CONSCIOUSNESS AND FRIGHT OF SIN.

MR. EDITOR: The deep consciousness of the body of sin and death, still cleaving to the soul that has found peace and safety in Christ, and the self-loathing on account of it, the life of inward conflict more than of outward work, the humble dependence on divine grace for preservation, and the earnest watching unto prayer, these, as indicated in the last sentence of the following striking extract, were especially characteristic of the fervent piety of the North of Scotland during the last century, when the communion was considered to be administered for the sake of the whole country round; souls thirsting for the bread of life, both communicants and non-communicants, gathered from every quarter, and he was considered to be a very dubious professor indeed who neglected the opportunities thus afforded him of communicating several times, if not oftener, every year. Some earnest souls would come from distances of a hundred miles; and there would be such a gathering of faithful ministers to preach, such an assemblage of all classes to hear, such a company of deeply experienced and holy christians, such precious meetings in public and in private, such sweet fellowship with one another, as made the christians of the whole North feel in a very peculiar manner their unity in Christ Jesus. And indeed the whole population, with some insignificant exceptions. acknowledged more or less the power of the system; so that this country, with the neighboring one of Southerland, became, externally at least, the most religious, and, what statistics prove to be still the case, the most moral district of Scotland.

The form of this deep religion was Calvinistic; rarely indeed did it, in the best days of the North, degenerate into hyperCalvinism; and Antinomianism, whether in doctrine or in practice, was held in such abhorrence, that, save among a very few Separatists in some remote corners (not of Ross-shire), it never dared, even for an hour, to lift its head. Nevertheless, there were extreme developments of the prevalent religious tone. Hypocrisy or cant, in any district, is sure to frame itself after the external fashion of its true piety; and just as in some other districts and churches, hypocrites and shallow imitators disgust us by their self-confident and familiar talk about their "dear Saviour," their easy assurance of the goodness of their state, and their fussy intermeddling with the external work that may be popular among religionists at the time; so, in the Northern Highlands, did hypocrites and imitators excite equal disgust by their affected convictions of sin, their ostentatious complaints of the corruption of their hearts, their self-complacent

doubts respecting the genuineness of their faith, and their fatalistic imputation of their unbelief and inactivity to God. But while such was the spurious imitation, let the following extract, one of many "notes" current in the North, from the sermons of an honoured minister, Mr. Porteous, of Kilmuir, who served his Lord between 1722 and 1775, convey to our readers an idea of the true religion of Ross-shire, as it was preached from the pulpits, as it was treasured in the hearts of the pious people, and handed down in private and public fellowship to the present day :

"A traveller, while passing through a desert, was overtaken by a storm. So violent was the tempest, that he at last despaired of surviving it. Just as hope died within him, his eye was caught by a light that glimmered in the distance, and he hastened his steps to reach it. Arriving at the place where it shone, he sees an open house; entering which, he finds himself in an apartment, with a fire on the hearth, and a seat placed beside it. He sat down, and making himself as comfortable as possible, he felt happy at his escape from the storm that was still raging without. On entering, he had seen nothing but what has already been noticed; but about midnight, happening to look around, he saw a dead body lying in a corner of the room. The corpse having begun to rise, as he looked at it, the poor man became dreadfully frightened; and as the dead was rising higher and higher, he rushed to the door to escape from the house. But the storm was still so violent that he dared not go out, and no choice was left to him but to return to his place by the fire. For a time the corpse was at rest, but he could not keep his eyes off the corner where it lay; and as he looked, it began to rise, and now higher than before. Again he sprang from his seat; but, instead of rushing to the door, he this time fell on his knees. As he knelt, the dead body lay back again, and he ventured once more to his seat by the hearth. He had not long been there, when up again rises the corpse and now still higher than formerly; so on his knees again he fell. Observing that only while he was kneeling the dead lay still, he rose not again from his knees till the day had broken, and the shadows fled away."

A weight of care once bore me down-
"I'll try," I said, "if He be true."

"O Lord," I cried, "come to my aid"-
That very care a comfort grew.

A night of pain and anguish sore

Caused my faint heart with a fear to bow;

How can I nerve me to endure?

"Jesus," I prayed, "stand by me now."

Through those long hours with me He stayed!
He did not take away my pain,

But for such converse with my Lord,
Gladly that night I'd meet again.

Worst weight of all, a load of sin,
I carried along, day after day;
Vainly I strove to cast it off.

I could not lift my voice to pray.

He saw me where I knelt and wept.
Helpless and bound-without reprieve;

And dared not even raise my eyes

To His dear face my sin did grieve.

He waited not for prayer or cry;

He knelt beside me-yes, 'twas He. "Know'st not," He said, "thy sins I bore, Those very sins, upon the tree?

"Why dost thou ever strive to bear

The burden thou canst lay on Me?

I am thy Saviour-learn to know

What that doth mean; then thou art free."

Jesus can make our burdens light;

What He hath promised He will do;

Would every heart on this sad earth

Might seek to know if this be true.

T. S.