“A great oak was standing near, and in the rough bark which formed its outer covering was sticking a small snail-shell. The original inhabitant had left it fastened by a little slime to the bark of the oak. It was empty, smooth, transparent, and exceedingly small. A little gnat, distressingly inflated with self-conceit, had found this untenanted mansion, and, in the vagaries of his diminutive mind, had determined to pitch upon the deserted snail-shell for his own habitation. He admired its glassy smoothness, its twirling fashion, and its many adaptations to his convenience and comfort; and, when snugly housed there, he regarded himself as one of the most prominent and important citizens that could be found in all the lofty ranges of Mount Carmel. This little gnat, puffed up with inordinate self-esteem and vain glory, was sitting near the entrance of his cell, and heard the description given by the eagle of the magnificent temple of Solomon. Having unbounded confidence in his own superior capacity as a judge of architecture, while he entertained serious doubts as to the capacity of the eagle, he at once determined to go to Mount Moriah, and examine the building for himself. Having made every necessary arrangement, he set off on his momentous mission, singing along as his little wings fanned the air. And although neither bird nor beast took any notice of his movements, or had the slightest idea that he was gone, yet such were his vast conceptions of his own dignity and weight in the community at large, that he doubted not but that his departure on this journey would be chronicled among the memorable events in the history of the hill country.

"After a most fatiguing flight, the little gnat, dilated

with immense imaginations concerning his great critical powers, arrived at the far-famed temple. But, alas! when he attempted to scan and survey the mighty structure, his little eye had no capacity to perform the task. The vast building rose before him in its length, its breadth, its height, and all its majestic proportions, while the diminutive gnat, so contracted were his organs of vision, could only view a single point of the stupendous edifice. Undaunted, however, and swollen with self-esteem, he set forward in his work of examination.

"What huge, misshapen mass is this?' exclaimed the indignant gnat, as he crawled over an immense block of white marble, in the west wall of the temple, on which the eagle, a little before, had gazed with astonishment and delight. 'It must be entirely out of proportion. One cannot find its termination in any direction. What a shapeless, unwieldy mass it must be!' Then moving on a little farther, he encountered a pimple near the size of a pin's head: this, of course, had been unnoticed in the comprehensive survey of the eagle. But here the agitated gnat started back with a gesture of horror. 'Most uncouth irregularity! The back of my hand to the wisdom of Solomon, and his masonry, too, if this is a specimen of his proficiency in the art of building!' A little farther on, and he found a joint where two great blocks of marble came together: a very fine hair could not have entered the crack; but to the tiny eye of the puffed-up gnat it seemed a mighty opening. 'Heyday!' he exclaimed ; 'what a frightful chasm is here! yawning caverns! yawning caverns !' Thus the conceited and self-important gnat went on, discerning none of the higher beauties

of the temple, because of his total incapacity to take an enlarged view, but stumbling on numberless objections, the existence of which were entirely owing to the pitiful contraction of his own powers of vision. Presently he declared that his taste was outraged and his patience exhausted; that the whole building was unworthy of criticism; and that he should leave it in disgust.'

"On his return to Mount Carmel, he alleged positively, that the statements of the eagle were false and deceptive; that he himself had given the whole matter a thorough examination, in the conducting of which he had drawn extensively on the resources of his intellect and the treasures of his learning, and that the grand results of his investigation were the following:

"1. That fame, which has gone forth into all lands, pronouncing the temple an unparalleled building, is a liar.

2. That the claim of Solomon, and his coadjutors, Hiram the widow's son, and Hiram king of Tyre, to be regarded as great master builders, is all humbug.

"3. That the Queen of Sheba, and her very great train, with camels that bore spices, and very much gold, and precious stones,' came from the uttermost parts of the earth on a fool's errand.

“4. And finally, that the little, glassy snail-shell, in which he, the selfsame illustrious and memorable gnat, had taken up his abode, is a structure incomparably superior to the far-famed, consecrated house, which Israel's king had built on the Mountain of Moriah."

ELIJAH AND THE CARMELITE;

OR,

THE EVILS OF RAIN.

THE following article was written and published in the year 1835. It first appeared in "The Cincinnati Journal and Luminary," then edited by Rev. Thomas Brainard, now pastor of the Third Presbyterian Church, in the city of Philadelphia. The history of its origin is the following: From the year 1825 till the year 1832, the God of grace had blessed portions of his church in the United States with precious revivals of religion : perhaps from '28 till '31, they were most extensive and powerful. Near this latter date, "Letters on Revivals " were published, in which "cautions," "indiscretions,” and "evils," were marvellously conspicuous. If any thing was said in favor of revivals, it seemed to be only in order to prepare the way for a doleful enumeration of "excesses," "extravagances," "mischievous disorders," of which the venerable brother doubtless had either heard or dreamed. Now, the church is sufficiently prone to "leave her first love," and become cold and dull in the cause of God; but when this sad tendency is aided and aggravated by letters or lectures from respectable ministers, the results are distressing.

Alas for a drowsy church, when subjected to an undiluted dispensation of the nightmare!

Most of us can remember, when we were children, how close we would cluster around a kitchen fire, while a superstitious old nurse told her favorite ghost stories"rawhead and bloody bones; ""sheeted spectres, taller than life, walking by moonlight through the lonesome graveyard;" "murdered men, seen at midnight, moving in solemn procession, each one carrying his head under his arm," &c., &c. I have seen children shuddering while they listened to such stories, until each one was afraid to look over his shoulder, and yet more afraid to go into a distant room to bed. And, after all, the poor old superstitious granny had never seen a ghost in all her life. Now, in like manner, if small things may be employed to illustrate things that are great, I have seen the church terrified with "ghost stories" about revivals, until she was almost afraid to move in any good enterprise; and the narrator in the latter case had seen just about as many "spectres" as in the former.

That man whose ministry God has never honored with revivals, may be a useful and important man in the church. He may render services that are valuable in other departments of ministerial effort. But he should publish neither "letters "" "lectures nor revivals; because that, in this as in other matters, experience teaches many things, of which the inexperienced are necessarily ignorant.

on

I cannot set this subject in a stronger light than by giving the following anecdote of Dr. Nelson: He had been laboring in the west, with great earnestness, to convert men to God. He would select a solemn