemed surprised at my visit, and, I fancied, annoyed, and replied to my question with a nonchalance which confirmed my opinion, "that she was quite well." I then mentioned the name of the person at whose desire I had called, and expressed his anxiety about her, at the same time approaching the side of the bed where she was sitting; she again assured me that she was quite well, in a cheerful tone, but with a manner which still implied that she thought I was intruding on her.

Not seeming, however, to notice this, I continued to remain beside her bed, and with the hope of winning her confidence,

endeavoured to draw her into conversation. She at length appeared to become conscious that I was interested in her welfare, and her manner, by degrees, grew more gentle and confiding. She then began to communicate to me many of the innocent fancies which occupied her thoughts just then, and had taken the place of others, which had lately been so heart-rending. Among the rest, a most happy conclusion had been formed as to what had become of her husband-he was gone to be a missionary to the Chinese, and she was not only perfectly satisfied, but pleased that it should be so. She talked for sometime of the impenetrable walls of the great city, till her restless thoughts wandered to some other channel. No gloom, however, or melancholy, tinged her wild chimeras; cheerfulness and contentment appeared to pervade all her imaginings.

At length, I proposed reading to her, to which she at once consented; when I opened the Bible, she ceased to ramble, and became calm and still. The passage selected was the beautiful one hundred and third Psalm.

When I commenced to read, her thoughts seemed at once to be concentrated, and, to my no small delight and surprise she repeated the whole Psalm, word for word, correctly, always anticipating me in each verse, and evincing much feeling and in

terest.

When I had finished, she said, "I do not like that Saviour,' it is a cold word;" I felt disappointed, and feared to hear her relapse into absurdities; "but," she immediately resumed, "I will tell you what I like, my Saviour, that is the word that brings comfort."

These words were uttered with a fervour of expression never to be forgotten, while she endeavoured to cross her disabled arms on her breast, and raised her bright eyes heaven-ward. It told of brighter hopes, even in this dark and mysterious house-it pointed to the anchor of the soul cast within the veil it was christianity beaming through the shattered vision of reason-it was the triumph of grace over the saddest ravages of sin and sorrow.

She was very unwilling that I should leave her, and endeavoured, with much affection, to prolong my stay, which at that time was impossible. Poor, lone one! I could not have thought that her release was so near at hand; but He in whom she had believed was already at the door-" The Master was come, and called for her,"-a brighter day