tive of death or apostasy. The power of an empire which had become Mistress of the world was wielded against a small and inconsiderable community of believers, who contended not with carnal weapons, not for an earthly prize. Again, a long and dreary night of ignorance and superstition settled down upon the world. Learning and civilization vanished from among men, and the enemies of Christianity had reason to hope that she too might wane and fade utterly from the earth. But with Vestal constancy was her light, though dwindled to a spark, maintained throughout that night of a thousand years; and when the great Saxon Reformer ministered to its support, it blazed forth upon the world with a brilliancy which is increasing to-day. Then arose a new class of assailants, armed with the keenest points of satire and the most specious sophistries of scepticism-a class of contemptuous, scoffing philosophers. The entire enginery of wit and irony was brought to bear upon Christianity. The human brain was tortured to invent some new strain of ridicule, which might cover the hated religion with contempt. But all was vain. The laughter which the French Prince of Buffoons excited through Europe has long been hushed by death, while the Faith which he ridiculed still lives and triumphs.

The Religion which has been thus assailed and thus victorious, descends to the care of its ministers in the present age. Venerable for the supreme majesty of its Founder, for the antiquity of its origin, for the immortal names which it has enlisted in its defense, and for the boundless scope of the interests which it embraces, it demands that the contemplations of its champions be limited only by eternity in their extent, and by the unrevealed glories of the Deity in their lofti

ness.

But the maintenance of Christianity, however ennobling the defense of so magnificent an institution may be, is but a part of the Preacher's work. There must necessarily appertain to all systems, which are to recommend themselves to the sympathy and support of mankind, much that is secular and palpable. The secular and palpable, though it may take closer hold of the affections of the heart, can never, like the spiritual and mysterious, exalt the contemplations of the intellect. But the faithful Minister of Religion is daily brought into intimate and elevating communion with higher interests than those of time. With most other men, a view of those mysterious realities is an episode in their lives; with him, it is life itself. They are content to "look through a glass darkly," even upon the clearest manifestations afforded by the Gospel. He is to rise in his contemplations till he shall be wrapt in a vision of glories unrevealed save to the Taught of Heaven. He is to ascend, in imagination, to the confines of the world which is illumined by the Eternal Throne. He is to descend to view the punishments which spirits only can endure. Both scenes he is to portray, side by side, upon the same picture; from both he is to draw arguments for enforcing the truth which he presents. Nor are those alluring or tremendous motives of only occasional applicancy. Not a duty which he urges, not an obligation

which he enforces, is without the same awful sanction. He looks through the vail which obscures to the view of others the connection between the fleeting present and the inevitably approaching future. He knows that interests beyond the comprehension of any finite intellect are involved in the minutest transactions of every hour. He knows that every moment may decide the fate of an eternity; that every thought may be pregnant with inconceivable happiness or woe. He pleads not for the obligations of man to man, but of man to the common Father of us all. He contends, not for justice violated, but for the throne of the Deity assailed. He portrays, not the effect upon a community if human laws be trampled under foot, but the scenes of a universe in ruins if the laws of Jehovah be defied with impunity. He appeals, in support of Truth and Right, not to constitutions graven by art and man's device; but to that Code which descended from heaven amidst the tremendous manifestations of Sinai, written with the finger of God! He is called not to search with wearisome toil for precedents through heavy folios; but to cite the authority of that wonderful Digest, unlike, in its simple majesty, all ponderous monuments of human jurisprudence, so plain and concise as to lie within the understanding and the memory of a child, so comprehensive as to embrace every crime ever committed by a mortal. He searches no bales of records to confirm a precarious title, which death must, at the best, soon render null, but, by the authority of the Sovereign Arbitrator who commissioned him, he proclaims to the faithful their indisputable title to an heritage to which death shall but the sooner introduce them. If with themes of such surpassing moment and such unparalleled sublimity the Minister of Religion be not eloquent, he is but very indifferently qualified for his work, or but feebly sensible of the import of the truth which he delivers.

Indeed, it is the peculiar glory of the field through which the mind of the Sacred Orator is to range, and from which he is to draw motives to enforce his message, that his highest conceptions must ever fall infinitely below the glorious or terrible reality. It would doubtless be difficult to find even an obscure and unassuming Believer who, humble as may be the character of his intellect, has not pictured to himself some favorite image of the celestial scenes among which he hopes to spend his eternity. However unworthy of the object which it represents, it often passes before his mental eye. All forms of spiritual bliss, which lie within the range of his conception, he crowds into that panorama of delights. All moral evil is excluded from the field of vision, for "there shall in no wise enter into it any thing that defileth." No natural evil deforms the picture, for "there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying; neither shall there be any more pain." Social happiness shall be unalloyed, "for the nations of them which are saved shall walk in the light of it." Nor is the presence of his Divine Friend wanting to crown the scene and perfect its blessedness; for "God himself shall be with them and be their God."

How little soever of truth there may be generally in the notion that

every man is a poet, wanting only the power of language, we are persuaded that there is much foundation for it here. Many a plain Believer rises, as he contemplates the promise of his future home, into raptures, which not the gift of tongues would enable him adequately to express. Nor is his ecstasy all owing to the vigor of his imagination. His imagination may be barren in respect of all other subjects, than the one magnificent vision which engrosses his soul. The range of his information may be confined to one narrow neighborhood. But the loveliness and majesty of the scenes which he contemplates need no adventitious aid of human learning, in lifting his views to themes of which human learning can take no cognizance. He may be ignorant of the works of Nature. But he is not ignorant of her God. He shrinks from curious inquiries into the sublime mysteries of theology. But he gazes full on the untold glories of the Deity. He cannot hope to walk the delightsome paths of science. But he is assured that he shall walk the golden streets of the Eternal City. He cannot boast the protection of earthly friends, the poor reliance of an arm of flesh. But he exults in the friendship of Him who maketh the clouds the dust of His feet, and to whom a thousand years are as a watch in the night.

With such an heritage before him, it is no matter for wonder that the conceptions of the humble Believer are sometimes strangely exalted, in his communion with celestial and eternal scenes.

But if the private Christian, with the simple prospect of a better life beyond the grave, is filled with an almost unearthly rapture, what themes for eloquence are set before him who is to comprehend in his spiritual vision, all the interests of time in their bearing upon all the interests of eternity! We are not speaking of the views which are sometimes presented from the Sacred Desk, sadly weak and unworthy as they too often are of the momentous scenes which they represent; but of the field itself, which may furnish the sublimest themes of contemplation to which mortals are admitted, and to which no other profession than that of Divinity can introduce its votaries. Few have ever been found to enter that field. Too many are content to tread from week to week the same monotonous round in homiletics, seldom awakening a rapturous or terrible emotion, such as becomes one who is commissioned to reveal to men the mysteries of the world to come. There is too much ground among us for the slur which an English Reviewer throws upon the clergy of Great Britain: "Divinity has ceased to employ lips such as those of Chrysostom and Bourdalone. The sanctity of sacred things is lost in the familiar routine of sacred words. Religion has acquired a technology and a set of conventional formulas, torpifying to those who use and those who hear them." We do not underrate the Ministry. We believe its members will compare advantageously with those of any other profession in our midst. But if we consider that no other profession deals with themes at all comparable in moment with those which engage the Clergy, we shall be disposed to demand that they aspire to a higher standard than will answer for inferior claims.

But the motives which are to invite the Christian Minister to the noblest efforts, are as exalted as the themes which he discusses. He is, in a most just and peculiar sense, the ambassador of Heaven to men. He must one day render his account to the Sovereign whom he represents. The Scriptures contain the most terrible denunciations of divine retribution against the Preacher who shall prove recreant to his trust. They are equally replete with promises of the bliss which awaits the faithful. His office, then, is one to which an awful importance belongs. Not a word falls from his lips which may not determine interests, compared with which, the fate of the physical universe is but an inconsiderable trifle. His is no work done in a corner. The spectators who can best appreciate the importance of his labors, are not to be found among men. He is to live

" as ever in his great Taskmaster's eye.'

Remember," was the admonition of a venerable divine to his younger brother, "remember when you rise in the Sacred Desk, that God is one among your hearers." If we may so speak without irreverence, the Client whose cause is to be plead, is ever present; not a miserable mortal demanding justice of his fellow; but the Supreme Majesty of the Most High, requiring the admiration of all in the awful presence. Celestial Intelligences too, as fellow-laborers, watch with a solicitude which they feel for no other interests of men, every step of the Preacher's career. It is no dream of the imagination by which he believes that they are continually bending over him. They ever rejoice with him in the success of his work, and, though not permitted to grieve, their unseen presence is no slender consolation in the hour of his adversity. And other spirits are about him, spirits of darkness, eagerly waiting for his fall. Their leader, in the extent of his abilities and in the tremendous energy with which he employs them, yielding precedence to no created being in the universe, in malignity and in the unwearied perseverance with which he seeks its gratification surpassing all, haunts the Preacher's path with a sleepless vigilance. In view of such considerations, we do not hesitate to assert that the motives, no less than the themes, which address themselves to the Sacred Orator, far transcend those of any other profession, except when these motives may be subordinately introduced in whatever capacity duty is to be performed or responsibility is to be met. And well will it be if in a nation like our own, where the existence of our institutions and our liberties must depend upon the intelligence and piety of our people, the Ministry shall ever retain that high station to which their exalted Calling entitles them, and which the momentous interests committed to their care demand that they maintain.

t.

JULIAN THE APOSTATE.

To the philosopher and historian, the rise and fall of Rome will ever afford a subject of the most interesting study. On the banks of the Tiber, where, but a few centuries before, the solitary forest protected by its shade the first of the Romans, all at once appears to emerge, as it were from obscurity, a metropolis whose grandeur and sublimity well bespoke its buildings, palaces, and inhabitants, kings. Gradually extending its sway, it ceased not till it had embraced in its broad compass the whole of the habitable globe, and till the trembling world lay prostrate at the feet of its invincible majesty. Many causes conspired to its downfall; decline was the inevitable effect of its immoderate greatness; and continued prosperity only served to undermine the mighty fabric which it had reared. At the time in which we are about to consider it, that decline had already begun to take place; the Roman Eagle had deserted the banks of the Tiber, and perched itself amid the rocky crags of the Bosphorus. Rome, once the entire mistress of the earth, had sunk almost to the rank of a municipal town, while her younger sister of the East had almost entirely divested her of her ancient honor and dignity. But yet the fate of the Roman empire seemed fixed; she had accomplished the thousand years assigned her by her Etruscan augur, and whether we may approve or question the policy of Constantine, in thus transferring its seat of government, one thing is certain, though it may have delayed, it could not prevent, the final ruin of Rome. When we reflect upon the low state of its finances, the decay of its military power, and upon those many other causes which so powerfully tended to its ruin, our wonder should be, not that it perished so soon, but that it existed so long. The licentious and extravagant prodigality of its dissolute emperors had already drained its natural, though vast resources of wealth. With an empty treasury, no government can exist; and though, as was the present case with Rome, severe and onerous taxes may be imposed upon the great body of its subjects, yet that will, in the end, only serve to hasten its ruin; for it will injure its internal prosperity, by diminishing the zeal and enterprise of its subjects in all matters of internal improvement. So it was with Rome.

Its military power was in no better condition. The Pretorian legions, the cause of so many and great evils to the empire, had, before this, been disbanded by Constantine, and the nation, for its defense in any sudden emergency, relied almost solely upon those unwarlike mercenary stragglers, who better deserve the epithet of national cowards, than the glorious and patriotic title of national guards. It had, too, enlisted in its service those fierce hordes of barbarians, who, in after time, pouring like a vast deluge upon its worn-out provinces, carried devastation and ruin in their train. The Goths and Huns, with the wild tribes of Scythia, were already acquainted with its internal and external weaknesses; and, enclosing the devoted empire, they awaited only the war signal of some brave Alaric or Attila, when, like a vast tempest, they would sweep over their destined prey.