such as Tertullian and others, reject this custom; indeed, his church in general (that of North Africa) adhered longer than others to the primitive regulations. Even when baptism of children was already theoretically derived from the apostles, its practice was, nevertheless, for a long time, confined to a maturer age." (Article, Baptism, in Kitto's Cyclopædia, vol. i. p. 287). [In more recent copies this passage is suppressed. Why?]

We cannot answer this last question from certain knowledge. We know that the honest statements of Neander, through his friend Jacobi, are left out, and a worthless mass of uninteresting matter put in its place. Dr. Kitto, with admirable judgment, in order to give freshness to a topic on which little new could be expected from

England, put the article into the hands of a foreigner, confessedly one of the most competent of his age to pronounce an opinion on a question of Ecclesiastical History. We understand that the pædobaptist interpolators who have substituted the trivialties of Dr. Halley, &c., for the valuable information from Neander, are probably an Independent divine and a bookseller at Edinburgh. We think the public ought to demand a revision of the whole Cyclopædia by Dr. Kitto; since if they have altered, in like manner, other Contributors' articles, retaining the Contributors' names, but giving us no warning of having altered their statements, we may be relying on the opinion of some prejudiced sciolist, while we suppose we have that of a first-rate writer.

OLD PETER.

Scarcely had the bell ceased ringing the second time when every one of Mr. Smith's slaves came crowding into the yard, and formed a large circle. Immediately a man appeared in the centre, carrying in his left hand some pieces of cord, and in his right hand a heavy lash. Shortly after, came two, bearing between them an aged slave who was about to be flogged. Every eye was instantly fixed on old Peter; with all he was a favourite, to every one he had been a friend, and each one loved him. Many tears started and trickled down their cheeks when, with corded hands, they saw their beloved teacher bound to the stake, and stripped to receive his lashes. Many prayers had that morning ascended on his behalf, that God would strengthen, support, and enable him to endure the punishment with Christian fortitude; and many there would willingly have suffered in his stead, but durst not offer themselves. length Mr. Smith himself arrived, and a shudder went round the circle. Mounting the steps on which the executioner was to stand, he commenced, as usual on such occasions, to harangue the slaves. Pointing to Peter, he proclaimed, "This slave has served me longer and better than any of you. At length I find he is devoting his time to reading and praying-what 1 cannot allow, and for which he shall be flogged. But let me find any one else daring to read

At

or pray without permission from me or my overseer, and their punishment, instead of fifty, shall be five hundred lashes."

At this moment his little daughter Jane, who had just finished dressing, hearing her mother and some one talking seriously in the next room, ran in and enquired the cause. Ah," answered her mother, " Old Peter's being flogged." Without a moment's hesitation Jane flew down stairs into the yard, pushed through the slaves, and running up, threw her arms around his bleeding body, exclaiming, with a burst of tears, "Oh, Peter!" Her voice more than her presence surprised the executioner, whose uplifted lash was descending for the tenth time. That cry had unnerved his arm; its earnestness had awoke his feelings; although used to scenes of blood, tears filled his eyes, and scarcely could he refrain from repeating, Oh, Peter!" Mr. Smith himself, with all his hardness of heart, was melted by his daughter's compassion; beckoning the executioner to come down, he again mounted the steps, and vainly trying to look harsh, proclaimed in an altered voice, "Unbind him, let one see to his wounds, and the rest take their work." Leading Jane by the hand, he quickly returned to the house, and for some minutes strove to conquer his kindling emotions. At length, looking her full in the face, he said, "But why, Jane, were you so interested in Old Peter ?" "Oh, father," she

replied, "last time you were from home, I went to hear them speak about the love of Jesus. And how he did tell of that love which made him leave heaven, come to earth, and suffer and die for you and me. After meeting was over, he came home with me, and all the way spake about the great Saviour-often repeating in thankful amaze

ment

'Oh, where was ever love like his,

Him die for nigger too.'

Although dark when we reached home, I would not go in, so we sat down together in a corner of the yard. After engaging in prayer, and asking God's blessing on you, and mother, and all our friends, he again told me the story of a Saviour's love. Before coming in, we kneeled together, and prayed unto that Saviour that he would make us his, make us like himself, and enable us every day to do as he did while here on earth. Since then I have seldom spoken to him; but every morning and evening, when no one hears me, I pray God to bless and keep him; and he also, I am sure, prays for you and me. Oh, father, were you only at the meeting,-did you hear him speak about the love and death of Jesus, and see the slaves, not standing straight and looking firm as this morning, but every one holding down their head and crying, you would, oh, I know you would, look, tears would come to your eyes, you would hold down your head, and, ever after praise God for bringing you to hear, to rejoice with, to worship with, and to love, Old Peter.'

Just then the slave who had led him away, came cautiously in and whispered, "He is dead." Assuming an unwonted courage in his owner's presence, he continued, "And he died praying God to bless little Jane, and make her father as kind and good as she is." He then left the room.

Jane was silent, her heart was full, and she could not speak. Observing her arms yet red with his blood, she hid her face in her hands, and leaning on her father's knee, sobbed aloud. Next day she followed his remains to their last resting-place; few were present, little was spoken, they were mourning in silent grief. Jane stood close on the side of the grave; and the burning tears fell fast as the coffin was covered from sight.

Many flowers, planted by her hands, pointed out to the stranger and passer-by the sacred spot where was sleeping in death "Old Peter."-The Dew-Drop.

A CONTRAST.

PICTURE FIRST.

"There was a sound of revelry by night."-Byron.

In the saloons of a spacious mansion, in the fashionable part of town, was gathered, and gathering, a large company. It was a noble mansion. Wealth had been lavished upon it, and the inventions of art, for luxury and ease were grouped in tasteful array throughout its lofty rooms. The richly gemmed lamps threw a softened splendour over the carved and figured ceiling. All the various forms that the art of man could fashion from massive mahogany and stainless marble, for the ease of man, were there. Gorgeous tapestry, every heavy fold of which was studiously graceful, might put to shame the richest webs of Tyre. No footfall echoed from the soft and yielding carpet, though many on that night passed over it.

New comers were still pouring in; and as the night grew dark without, the life grew high within. There were men and women of different dispositions, but all of the upper grade, whose misfortune it was to be rich, and whose pride it was to be supercilious. No publicans and sinners were there. Sorry Poverty was not invited and of course did not come, though he cast many a wistful glance to the lofty portal, as he plodded on his way. Shivering Want sighed as he involuntarily halted in the blaze of light that streamed from the windows, and his wondering fancy pictured the comfort and joy within. Let us go in. The Babel of voices swells, and jest and sally are bandied about with untiring industry. The hoary head of age is almost cheated of its frost. The ear of beauty is flattered. The severity of matronly dignity unbends. Even the coxcomb expands his butterfly wings, secure at least in the sunshine of his own approbation. Good elder B. rejoices to see his magnificent rooms so well filled, and fosters the gaiety with well-bred art. Deacon C. has a ready jest for all. Miss D. draws most eloquent music from the splendid piano; and Miss E., the best voice in the choir of a Sunday, after much solicitation, entertains the company with a variety of sentimental and lively songs. The night wanes-the company whirl in the dance. Then comes the feasting, and still the hilarity is "fast and flowing." "Midnight!" sings the watchman; but still the lights flash, the tongues rattle. Dawn, and the party separate, and the clattering wheels go

out in various directions to convey the tired revellers to their homes and to bed.

PICTURE SECOND.

"And it came to pass in those days, that he went out into a mountain to pray, and continued all night in prayer to God."-Luke vi. 12.

The dusky haze of a summer evening was gradually deepening into night. The tall spires of the temple, and its turreted roofs, and its light pinnacles, stood out with bold distinctness against the southern sky. The hum of the flowing multitude came fainter and fainter from the narrow streets, and the evening song floated from many a family group, gathered upon the flat roofs to enjoy the evening twilight. The darker shades of night had already veiled the rugged ravines, and were stealing up to the summits of the mountains. The song of the wayfaring man was hushed, and the distant tinkling of bells came clear and musical up the valleys. Earth, with its multitudinous sounds, was sinking to slumber.

On the way that leads from Jerusalem to Olivet was a single person, walking slowly. Silently he ascended the rough way, and leaving the road, turned aside into the more sequestered parts of the mountain. What would he there at this late hour? As he gazes with a look of benignity and sadness upon Jerusalem, what are his thoughts? But he goes farther, and falling on his knees, he prays. The stars come forththose silent watchers-and still he is engaged in prayer. The chilly dew begins to moisten the leaves, and nought is heard save its faint dropping from some trembling bough. The hours pass. Clearer shine the stars in their cold brilliancy, and more heavily come down the dank dews-still that watcher prays; nought disturbs him. While the thousands of the quiet city, now hidden in the dark shadow beneath him, are slumbering, he is pouring forth the words of prayer. Higher climb the stars, and still he prays. The night wanes-all night long he prays. And not until the grey dawn ascends over the eastern mountains does he arise from his knees and begin to go down the mountain." It is the "Son of Man."-Presbyterian Herald.

GRATITUDE BEGETS JOY.

FROM THE GERMAN.

The sun had already sunk behind the wooded heights; the blush of sunset tinged the snow with a faint red, casting over it,

as it seemed, a delicate rosy veil; the night breeze blew more keenly through the frostclad branches of the trees, and a sparkling star was here and there to be seen in the heavens above them, as Father Gerard, with wife and children, returned from the frozen pond, whither the pleasant afternoon had enticed the whole family. Little Bertha was carried alternately in her father's and mother's arms; the others walked on, ran beside, or in front of them, and tossed many a snow ball into the air, or among the dark branches of the fir trees which, hung with icicles, stood singly by the wayside, and, at each well-aimed throw, rained down a shower of flashing sparks.

Thus the time passed pleasantly and quickly until they reached home. "Dear mother," said Ferdinand, the eldest boy, "is not a bright winter's day like a glorious gift from God? and does not such a walk give us, as it were, fresh life?"

"It does in truth;" replied his mother, we bring home with us a strengthened, and at the same time, a grateful heart, and we return to our labours with renewed willingness and cheerfulness. Thus, delight in God's gifts becomes itself a new gift to the heart."

"What do you mean by that, dear mother?" asked Maria, thoughtfully.

The mother clasped her darling to her heart, and said, "All that you see in nature, as well as in the life of man, is, if rightly viewed, a gift of God. The fir trees, with their snow clad branches, and the twigs weighed down with dazzling frost, as well as the ice which, like a crystal bridge, spans both pond and stream,-the little singing birds in the air, and the sweet-scented flowers upon the meadow,-the gay butterfly, with its wings of gauze, and the bold eagle, with an eye that can gaze at the sun,-the young morning, and the fading day,-the breeze that sports with the blossoms and leaves, and the storm that prostrates the oaks, and sweeps in fury over sea and land, -the joy that makes the heart leap, as well as the grief that brings the tear into the eye, -all these come from the hand of God, all are gifts from heaven.

But there are many who do not feel this, because they pass their lives in heedlessness, and do not mark the finger of God which is so often visible, or because their hearts are so entangled in the busy cares and traffic of the world, that they have no time to read the loftier lessons which life and nature

teach; nay, sometimes, because, through hardness of heart and inward depravity, they scorn to ask after things which are a folly and a scandal to them. Such men are never truly sensible of the gifts of the Most High, for they think that all this comes of itself; and as they do not feel the impulse of gratitude in their hearts, they are deprived of a pleasure which may be numbered among the fairest and purest of life.

"Others on the contrary," continued the mother, "who gaze with attentive eyes upon the wonders of Omnipotence, and whose ears gladly listen to the tones which descend from above, find in every thing which they see and hear, the traces, more or less distinct, of eternal love. When in the spring time they walk out, when blossoms and leaves, grass and blades of corn, are spread out over hill and valley, and the woods and fields echo with the gayest notes, their softened and enraptured hearts then say, the Lord has done this.

"And when the blades of corn shoot into ears and swell with the golden grains, and the blossoms change into coloured fruit, and the grapes upon the hill-side put on their purple hue, they then exclaim, God gives us this abundance. And when they gather in the heavy sheaves, and the plenteous fruit, and the rich grape, and whatever else the harvest has ripened, they cry, this blessing comes from above.

"And when, as now, the winter has covered the earth with white snow-flakes, they still say, thinking of their own last sleep, God lets the earth rest with her children until the spring returns again.

"And when their hearts are happy and cheerful, and fortune smiles upon them, so that all which they undertake prospers, then with joyful lips they exclaim, we thank thee.

"And when sorrows come upon them, and their hearts labour with anguish, and their eyes shed tears of sorrow, they say, these also come from the self-same hand which has hitherto dealt out our joys, from the hand of our Father in heaven.

"And they have consolation and hope, abundance and peace always.

"Such men are truly happy.

Gratitude

and joy dwell ever with them, their constant companions. That which they see and hear is nothing lifeless, nothing foreign; they receive it, endowed with life, into their hearts, and there transform it and make it

something of their own. That was my meaning, when I said that delight in God's gifts becomes again a new gift to the heart." The children thanked their mother for the instructive lesson.

Father Gerard, who had sat by and listened with the rest, now said, "Yes, children, your mother is right. A gift must not merely be received, it must also be thankfully enjoyed.

The gifts of God descend upon

us in every season, every day, every hour, in youth as well as in old age. But many receive these gifts wituout bestowing a thought upon Him who dispenses them. These are lower than many of the brutes which are destitute of reason. And is it not, then, a glorious privilege of man to be capable of gratitude, and of enjoying the gifts which he receives in the remembrance of the beneficent Giver ?"

THE USES AND ADVANTAGES OF ESSAY & DISCUSSION SOCIETIES.

BY THE REV. JOHN BIRT.

(Concluded from page 309).

III. The treatment of the subject brought before you, will, of course, much depend on the cast of mind and previous studies of the writer; to whom much freedom as to form and manner will be cheerfully conceded. Yet every writer will readily take into the account the design with which his paper is written, and for whom it is designed. Therefore, while he makes his essay weighty in its matter, and accurate in its statements and

opinions, he will be equally desirous that it should be simple in its character, and popular in its address. Thus will he gain every point, by mingling the useful with the pleasing.

1. As the aim of every paper will be to instruct, so every novelty will be accompanied with sufficient evidence, and every established truth with appropriate illustrations. When instruction is offered in the purely didactic form, the ideas will be presented distinctly, and in due order; each of them clearly defined and elucidated, and each preparing the way for the reception of

the succeeding one; so that the information afforded will come into the mind, as the daylight comes upon the eye, not dazzling it by a sudden outbreak, but gradually, and by shining more and more from the dawn to noon. If the instruction be given in the way of exposition and argument, the exposition will be carefully freed from everything that would obscure rather than clear up the subject in hand, and will be applied to its difficulties, rather than to those particulars which may be already plain and easy; while the arguments will consist of a selection of those which are most powerful and convincing, rather than of a multiplied accumulation of reasons, which only crowd and confuse one another, and hinder, rather than advance, the success of the author and the conviction of his hearers. In whatever form, indeed, instruction may be presented, the writer of the paper will not only have to make his essay true to the subject, but to vary its form and manner according to the nature and character of his address, whether it be narrative, didactic, argumentative or statistical. In some cases he will have to use terms of art, and in others conventional denominations of science; but these should never be unnecessarily introduced, and always, if possible, accompanied by an explanation. Then, indeed, those terms will be highly useful; as, being thus explained, the ideas they represent will be better fixed in the memory; and those very terms, unintelligible at first, will become guide posts and stepping stones in the way to knowledge.

IV. As to the Language and Style of the forthcoming essays, every writer may promise himself that, by practice in composition, he will gradually acquire a most desirable facility in the selection and use of words, in their arrangement in his sentences, and in the agreeableness and force of his style. For this, however, he must bear in mind that the indispensable requisites to a good style are purity, perspicuity, and precision. Without these, language may drag on, but it will be heavily; it may indeed convey information, but it will be vague and imperfect, and of little use. Where these qualities are, however, a foundation is laid for all the beauties, graces, and even sublimities, of "thoughts that glow, and words that burn."

Where they are absent, no riches of thought, or treasures of knowledge, can compensate the deficiency; where they are found, they constitute the elementary prin

ciples of all that is eloquent in prose, and of all that is harmonious and lofty in verse.

1. By Purity of Style is intended that the sentences should be altogether free from barbarous, unusual, and obsolete words and forms of expression; but that every word should be thoroughly English, either native, or so generally and so long adopted as to have become a denizen of the soil. It means, too, that all words and phrases which suggest low and mean ideas, unworthy of, or uncongenial with, the subject, are carefully excluded; so that the language flows in a clear and limpid stream, undefiled by any foreign admixture, and unincumbered by sticks and straws, presenting to the sight only its own pure waters, shining and bright as the spring from which they gushed.

2. Perspicuity regards both the choice of words, and their arrangement; and intends the so placing them, as to render the style transparent and unmistakable, and at once to convey to the mind the meaning of the sentence. As everything that is perfectly transparent is also perfectly invisible, so the perfection of perspicuity of style is to present the ideas so immediately, distinctly, and impressively, that the medium through which they pass is unperceived. Just as when looking at external objects through a perfect specimen of plate glass, the eye cannot determine whether the window be closed or open. The most perfect writers are those whose words shine with meaning, rather than those whose meaning is adorned and set off by words.

3. Precision is another indispensable requisite; indeed, without precision, there cannot, strictly speaking, be perspicuity. This intends that the expression never falls short of, never exceeds, never varies from, the thought. Otherwise, all will be vague, ambiguous, and uncertain. The reader or hearer should never be required either to supply or interpret, much less to conjecture, the meaning of the author or speaker. A sentence should not only have a meaning, but it should have the very meaning of the writer in that place; otherwise, the reader may be amused, but he cannot receive instruction from the writer. A map or a chart may be a beautiful specimen of drawing and engraving; but of what avail is it, if the distances and its various points are not precisely and accurately laid down? Its very, attractions will but increase its power to mislead and betray.*