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Word of God." He flourished in the year 178.

lycus. Next to Theophilus is Clemens, of Alexandria, | Abraham learned divine truth from the Logos, or who was originally a philosopher, and is said to have been converted to the Christian faith about the year 194, and so to have flourished 25 years later than Theophilus. He introduces the word trinity in the third book of his Stromata.

Tertullian, bishop (?) of Carthage, who was converted to Christianity about the year 200, follows Clemens in the use of the word. He had occasion to introduce it in his work against Praxeas, in which he defended the fundamental doctrines of Christianity against the heartless attacks of that noted heretic.

Origen, who had been the scholar of Clemens of Alexandria, flourished about the year 230, and used similar language with his master, in reference to the Trinity. He is accused of having been the first to mix up the reveries of the Platonists with the solemn truths of Christianity, but this charge cannot apply to the introduction of the word Trinity, as that word was in use in the Christian church nearly a hundred years before his time, if not much longer.

To furnish any more examples of the use of the word Trinity in the primitive church, would be superfluous; but to bring forward a few testimonies to shew that the doctrine, intended by that word, was held and taught in the earliest ages of the Christian era, cannot be unimportant; for, though this doctrine is a matter of pure revelation, and must, consequently, derive its proofs exclusively from scripture, yet the Christian feels a degree of satisfaction to learn that the view he takes of the doctrine was that of the church of Christ from the beginning.

A proof of the divinity of Christ has been always considered decisive in establishing the doctrine of the Trinity, because all who have admitted the former have also admitted the latter. We premise this remark because some of the testimonies which we shall adduce bear more fully on that part of the subject as the turning point of the doctrine.

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Polycarp, a disciple of St. John, when at the stake, addressed a prayer to God, which he concluded in this manner, For all things I praise thee, I bless thee, I glorify thee, together with the eternal and heavenly Jesus Christ; with whom, unto thee and the Holy Spirit, be glory, both now, and for ever, world without end, Amen." Polycarp was a contemporary of the apostle.

Justin Martyr declares, "that Christ the first-born Word of God, exists as God; that he is Lord and God, being the Son of God; and that he was the God of Israel." Again he says, "Him (the Father) and that Son who hath proceeded from him, and the prophetical Spirit, we worship and adore." He flourished in the year 140.

Melito, bishop of Sardis says, "We are worshippers of one God who is before all, and in all, in his Christ who is truly God, the eternal Word." He flourished in the year 177.

Irenæus, bishop of Lyons, declares that "Christ, as God, was adored by the prophets; was the God of the living, and the living God; that he spake to Moses in the bush; and that the same Person afterwards refuted the doctrine of the Sadducees concerning the resurrection of the dead. He farther says, that

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Athenagoras says "the mind and the Word of God is the Son of God; we who preach God, preach God the Father, God the Son, and Holy Ghost; and the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, are one." He flourished in the year 178.

Clemens of Alexandria says, "The Logos is the universal Architect," that is, the Maker of all things. The Logos is Creator of men, and of the world; and in prayer he addresses both the Son and the Father, saying, "Son and Father, both one Lord, grant that we may praise the Son and the Father with the Holy Ghost, all in one." He flourished in the year 194.

Tertullian says, "the name of Christ is everywhere believed, and everywhere worshipped. He reigns everywhere, and is everywhere adored. He is alike to all a King, and to all a Judge, and to all a God and a Lord." He flourished in the year 200.

Origen states, that the Christians were accustomed to say, "The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit are one God," and speaks of this as a difficult and perplexing doctrine to such as hear not with faith." Again he observes: "When we come to the grace of of baptism we acknowledge one God only, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost." He flourished in the year 230.

Cyprian, bishop of Carthage, says, "Christ is our God; that is, not of all, but of the faithful and believing." He flourished in the year 248.

The council of Antioch, in its epistle states: "In the whole church Christ is believed to be God, and man of the seed of David, according to the flesh." This council sat in 264.

The council of Arles expressed its opinion on the subject of the Trinity, by declaring the baptism of such as refused to own that doctrine, to be void. In a canon drawn up concerning the proper mode of dealing with heretics on their return to the bosom of the church, the council put forth the general sense of the church, in words to this effect :-" That if any relinquished their heresy, and came back to the church, they should ask them the creed; and if they found that they were (had been) baptised in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, they should only receive imposition of hands, but if they did not confess the Trinity, their baptism was declared null and void." This council was held in the year 314. We next come to the council of Nice, which, on account of its preeminence, is entitled the first general council of the Christian church. It was held at Nicæa, the metropolis of Bithynia, in Asia Minor, in the year 325. That council drew up and established a creed in defence and explanation of the doctrine of the Trinity, which has ever since been received in the Christian church. It is that creed with which the morning service of the church of England closes every sabbathday. There is no controversy as to the opinions of the Christian church on the subject of the Trinity, from that council downwards. Hence the testimonies we have given have been selected from what are called the ante-Nicene fathers-the fathers who lived previous to the council of Nice-with the view of shewing

the opinion of the church respecting the Trinity, from the days of the apostles down to that council.

Whoever will be at the pains of investigating the subject with any degree of candour, must come to this conclusion, that the doctrine of three divine Persons in one God, as now held by the church of England, was the doctrine of the church of Christ during the first three centuries; and that those who attempted to subvert this doctrine, either by denying the proper deity of the Son, or by asserting that Father, Son, and Holy Ghost were but one Person under three different names or characters, were looked upon and treated by the Christian church as heretics. Such is the opinion the learned bishops Bull and Stillingfleet have left on record as the result of their researches into the writings of the ante-Nicene fathers; and we are glad to be able to add the concurrence, in part, of Dr. Priestley: he admits that all the early writers that have come down to us, from Justin Martyr to Athanasius, from the middle of the second century to the middle of the fourth, were trinitarians, with the solitary exception of the author of the "Clementine homilies and recognitions." The rev. Joseph Milner sums up the result of his inquiries into the subject in the following words :-"I cannot but farther conclude, that the doctrine usually called trinitarian, was universal in the church in those times (middle of the third century). Dionysius, Firmilian, Gregory, Theotecnes, seventy bishops, the whole christian world, were unanimous on this head; and this unanimity may satisfactorily be traced up to the apostles."

THOUGHTS IN SOLITUDE.
BY JOSEPH FEARN.
No. IV.

GETHSEMANE.

No language can be more applicable than that of the prophet Isaiah, when he described the Messiah, whose death he was predicting, as 66 a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief;" for verily his whole course on this earth was one continuous scene of suffering, and he died at length the lingering and excruciating death of the cross.

Soon after our divine Saviour had partaken of the passover with his disciples, we are told by St. Matthew that "he cometh with them unto a place called Gethsemane;" here it was that he was to endure that unparalleled agony which was to precede the ignominious death of the tree.

It would appear that this garden of Gethsemane was situated not far from the mount of Olives, which is the chief of a group of hills beyond the valley of Jehoshaphat, through which lies the course of the torrent Kedron. St. John informs us, that " Jesus went forth with his disciples over the brook Kedron, where was a garden, into which he entered," which garden was Gethsemane.

But it is not conducive to our purpose that we ascertain the precise locality of that memorable spot where my thoughts are now leading me; let it suffice that Gethsemane was the scene of my Redeemer's severest anguish, and may I and all my readers derive much improvement from a brief review of this narration of the Mediator's sufferings!

Having arrived at the place, he said to Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, "My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death, tarry ye here, and watch with me;" then he left them, and withdrew into another, and, it would seem, a more secluded part of the garden, and, having reached it, fell on his face and prayed. And what was his prayer? Listen, O! my soul, to the words of this patient sufferer"O! my Father! if it be possible, let this cup pass from me!" There was the expression of humanitythe language of that nature which he had voluntarily taken upon himself, and which shrunk from the dreadful prospect of suffering which the accumulated guilt of a whole world was about to lay upon him as their surety and Redeemer; and therefore in full view of this immense load of anguish, this overflowing cup of God's wrath against sin, which he, as the sinner's substitute, was appointed to drink, he exclaims—“ If be possible, let this cup pass from me." But mark his submission to his Father's pleasure: he adds— "Nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt." How resigned to the appointments of his Father on the subject of man's redemption! How he acts in accordance with the language he uttered in the farback counsels of eternity-"Lo, I come to do thy will, O my God ;" and with the words wherewith he addressed the stubborn Jews-" I came down from heaven, not to do mine own will, but the will of him that sent me." Having used these words of submission and resignation, he cometh to the disciples, and findeth them asleep, and saith unto Peter, "What! could ye not watch with me one hour?" He addressed Peter-not James, nor John, but he spoke to Simon the son of Jonas, who but a short time before had boldly and too confidently, alas! declared his staunch adherence to his Lord, under the most afflictive and trying circumstances, and whose denial of him thrice ere cock-crowing he had predicted. He then gives them the injunction "Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation;" and then, kindly making an allowance for the poor disciples, he said"The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak ;" -thus proving the aptness of St. Paul's language to the Hebrews-"We have not an high-priest who cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities."

"He went away again the second time and prayed, saying "O my Father, if this cup may not pass away from me except I drink it, thy will be done." O! what profound submission to the will of God! "He came and found them asleep again, for their eyes were heavy." "And he left them, and went away again, and prayed the third time, saying the same words;"-thus reiterating to his divine Father his perfect resignation to his sovereign will, and his desire to finish the work which had been given him to do.

Now all this time he was in an agony. St. Luke tells us, "that being in an agony, he prayed more earnestly; and his sweat was, as it were, great drops of blood falling down to the ground." I have said that this was the Saviour's severest anguish; I judge that we must not imagine that the agony here spoken of was corporeal, but that it was mental: bodily pains he was subsequently to endure, even the anguish of crucifixion; but I apprehend we must look upon

this as the agony of the mind, pressed down by the consideration of his "bearing the world's sins in his own body on the tree." That it was mental pain which he endured in the garden, we gather from his | own words," My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death." And was not the thought of the situation in which, as a surety, he stood for the human race of fallen Adam, enough to cause this " agony and bloody sweat?" Was not the thought that "he must bear the iniquities of us all" enough to create this exudation from every pore of his sacred body, as he lay mid the lonely shades of Gethsemane's garden? I ween it was. He had a baptism to be baptised with; and how was he straitened till it were accomplished; and therefore no marvel that he suffered the anguish of spirit recorded by the inspired evangelist. Now I am anxious that two thoughts may close this paper, which I would for myself strive to cherish, and would implore my readers to make their own; they are very simple and practical, but they are worthy to be entertained. The first is-the enormity of sin; and the second is-the love of Christ. great must be the enormity of that sin which had brought such a curse upon the children of the apostate, as that it was absolutely necessary for the eternal Son of God to be born into the world, to agonize, to bleed, and even to die, that it may be removed, and and that man may be saved! Every pang the Saviour felt was caused by some one sin of Adam's family, and every blood-drop was the result of man's transgression. But oh! what love prompted Jesus to endure all this! "Be astonished, O heavens! at this:" the everlasting Son, bleeding, and groaning, and dying, for the vile tenantry of a small section of his own unbounded empire. Truly it was a great love wherewith he hath loved us. "Greater love hath no man than this." If these two impressions, caused in my own mind by this subject, should have been formed in the mind of every one of the readers of this essay, I trust I shall have reason to be thankful, that my thoughts led me to visit the margin of Kedron, and to direct my attention to the garden of Gethsemane.

HORRORS OF REVOLUTION.

How

[A work of Dr. Croly's, exceedingly well written, and entitled "Memoir of the political life of Edmund Burke,”* has been recently published, from which the following abridged extracts are taken, and are urged upon the most serious consideration of our readers. They testify the true character of revolutionary principles, and their demoralizing tendency. The characters referred to were well known in the bloody annals of the history of France, during the close of the last century.] HYPOCRISY is of all vices the most hateful to man; because it combines the malice of guilt with the meanness of deception. Of all vices, too, it is the most dangerous; because its whole machinery is constructed on treachery through the means of confidence, on compounding virtue with vice, on making the noblest qualities of our nature minister to the most profligate purposes of our ruin. It erects a false light where it declares a beacon, and destroys by the very instrument blazoned as a security. The French revolution

* Edinburgh: Blackwood. At the present aspect of affairs the orters of all that is excellent in religion and government are leep obligations to Dr. Croly.

was the supreme work of hypocrisy. All its leaders were low and licentious villains, slaves of the basest propensities nurtured by the most criminal habits. We can detect nothing in them, to this hour, that belongs even to the higher failings of our nature→ not even a generous self-delusion, not even a wandering enthusiasm for the good of man, not even the erroneous ardour which might have rashly tasted of the tree of knowledge, and thoughtlessly incurred death. They were the tempters, not the tempted; stern, subtle, and vindictive destroyers, for the sake of selfish possession, and selfish revenge. The faction were not glowing zealots, whose political wisdom was obscured by the blaze of their own imaginations. Zealots undoubtedly they were, but it was by a frenzy of power and possession which incapacitated them from seeing the abyss into which they were plunging themselves. They saw clearly the ruin into which they were plunging their fellow-men. There they were cool calculators. The death of hundreds of thousands was the grand essential; and the calculation was carried into effect, with the most unswerving adherence to the great Jacobin law of massacre. But hypocrisy itself had its day. As the revolution advanced, its doctrines grew more undisguised; the rapidity of its speed swept back its robe, and showed the naked dagger hanging to its bosom. Every additional step in this furious chase, which hunted down the hope and the honour of France, cast away some remnant of the covering in which it had performed its early mockeries of public virtue; until, at last, it held on its career, the open despiser of all attempts at palliation, in gigantic iniquity-the assertor of government by tyranny, of finance by universal plunder, and of public regeneration by the grapeshot and the guillotine. *** The men made for public ruin are the professed abhorrers of all violence. They are "the mere solicitors for a small portion" of that general justice which is due to all beings bearing the shape of mankind. They limit their pleadings, too, rather by what they can hope to obtain from the compassion of the higher ranks, than by any reference to the natural claims of members of the same common family of freemen. Having thus made the first step, the advocacy grows bolder; it now discovers grievances, harangues on claims, and insists upon rights. Still there is nothing more than importunity-no menace-no display of the ruffian visageno railing against authority-no visible ebullition of that hot malignity which is swelling round the villainheart. Pamphlets, speeches, and sarcasms are the light weapons, the feeble missile shower, that cover the march of the main body. The bearers of the pike and the hatchet are not far behind, but they are kept out of view. At last the signal is made-the pleader has become the threatener-the entreaty for justice has been raised into a demand for submission-the equality of privileges is now spurned for the robbery of the higher ranks-the old constitution is no longer to crown all the hopes of patriotism by its revival, it is to be swept away as an incumbrance, for the building of a new-then follows the true history of "instalments," of " means to an end," of conciliation lavished till it becomes surrender, and of concession urged, till there is nothing left to concede.

BAILLY.

Bailly was born in Paris about the middle of the last century; an era when France, relieved from the wars of Louis XIV., had begun to devote herself to the arts. His first pursuit was painting, his next poetry, his third science. Without possessing the powers that confer originality, he was remarkable for plasticity of mind, which qualified him for various and vigorous attainments. The abstract sciences had become the way to fame; and where La Caille had acquired a reputation, Bailly might be secure of eminence. He published a succession of papers on astronomy, fought his way up the national road to distinction, and consummated his career by being chosen, in 1770, a member of the academy, the very summit of French literary ambition. The Brahminical astronomy, childishly overrated by infidelity in France, as an antagonist to the Mosaic history of the origin and age of the world, had grown into a popular topic. It was adopted by Bailly; from this point his researches led him to inquire into the nature of astronomical knowledge among the ancients; and in the ten years from 1775, he produced his three histories, of ancient astronomy, modern astronomy from the time of the school of Egypt, and oriental astronomy. These works made him popular with the large class who love amusing knowledge. He was now chosen a member of the Academy of Belles Lettres, Romantic speculation, and showy theory, made Bailly the theme of the Parisian salous. And from that hour he began the career of his ruin.

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shouts of the rabble whom he had inflamed, had panegyrized, and had plunged into a sea of blood, profanation, and treason. His last hours were wretchedness itself. The weather was dreadfully cold, yet Bailly, accustomed to luxurious life, and nearly sixty, was conveyed in an open cart through the streets of the metropolis where he had once usurped the authority of his king, and surrounded by the execrations of the multitude who had once followed his steps with huzzas. When, after a long détour, he at length reached the place where he was to die, either some official delay, or some contrivance of official malignity, kept him standing on the scaffold for three hours, in the midst of a bitter November tempest of sleet and rain. "Aha! vous tremblez, Bailly," was the taunt of the circle of ruffians around him, who saw the shuddering of the half-naked old man. "C'est le froid, mon ami," was his only answer. But his pain was at last brought to a conclusion. He was flung under the hatchet of the guillotine, and, with the roar of twenty thousand of his fellow-traitors in his ears, yelling “A bas les traitres !" he closed a life of spurious ambition.

CONDORCET.

Condorcet was a victim of a higher order, in all senses of the word, a man of noble birth, of large attainments, and of distinguished science. About ten years younger than Bailly, his rank had introduced him more rapidly into the leading circles of Parisian literature. He became the intimate of Voltaire and the showy crowd of infidelity. But his own powers subLively, unprincipled, and vain, he saw in the new stantiated all his claims to scientific distinction ; and politics of France an opening to new distinction. France was astonished to see a Marquis, at the age With the habitual ingratitude of French philosophy, of twenty-two, producing treatises on some of the he deserted the government which had raised him to sublimest subjects of analysis. The public honours wealth, and threw himself into the full chase of of science naturally followed, and the Marquis of popular applause. His intelligence and activity soon Condorcet was made a member of the Academy of attracted notice, and, entering the states-general as Sciences at twenty-six. His unusual combination of a simple representative of the tiers état, he sat as eloquence with abstract knowledge, added to his dispresident of the national assembly. The fate of the tinctions the Secretaryship of the French Academy, monarchy was already decided, and Bailly made himon the death of D'Alembert. But the profligate prinself conspicuous, by the first insult to the law, in his ciples of French society had prepared every man for resistance to the royal order for the dissolution of the the revolution; for all virtue begins at the fireside, assembly, in the well-known words of the oath, 66 and the altar. Condorcet followed the revolution to separate until they had obtained a free constitu- in its fiery speed over the ruins of the state, and was tion." He had now achieved the height of democratic consumed by the sparks flung from its wheels. He renown, and received the fatal proof, in his appoint-published a journal filled with treason; and realized ment to the mayoralty of Paris, on the eventful 14th of July, 1789, the day of the capture of the Bastile. But he had now entered on a pursuit in which every step is downward. The champion of democracy must always either keep in front, or be trampled. The first attempt of Bailly to check the riot of the populace was his overthrow. He had ordered the soldiery to fire on the revolutionary mob in the Champ de Mars. The wrath of the multitude was boundless, at this disappointment of robbery and massacre. Bailly, terrified at the aspect of public vengeance, shrank from office, retired into his study, and professed himself sick of ambition. But he was not thus to evade the evil which he and his tribe of traitors had brought upon the throne. The blood of his king was on the head of every Girondist. Bailly was dragged from his seclusion by Robespierre, and, in November, 1793, the regicide philosopher was put to death, amid the

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the treasons of his journal by entering into the Jacobin Club. Too malignant to suffer royalty to perish without a wound from his hand, yet too feeble to strike the mortal blow himself, he took shelter alternately behind the ranks of the Jacobins and the Brissotins, and did the work of both without securing the protection of either.

But even this contemptible dexterity could not save him. He had sat in judgment on his king, and he was to share in the inevitable retribution of the regicide. Of all the crimes of individuals or public bodies in history, the death of the unhappy Louis was perhaps the most rapidly, the most condignly, and the most naturally avenged on his destroyers. Of the majority of 361 who voted for regicide, scarcely one escaped the direct punishment of this atrocious crime. Many were exiled, many died in utter beggary in France, many died by the same axe which had drank

the royal blood. Scarcely one survived within a few superior was he to the other boys of his class, that a years.

I proposal was made to raise a subscription for his apprenticeship to trade. Before this kind intention was fulfilled, an assistant poor law commissioner, observing the high promise of the lad, then fourteen years old, transferred him, for further improvement, to the

Condorcet had outlived the Brissotins, but he was not forgotten by the bolder traitors. In 1793 he was pursued by the general vengeance that swept the ranks of French faction, in the shape of Robespierre-him-admirably conducted establishment at Norwood, and, self to fill an abhorred grave the moment his task was done. The wretched ex-noble was hidden in Paris for nine months, a period of protracted terror much worse than the brief pang of the scaffold. At length he fled to the country, in the hope of finding refuge in the house of a friend at Montrouge. This friend happened to be absent, and the fugitive dreading to discover himself to the neighbourhood, wandered into the adjoining thickets, where he lay for two nights, perishing of cold and hunger. At length, compelled by intolerable suffering, he ventured to apply for food at the door of a little inn; there he was recognized as the delinquent named in decree of arrest, seized, and thrown into the village dungeon, to be conveyed next day to Paris. Next morning he was found lying on the floor dead. As he continually carried poison about him, he was supposed to have died by his own hand! Thus miserably perished, in vigour of life and understanding (for he was but fiftyone); a man of the most accomplished intellect, and possessing every advantage of rank, fortune, and fame. But he wanted a higher advantage still-honesty of heart. He had sacrificed loyalty to popular applause, personal honour to ambition, and the force, grandeur and truth of religious principle to the vanity of being the most dexterons scoffer in the halls of infidelity. Grafting irreligion on personal profligacy, and rebellion on both, his death was the natural produce. Living an atheist and a traitor, he consistently finished his course in despair and suicide.

THE WORKHOUSE BOY.

I HAVE been so much pleased with an event which has lately occurred in my parish, that I am induced to commit the particulars of it to paper, believing that the perusal of what I write will cause others to share in my feeling.

A labourer and his wife, of careless and idle habits after the wretchedness and contention common to such characters, were separated, fourteen years ago, by the absconding of the husband. The woman, with a family, took refuge in the work-house. She remained under its roof for four years, and, during her stay, the children were put out to service, with the exception of a son, born very soon after the husband deserted her. On quitting this shelter, she left her son an inmate of it-the place of his nativity, and went to a neighbouring cottage, rented by a single man, with whom she lived, until within the last fortnight. While she followed this miserable course, her son won the regard of those set over him by his good conduct. He was sent to the parish school, and, when the present poor law came into force, was removed to the union house of the district. There he made great progress under a diligent school-master, and derived better knowledge from the teaching of a faithful chaplain.* So

Without at all entering on the merits or demerits of th poor law question, there is every reason to hope that th

at the end of a twelvemonth, took him into his employment, as a clerk, benevolently engaging to give him the advantage of additional school instruction, and to be his friend and protector, if he persevered in right behaviour. The first act of the youth in his new station, proved him worthy of the favour, of which he had been the object. It was an endeavour to reclaim his mother. He could not be at peace, while she so offended God. She had been earnestly exhorted by the minister of the parish to leave "the path which inclineth unto death," but, deaf to his warning, she persisted in giving place to her spiritual enemy. The son addressed a letter to her, in which he pointed out the awful consequences of her iniquity, if not immediately forsaken, and deeply repented of. It was a sensible, touching appeal. He stated that nothing but the strongest call of duty could prevail with him, a son-and at so early an age--to offer counsel to a parent, but that filial affection impelled him to entreat her, for her soul's sake, to turn from her evil way. He added, that he should be able to make her such a weekly allowance as would assist her in an honest course, if she would instantly leave the abode of sin and shame. The woman had a trial to encounter. Three children had been born since she left the workhouse. Her partner in guilt was one, probably, for whom she ceased to care-the friendship of the wicked is of short continuance-but from the children she felt it hard to part. This tie she had resolution to break. The admonition of the good son was irresistible; she read it-it reached her heart, and she hastened to a married daughter, prepared to afford her a retreat. The companion from whom she fled has invited her back in vain. She understands that she has escaped for her life; she sees the pit of destruction on the brink of which she stood.

What a happy change has this youth effected! and how glorious the result, if the woman should become a believing and lasting penitent.

See the benefit of education in religious wisdomsee what may be accomplished even in a workhouse.

The hand of God directed these occurrences. Doubt

less "it is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, but of God that sheweth mercy ;" but God is pleased to work in human affairs by human instruments, and the blessing, which he graciously vouchsafed to the labour of love of this poor boy, he confers on the labours of all who live in his faith and fear, and, "as the servants of Christ, do his will from the heart."

The beauty of this narration is, that it is strict and literal truth. It has no colouring or embellishment, it is plain matter of fact. The relator tells that which he knows, and testifies that which he has seen.

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education afforded in the union workhouses, and the ministrations of pious, and pains-taking chaplains, will be productive of incalculable benefit. To the board of guardians of a union, a most solemn charge is entrusted-to see that the young persons in the workhouse shall be well instructed, and that every proper attention shall be paid, not only to the due celebration of divine service, but to private admonition and exhortation. Hard as the lot of a pauper child may seem-it is doubtful whether it may not be more advantageous than that of a child nurtured, as is too often the case, in the filth and vice of a cottage. The very habits of regularity, cleanliness, and subordination, acquired in a workhouse, must be beneficial. The incident so kindly forwarded to us, is peculiarly interesting; we think, however, it is not the only one, that might be recorded, of the advantages derived by the children [of the poor from the regulations of a well conducted "union workhouse."--ED.

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