serve the resignation, approaching to apathy, with which the Greeks in general meet their fate. One unfortunate man had made his escape; but so strong was his desire, after a few weeks, to see his family again, that he ventured back. The very evening of his return he was discovered in Galata, and dragged forth. The Greek knelt down, folded his arms on his breast tranquilly, without any change of feature, and was instantly slain. I passed by the body of this man twice afterwards: the Turks, as was their frequent practice after beheading, had fixed the head between the knees, in an upright position, so that its ghastly aspect was sure to meet the eye of the passenger. The Mussulmen certainly excel all other people in their dexterity in taking off the head at one blow. Afterwards, at Smyrna, I went early one morning to the execution of twenty-three Greeks, who were put to death in this way with little pain. But the scene was closed before I arrived at the spot, where the bodies were lying in a heap. It was truly shocking to see how cheap human life was held. "The women were better off in this respect; but wo to those who had any beauty. They always found their way to the harems of the Turks, to become their slaves and mistresses, while the plain ones were cared nothing about. A young and very lovely Greek was offered for sale by an Armenian merchant at Constantinople, for twenty thousand piastres, (about six hundred pounds). One of the pashas, who had owed the merchant that sum, had sent him this lady, who had become his captive, as payment, with directions that he must sell her for the full amount. The sex were indeed sadly degraded at this period. At the storming of Hivaly, a Greek town on the coast of Asia Minor, the Turks having put all the men to the sword, secured the few beauties for their seraglios, and sold the rest of the women for fifty piastres, or thirty shillings, apiece.-Carne's Letters from the East, vol. i. p. 8–11. From the Imperial Magazine. RUINS OF BABYLON. "AMONG these mighty remains, wild beasts appeared to be as numerous as at Mujillebè. Mr. Lambe gave up his examination, from seeing an animal crouched in one of the square apertures. I saw another in a similar situation, and the large foot-print of a lion was so fresh, that the beast must have stolen away on our approach. From the summit we had a distinct view of the vast heaps which constitute all that now remains of ancient Babylon; a more complete picture of desolation could not well be imagined. The eye wandered over a barren desert, in which the ruins were nearly the only indication that it had ever been inhabited. It was impossible to behold this scene, and, not to be reminded how exactly the predictions of Isaiah and Jeremiah have been fulfilled, even in the appearance Babylon was that her cities should be 'a desolatio land, and a wilderness.' "The prophecy of Isaiah, that should be inhabited by wild beasts, wa after the extinction of the Seleucida; successors, the Parthians, turned the a park, and stocked it with wild beast purpose of hunting. Amongst these boar is enumerated. "It has been supposed that man trees are to be found on the site of th ing Gardens. This is not the case but one, and that is in the most eleva It is a kind of cedar, possibly one of nai of Diodorus. One half of the standing, and is about five feet in rence. Though the body is dec branches are still green and healthy, like those of the willow. With the of one at Bussorah, there is no tr throughout Irak Arabia. The Ara athele. Our guides said, that this left in the Hanging Gardens, for t of enabling Ali to tie his horse to it battle of Hilleh. "Not far from this tree, we saw of a statue, which had been imper by Beauchamp and Rich. We set work, and in two hours found a col of sculpture, in black marble, repr lion standing over a man. When here, the figure was entire; but wh it the head was gone. The length destal, the height of the shoulder length of the statue, measured, in e respective parts, nine feet. I wo to suggest, that this statue might rence to Daniel in the lions' den, formerly stood over one of the gate the palace, or of the Hanging Gar natural to suppose, that so extraor racle would have been celebrated b lonians, particularly as Daniel was governor of their city. The prop governor of Susa, (the Shusan of where he frequently went in the his official duties, and at which pl A short time ago, Susa was, visit French officers, in the service of t Kermanshah: amongst other anti found a block of white marble, c Babylonian characters, having scu the figures of two men and two may also allude to the same event Journey from India. From the Christian Guar THE LAST CHRISTI AGES had passed away-the Sun His glad millennial race had done Sin marr'd the earth again: Satan in chains no longer bound, Was walking his accustomed rou Abroad his own domain; The Sons of violence were strong Reminiscences.-Self-Consecration. Mid lawless lust and wanton sport, And conscience-dead'ning bowl; The glory of the Lord was far away, 3 Where art thou, in youth my friend and b ther, Yea, in soul, my friend and brother still? And saints expecting mourn'd their King's Heaven received thee, and on earth none oth delay. One hoary-headed man of tears When Jesus reigned below; Had seen his brethren one by one One fond desire still linger'd here, And with the sons of war, To distant climes had bent his wayward course, morse. Full many a moon had waxed and wan'd, O'er life's expiring flame; Yet still to Heav'n in bitter cries, Struggling he perseveres; My covenant God in mercy mild Remember my transgressing child, My child of many prayers. Can the void in my torn bosom fill. Where is she, whose looks were love and gla Love and gladness I no longer see! Where am I?-life's current faintly flowing, From the General Baptist Repository and Missionary Observer. SELF-CONSECRATION. No man ever achieved much good or rose to real eminence of character, even in the ordinary spheres of human operations, who did not devote himself, in a superior degree, to the pursuit of the objects which he had in view, and consecrated all his exertions with peculiar ardour to the attainment of them. sion to private views, an abhorrence of selfishAn averness and vanity, a noble disregard of personal ease or interest have always distinguished the career of those who have deserved the grati Faith sealed the promise, and his parting spirit tude of their country, or been eminently use Its crown of glory hasten'd to inherit. Behold yon soldier on the plain, See grace within him strives, And knew the prayer was heard; His glorious train prepar'd. "Tis done, the last redeem'd is gather'd in, The church is perfect, endless years begin. From the Pulpit. BY J. MONTGOMERY, ESQ. WHERE are ye, with whom in life I F. F. ful in their generations. In the momentous affairs of religion, the same observations apply with equal propriety. It is not enough that a man have a general desire of doing right, or even a knowledge of scriptural principles combined with a sense of moral obligation, to form a consistent Christian character: without a sincere, ardent, and complete consecration of himself and all his powers to the service and glory of his God, he is imperfect. Self-consecration is the result of deep conviction, of holy dispositions and habits, propelled and animated by natural ardour, by the cheering light of experience, and by an assured hope of future glory. This sublimity of character was most conspicuous in Jesus. His devotion to God had the force of an appetite: to do his Father's will was with Christ to keep a feast; and on his heavenly mind, moral motives had something like the power of necessity. 66 My meat and my drink, said he, is to do the will of him that sent me, and to finish his work. I must work the works of him that sent me while it is day; the night cometh when no man can work." The ultimate end of his actions always arose out of a sunrome regard to the dist complished, types substantiated, an atonement made, and to various other most important matters, yet who can doubt that they allude also to the great work of his obedience unto death? or can help being moved while he reflects on the amazing self-consecration implied in the Saviour's offering himself to burn on the altar of eternal justice in submission to his Father's will? with diligence; a penitential acknow of present deficiencies with earnest tion for that grace which is promise Christ, in answer to fervent prayer. at this high state of devotion witho feeling of your own insufficiency is ing a house on the sand, which the of temptation will be sufficient to Be concerned, however, to use the gra imparted; since it is only in this have any scriptural reason to expec ditional communications which are keep that flame of zeal and love bur which self-consecration proceeds. our diligence, like that of Jesus, guished by a regard to opportunit never allow an occasion of usefulne away unimproved; and be always those awful feelings of shame, sel and wretchedness which follow t provement of opportunities never Then, when the time of our de The self-consecration of Paul can scarcely be contemplated without enthusiasm. From the instant he became savingly acquainted with Jesus Christ, and had received a commission from him, he appears always to have kept his example in view. Full of the idea of his excellence, he pressed onward, with glowing zeal, in the path of imitation; "not counting his life dear unto him so that he might finish his course with joy, and the ministry which he had received to testify the gospel of the grace of God." The opportunity of dying to seal the truth with his blood was anticipated by him as a bright moment of his existence, a pe-proaches we may be enabled to say riod much to be desired; and though, as he drew near to it, he had to encounter a multitude of evils and perils, the bare recital of which almost chills our blood, his spirit rose in defiance of earth and hell, and he boldly affirmed "None of these things move me. If I be offered on the sacrifice and service of your faith, I joy and rejoice with you all." To exhibit the faintest resemblance of such worth, it is necessary to feel much of the life and power of religion. A profound reverence for the Majesty of heaven and earth; an ardent love to Jesus Christ; a deep conviction of the reality and inevitable operation of Providence in chastising vice and encouraging virtue; a habit of watching divine retributions in our own life, and in the lives of others; and a confident expectation of eternal blessedness as the gift of God through Jesus, are among the motives by which divine grace stirs up the mind to offer itself as "a living sacrifice acceptable to God." The effect of action and experience is often necessary; for, though some minds naturally ardent and intrepid rush to the holy war, like Paul, with the full assurance of final victory; there are others who, through weakness of faith, or self-distrust, pause and hesitate, before they give themselves up entirely to pursue the great objects of the Christian life. From the instant this surrender is made, heaven and earth become interested in our progress. A divine hand is stretched out to guide our doubtful steps, to ward off a thousand foes, to order the various circumstances of life for our advantage, and to support us under our troubles and sorrows; nor will it be withdrawn from those who continue their devotedness, until it has safely introduced them into a world of eternal joy. Angels watch over the devoted servant of God with affectionate solicitude, and beholding the gradual improvement of his character, joyfully anticipate the time when they shall admit him to their society with the plaudits and gratulations due to a conqueror. A word of advice may be useful for him who wishes to consecrate himself to God. Endea confidence, "I have fought a good finished my course, I have kept henceforth there is laid up for me righteousness, which the Lord, Judge, shall give me at that day." From the Congregational Mo TO A NIGHT-BLOWING F MYSTERIOUS stranger! who art th Diffusing odours all around; When nature's beauties are unsee And earth lies wrapt in sleep pr The sun has long since sunk to re Beneath a gilded western sky; The busy haunts of men are hush And nought is heard save troub The warbling songsters of the gr And not a voice through all the w No longer now their tribute rai Is heard, to chant its Maker's Night, in her sable mantle clad, Approaches now with rapid str And death-like silence in her trai Extends his empire far and wid But thy soft odours fill the air, And send abroad a rich perfum As if to make perennial day, And dissipate night's deepest g Ah! lovely plant, to me unknow But harbinger of future good; I hear by thee a lesson taught, That's better felt than underst "Tis thus that true religion's pov When all is still and dubious And vield a fragrance ne'er to From the Christian Review and Clerical Ma- altogether in this manner and while we de gazine. AN ESSAY ON THE PHILOSOPHICAL EVIDENCE OF CHRISTIANITY; or, the Credibility obtained to a Scriptural Revelation from its Coincidence with Facts of Nature. By the Rev. R. D. Hampden, M.A., late Fellow of Oriel College, Oxford. London: Murray. 8vo. pp. 314. 1827. Ir is a consideration of vital importance to the public teachers of religion, that infidelity is continually changing in its mode, and that scarcely an age passes in which it is not presented in some peculiar form, or under circumstances of novel influence. It would not be a difficult task to illustrate this observation by an appeal to historical records, in which we believe it will be seen, that the several great eras which mark the progress of Christianity have each been distinguished, not merely by a general enmity, or by the opposition of a worldly and sensual philosophy, but by a system of hostility begun and carried on with characteristics which, when the great register of time is opened, will be the superscription of its several chapters. Passing, however, over this detail, to which, notwithstanding, we would earnestly direct the attention of our readers, as one of considerable interest, we cast our eyes on the present state of the great controversy between the believers and disbelievers in the religion of Christ; a controversy which, under one form or another, is ever awake; and which, with different degrees of publicity, is constantly employing men's minds. In seasons of great intellectual activity, it is seldom the materiel of public thought is derived from those deep and secluded fountains of truth whose only attraction is their purity. The value of any species of mental exertion, national as well as individual, must always greatly depend upon its exciting causes. When these are defective, either in uniformity of action, in application to the better faculties of our nature, or in freedom from low and corrupting principles; whatever may be the extension of knowledge, or the impetus given to the public mind, neither science, morals, nor philosophy, will gain a step of ground from which the slightest political change will not in an instant repel them. But if knowledge be of any value; if it be a received principle that intellectual improvement is a real benefit, and that it is worthy of a free and generous people to diffuse its benefits through every class; it is surely most important to consider how these advantages may be rendered most permanent; and how we may best avoid the fallacy of mistaking the existence of great intellectual activity for the actual increase of knowledge, or the diffusion of a light, superficial science for precate with abhorrence the Popish doctrine, that the education of the people endangers their fealty to the church-which is, in fact, canonizing ignorance as the patron saint of ecclesiastics-we would cautiously examine, not merely the food which is offered to the enlarged appetite for knowledge, but the appetite itself. And in doing this, we think we discover signs of its having been forced by stimulants beyond its natural capacity, and of advantage having been taken of a real and healthy keenness to produce an untempered voraciousness. There can be little doubt, after the great political events of the last twenty years, that no nation in Europe, with the exception of Spain. remains in the same moral or intellectual situation in which it did at the commencement of the war. Men's minds had been kept in a con tinual agitation; their lives and liberties had been the stake of the kingly game; and the war itself had had its origin in an event which however deplorable in its consequences, marked, for the first time since the creation of the world, the beginning of a new order of things which owed its origin neither to war nor policy, but to the simultaneous advancement o popular opinion and philosophical theory. Me lancholy, indeed, was the darkness which was thought light in those times; but the convul sions which followed were the consequences of this stirring up of the human mind in it great and mighty masses of people and nations And was it to be expected, when the agitation ceased; when the giant who had overturned nations in his youth became a man, and he had become conscious of his strength; that thing could return to their old state, and that th only consequences of the convulsion would b a few changes in the political relations of king doms, or some clearer notions on the balanc of power? It had been absurd to suppose this The whole constitution of society had bee altered; the different relations of civil life ha become modified by different ideas of libert and right; and the action of public thought ha received too strong an impulse to rest satisfie without employment for its energies. Th visionary ideas of freedom and equality, an the still more visionary and infinitely more dar gerous philosophy prevalent in France at th time we are mentioning, were in every wa calculated to rouse all minds to exertion, an to supply them with a never-ceasing motive They were made familiar to every capacity because they appealed to the strongest passion of every heart; and they came with the vouch ers of the most popular men of the time as th true introduction to perpetual liberty and hap piness. It was impossible that such opinion as these should be received and acted upon in nation like France, without having a conside bounded intellectual activity, by a popularity of literature and science scarcely ever before paralleled, by a diffusion of knowledge among the middle and lower ranks which was hardly equalled even in the ancient republics, and by a close and direct union of literary speculation with religion and politics In the political features of the times, then, we may find some of the most powerfully operating causes of the present state of the public intellect; and it is in proportion to the good and evil mixed up in these causes, to the just or base and profligate principles they embrace, that the result is profitable or the contrary; that the friends of humanity have to lament or rejoice in the events that have occurred; or that the philosophic observer can place any dependence on the present passion for inquiry as a sign of permanent and solid good. So far as knowledge is diffused for its legitimate purposes-intellectual activity promoted to make the people wiser or better, in the true spirit of benevolence and patriotism-the knowledge diffused will nine times out of ten be sound and useful; and the consequence an improvement in public morals, as well as public opinion. When, on the contrary, a party or factious spirit, to whatever class it may belong, labours for the instruction of the people, rather to make them powerful auxiliaries, than a free, moral, and well governed people; we shall find, when this is the case, how great soever be the abilities employed, that the increase of knowledge will fail of its end; that after a few years the spirit will either have evaporated, or the solid good it might have produced been wasted in a useless activity; and that the patriots and philosophers of other generations will have to begin de novo, the work of popular instruction. We do not intend this as a reflection upon the exertions of any body of men engaged in diffusing useful knowledge; we do not intend it as a slur either upon their proceedings, their abilities, or their sincerity; but we have said it to warn them, that in whatever proportion party spirit contracts or perverts sound reason, they will become the enemies instead of the friends of the people. their influence, deserve respect and and who form one of the most influent of society as it is at present constitu mean, literary men; among whom the we are alluding to, it is to be feared an alarming extent. We have not r to enter into the consideration of th at length, but we will observe, that principal characteristics of the disbel present age is, its resolving every thi into expediency, either political or pri supporting itself by arguments drawn against the spirituality of the Gos prevalence of this feeling is in not manifest than in the character of our itself, the strong tendency of which rialism must have been observed by acquainted with its popular branches other causes of this, we think we ma the system of education pursued in brated seminaries of learning; which not a direct influence on the opini men to whom we are alluding, wh are generally formed in other scenes of cloistered seclusion, has yet a mo ant negative influence, inasmuch a no counterbalancing weight to the m at present so fashionable among u directing the minds of its students stant and intense investigation of laws, prevents their ascending to th contemplation of moral and spiritual We are persuaded, by the above tions, that there never was a time in energetic exertions of men of learnin lity were more called for than in t day: we are persuaded that there n time in which talents of every descri more actively employed in pulling great bulwarks of religion, or in wh more necessary for talent to be vigo ployed in their defence. The age ordinary necessities, and more tha expedients must be resorted to. struction from the pulpit cannot rea of which we are complaining, becau tified limb is not submitted to the k usual means of defence are still to But if the reinarks we have just made be true ed; but we must have others in a as they refer to political purity, they are evi- and unless a very different method dently so in respect to freedom from perverted than that of merely hedging in th views on religious points. And it is here we Christ; unless infidelity be attacke have to express our alarm at the fearful pro- triously and patiently as it attack gress of infidelity;-an infidelity marked with we are convinced that a very weig all the signs of the times, and taking, from the of neglected duty will fall upon eve activity, the popularity, and materialism of our in Christianity, whose situation or t literature, increasing vigour. The extent of bles him to bear arms in the contes this evil can hardly be imagined by our read- sent, we fear it may be too truly s ers. It is neither confined to the closets of a antagonists, that we are only bold w few philosophers, who, looking at the sun, have on our own ground, and surrounded become blind: nor is it the favourite system party. If this may be cast at u only of the profligate sensualist, whose love of slightest reason, it contains a bitter darkness is a sufficient reason for his disbelief. on the well-informed Christians of Nor, on the other hand, are we speaking of it scription; a severe but well-merit as at such a dangerous height because a blas- on the English clergy of the ninet pheming print-seller, or a foolish man whose tury. There are but two causes t vanity has made him mad, are preachers of it can attribute this supposed supinen to the multitude: No, but because it has spread who could do much in opposition to extensively among a class of persons whose they are, the rareness with which t opinions, whether expressed directly or not,¦lity of these persons have an opp |