"THE MORE CONVENIENT SEASON."

Alone he sat and wept-That very night

The ambassador of God, with earnest zeal

Of eloquence, had warned him to repent,
And like the Roman at Drusilla's side,

Hearing the Truth, he trembled,-conscience wrought,
Yet sin allured. The struggle shook him sore-
The dim lamp waned,-the hour of midnight toll'd,
Prayer sought for entrance, but the heart had closed
Its diamond valve. He threw him on his couch,
And bade the Spirit of his God depart.

66

But there was war within him, and he sigh'd, Depart not utterly thou blessed one;

"Return when youth is past, and make my soul "For ever thine."

With kindled brow he trod

The haunts of pleasure—while the viol's voice,
And beauty's smile, his joyous pulses woke ;
To love he knelt, and on his brow she hung
Her freshest myrtle wreaths.-For gold he sought,
And winged wealth indulged him, till the world
Pronounced him happy.-Manhood's vigorous prime
Swelled to its climax, and his busy days

And restless nights swept like a tide away;
Care struck deep root around him, and each shoot
Still striking earthward like the Indian tree,
Shut out with woven shade the eye of Heaven.

When lo! a message from the Crucified,
"Look unto me and live."-Pausing he spoke
Of weariness and haste and want of time,
And duty to his children—and besought
A longer time to do the work of Heaven.

God spake again-when age had shed its sorrows On his wan temples, and the palsied hand Shrank from gold-gathering. But the rugged chain

Of habit bound him, and he still implored "A more convenient season.”—

66

"See, my step is firm and free,

'My unquenched eye delights

“To view this pleasant world, and life with me

66

May last for many years.—In the calm hour "Of lingering sickness I can better fit

"For vast Eternity."

Disease approached,

And Reason fled-the maniac strove with death,
And grappled like a fiend with shrieks, and cried
Till sickness smote his eyeballs,-thick ice
Closed round his heart-strings-the poor clay
Lay vanquished and distorted.-But the soul,
The soul, whose promised season never came
To hearken to its Maker's call, had gone
To weigh its sufferance with its own abuse,
And bide the audit.

REVIEW.

Martha: a Memorial of an only and beloved Sister. By Rev. Andrew Reed, D.D. London: Ward and Co.

This volume exhibits, in a remarkable manner, the growth of character. It traces the inward history of a mind that was sensitive and generous. We see it expanding beneath the sunshine of parental piety and a happy home-yielding to the love of Christ-seeking fellowship with God-struck by the world's cruellest sting-gaining strength through suffering-loving all, by all beloved-serving God-suffering all "his will”—ripening for glory and as we read we love the character thus sweetly unfolded before us. It has taught us many lessons of human life and discovered to us the secrets of our own hearts. Such a book read by a young person in early life-read with a teachable mind-cannot fail to leave deep impressions of piety and wisdom, and must prove of incalculable benefit in the formation of character. It is eminently adapted to be useful. We rejoice to know that it has already been extensively so.

THE

INDEPENDENT MAGAZINE.

APRIL, 1843.

ROBES AND DIPLOMAS-WHAT DO THEY MEAN? With the simplicity of "the model churches" fresh in memory, what are we to think and say of the ecclesiastical garments and titles worn by dissenting ministers in these days? The world is ruled by names. Names indeed are sounds only, but they awake associations of feeling which are sometimes of no trifling consequence in the regulation of human affairs.

The kingdoms of this world are governed by ranks and orders, from the constable up to the king. The staff of the one and the sceptre of the other are proper symbols of office in their hands. Nor do we find any fault with the titles of kings, and princes, and dukes, and earls, and generals, and marshals, and captains, and such as these. The throne, the battle-field, the senate, are suitable places for such persons and such names. The genius of christianity says, "be courteous." An apostle has set us an example of true politeness in not forgetting the titles which marked civil authority in his time. He addressed Felix and Festus, you recollect, as "most noble," and "most excellent." And with the grace of an honest and a well-bred man, he offered an apology for a phrase which had escaped his lips while he was enduring a cruel and cowardly insult. There is, indeed, a nobleness in that confession of his before the oppressor: "I wist not that he was the Lord's high priest; for it is written, thou shalt not speak evil of the ruler of thy people."

We have truly no manner of sympathy (although alas, we are obliged to exercise some patience) with that style of talking

H

occasionally practised at some ill-regulated church meetings, (true samples of complete suffrage), where religious equality is perverted into the liberty of wrangling, and the privilege of familiar rudeness. No. These things aside, we merely revert to the civil titles which christianity teaches us to revere and recognise as insignia of official authority, and beg to ask this question:—as such usages are allowed, and even urged upon our veneration, in reference to secular distinctions, are we therefore to introduce them into that kingdom which is altogether different in nature, in purpose, in result? Is there to be an aristocracy also in the commonwealth of Israel?

There are, you recollect, two orders of office-bearers in the model churches-pastors and deacons. It deserves notice that in recent times, some of the former only have resolved to distinguish themselves by peculiarity of dress and peculiarity of title. This is perhaps more likely to mislead than if both had been determined to put on this embellishment of greatness.

A perverted church long since took the world for its pattern, and symbolized sacred things by military habits. Hence, under the sovereign are archbishops and bishops, who have under them deans, rectors, vicars, priests, commissioners, and of other officials, what a train! Now, it is not at all surprising that the reformers, just coming out from papal superstition and vanity, should have retained some of those anti-christian appendages, which served to overawe the vulgar mind, and bow it down into a mean and crouching servility. But why should we be awestruck so? And yet, what plain man can read the title page of a volume, or look upon the face of a hand-bill announcing a charity sermon, and not be conscious of a peculiar emotion at the sight of D.D. affixed to some well-known christian brother, who used to sit in the pew just before us, or stand with us behind the counter, not long ago! The organ of "veneration" inclines us to bow; but "conscientiousness" asks us, why?

Let us next remember that the givers and receivers of diplomas may trace their honours to the age of chivalry at least. I am thinking now of the order of the Thistle, "that most ancient and noble order," instituted by Hungus, king of the Scots, in the year 790. The order consisted of the sovereign and twelve chosen knights, a profane imitation of our Lord and his apostles. Then there is the order of the Bath, which began in 1399, when

Henry IV, regarding himself as a sort of John-the-Baptist, required a few favourites to undergo a process of bathing before they were fit to kneel before his majesty, to utter the oath, and receive the blessings and the signs of knighthood.

And let us not forget the order of the Garter. It was created in the year 1350, by "that mighty and invincible prince Edward III," in memory of his having conquered the kings of France and Scotland. "He, being endowed (as history says) with great piety, commended himself and his companions to the protection of St. George of Cappadocia," the soldier and the martyr whose genius led them to conquest. Look at those ensigns. There is the garter of blue velvet with gilt edges, buckled below the left knee, emblem of the bond of amity which unites the brotherhood; and there is the blue riband round the neck of the heroes suspending a golden medal, having upon it the image of St. George on horseback, with his tilting spear piercing the prostrate dragon. All signs, these are, of valour and victory! The honour of wearing them are assurances of kingly favour. They qualify for the first ranks of dignity in Europe. They are introductions to courts and palaces. To the insignia of this noble order (most noble, I believe, it is reckoned) Henry VIII added four feathers. Hence, in vulgar phrase, we indicate new marks of esteem by the words, "another feather in the cap." We should indeed smile at a company of boys or girls for their ambitious emulation about who shall have the finer playthings; but we do not consider that the higher titles are but the more shining toys of bearded childhood. Great minds, however, have been fond of receiving honours of this sort from the great. Saul of Tarsus, for example, enjoyed the praises of the sanhedrim, and was fond of his commission from the high priest. He gloried in such honours once. "When I was a child," says he, "I thought as a child, I understood as a child; but when I became a man I put away childish things."

Does the writer, it may be said, intend by these remarks to insinuate a comparison between ancient heraldry, with its orders of knighthood, and the ecclesiastical titles of modern date? Such a question would hardly have occurred if he had previously noticed the ceremony by which the knights are created. When the garter is buckled on the left leg, these very words are used: "To the honour of God omnipotent, and in memorial of the