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have heard: the sinfulness of sin has not been sufficiently insisted on. All are ready enough to admit that they are sinners-it is an admission hardly to be avoided, even by persons the most blinded to their own character and conduct;-but to see its sinfulness in the sight of God, and in relation to the gospel of his grace; its sinfulness as it affects our fellow-creatures; and the hindrances it throws in their way, and in our own, as to the pursuit of the only true end of our being, in connexion with glorifying God in body, soul, and spirit-this is what, I think, is too seldom pointed out in sermons, and is thereby perhaps too little considered by the hearers of sermons.

H.

FALSE CRITICISMS ON THE SACRED SCRIPTURES.

I have been in the habit for some years past of keeping a record (no enviable, or you will perhaps think profitable, vocation) of all the bad criticisms on the New Testament which have fallen in my way. My manuscript is increasing to a portentous size, and, if it were published, might be a rather amusing piece of light reading, were not the subject too serious to allow of an unmixed smile, even at the self-complacent curvettings of affected scholarship. The clergyman of the church which I attend is rather fond of showing off his knowledge of Greek, by telling us how his text stands in the original; and many of my acquaintance seem to be considerably annoyed when he sets off upon his high horse. I fear that I am not always so much disturbed as I ought to be upon the occasion, being perhaps secretly delighted at the prospect of obtaining fresh materials for my inauspicious manuscript. Indeed, I have been so spoiled by over-indulgence in this matter, that I almost feel as if I were ill-treated, when a whole Sunday has passed over without making some addition to my treasures. I do not, however, confine myself to pulpit criticisms; though (without being particular) I prefer these, as being generally the worst. I send you two or three specimens of my collection; taking especial care, however, not to pen one that might leave in the mind of my readers any painful or trifling association.

"Almost thou per"The Greek word,"

A few years ago I heard a sermon on the text, suadest me to be a Christian," Acts, xxvi. 28. said the preacher, "which is here rendered almost, means a little: and the text ought to have been translated, "A little thou persuadest me to be a Christian." It might, one would think, have occurred to him, that had the English translators been capable of making such a mistake as this, they would have been totally unqualified for their office. The Bible translation is quite correct, and the only effect of the preacher's alteration was to destroy the whole force and spirit of the passage.*

My next specimen shall be from Mr. Myers's Norrisian Prize Essay on the Gift of Tongues. This essay, as you have justly stated, is one of very considerable merit, and deserves a wider circulation than academical prize essays generally meet with. It contains, however, one

* There is, indeed, another interpretation of the passage, which has received the sanction of some respectable commentators; but I think that they are mistaken. These interpreters suppose pove to be understood after v oxy; and consider Agrippa as saying to St. Paul, ironically, "You make quick work of converting me to your faith." To which Paul answers, "Whether the work be quick or slow, I would that you were all converted."

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unfortunate little note. Speaking of Acts, xi. 26, where it is said that "the disciples were called (xpaμatica) Christians first at Antioch," Mr. Myers remarks that the verb here used is active, not passive; adding, that if this had been attended to, it would have gone far towards settling the controversy about the claim of the Socinians to the title of Christians. I do not in the least understand how this could have been the effect of Mr. Myers's criticism: indeed I do not know whether he means that it would have determined that the Socinians were or that they were not Christians. But, at any rate, he must suppose that Xpμat does not signify "to be called," as it undoubtedly does.

If you will allow me to take another specimen from your own pages, I will refer you to a communication signed W. R. in your last year's volume (page 274). The writer says that again is not the meaning of avalev, in John, iii. 3, 7. Now I do not quarrel with him for preferring the marginal reading, from above; it may possibly be the right one; but it does not seem to have occurred to him that there can be any doubt about this question, or that any thing may have been written respecting it by other interpreters. He says that "no where else in the New Testament is avav rendered again." But aλı avadev is rendered again in Gal. iv. 9, and must be so rendered. In the Apocryphal book of Wisdom, xix. 6, we find, "The whole creature in his proper kind was fashioned again anew,” waλiv avabεv. And Josephus uses avale in the sense of again. Commentators refer us also to the authority of ancient versions, to prove that the word was understood to bear this meaning in the text before us; and they argue, from the reply of Nicodemus in ver. 4, that this was the meaning which he gave to our Saviour's words, understanding him to speak of being born a second time. The last argument is perhaps not worth much; but the reasons that are urged in favour of the common translation are, upon the whole, entitled to attention. To me they seem to be conclusive. At any rate, W. R. should have acquainted himself with them, and not have jumped so hastily to the contrary conclusion. M. J. M.

MEMORANDUM OF JOHN XVI. 8-11.

"And when He is come, He will reprove the world of sin, and of righteousness, and of judgment. Of sin, because they believe not on me; of righteousness, because I go to my Father, and ye see me no more; of judgment, because the prince of this world is judged." The following seems to be the natural and obvious interpretation of this passage: "After my departure from amongst you, another Comforter will arise in the world, whose office will be-first, to convince mankind of sin, because my teaching has failed of accomplishing that great end of my coming; secondly, to instruct them in righteousness, because I shall not be present on the earth, as a teacher and pattern of obedience to the law; and, thirdly, to reveal to them the doctrine of judgment, because at the very moment of my departure there is a great judgment of the world, and the prince of the world is cast out." (See chap. xii. 31.)

I think that this is the sense in which every body understands the passage at a first reading, and before he has consulted the writings of commentators. The great point to be settled, is the meaning of the word righteousness. Those who think that it means the righteousness of Jesus Christ (and this is the opinion of the majority of expositors),

seem to me to leave a chasm in our Saviour's argument, which the apostles would have been utterly unable to fill up. They hardly understood him when he spoke of his departure from the world (ver. 17); much less could they have divined how that departure should be a proof of his righteousness. I think, therefore, that it is better to consider our Saviour as speaking of righteousness generally; and I feel almost sure that this would be the first impression of any one who was not familiar with our formal systems of divinity. I have heard it objected to this interpretation, that the Greek word, which in our translation is rendered "reprove," must be taken in one sense with sin, and in another sense with righteousness. But, not to mention that this objection lies against every interpretation of the passage that I am acquainted with, it may be sufficient to observe, that no one who understands Greek would consider it to be an objection at all: for it is a frequent practice, almost an elegancy, in Greek composition, to make a string of substantives depend on a verb which in its proper sense can only connect itself with one of them. M. J. M.

The incident which is the foundation of the following tale was, we are assured, communicated to the writer, by a valued friend, as a fact, with the name of the principal character. This paper has, we believe, been published as a temperance tract; but probably many of our readers have never seen it till now, and it is worthy of the attentive perusal of all. Its simplicity and pathos have been much admired-The tale is as follows

THE GOLD RING.

I have one of the kindest husbands: he is a carpenter by trade, and our flock of little children has one of the kindest fathers in the county. I was thought the luckiest girl in the parish, when G-—— Tmade me his wife. I thought so myself. Our wedding-day-and it was a happy one-was but an indifferent sample of those days of rational happiness and uninterrupted harmony, which we were permitted to enjoy together for the space of six years. And although, for the last three years of our lives, we have been as happy as we were at the beginning, it makes my heart sick to think of those long dark days and sad nights, that came between; for two years of our union were years of misery. I well recollect the first glass of ardent spirit that my husband ever drank. He had been at the grocery to purchase a little tea and sugar for the family; there were three cents coming to him in change; and unluckily the deacon, who keeps the shop, had nothing but silver in the till; and, as it was a sharp frosty morning, he persuaded my good man to take his money's worth of rum, for it was just the price of a glass. He came home in wonderful spirits, and told me he meant to have me and the children better dressed; and as neighbour Barton talked of selling his horse and chaise, he thought of buying them both; and, when I said to him, "George, we are dressed as well as we can afford, and I hope you will not think of a horse and chaise, till we have paid off the squire's mortgage," he gave me a harsh look and a bitter word. I never shall forget that day, for they were the first he ever gave me in his life. When he saw me shedding tears, and holding my apron to my face, he said he was sorry, and came to kiss me, and I discovered that he had been drinking, and it grieved me to the heart. In a short time after, while I was washing up the breakfast

things, I heard our little Robert, who was only five years old, crying bitterly, and, going to learn the cause, I met him running towards me with his face covered with blood. He said his father had taken him on his knee, and was playing with him, but had given him a blow in the face, only because he had said, when he kissed him, "Dear papa, you smell like old Isaac, the drunken fiddler." My husband was very cross to us all through the whole of that day; but the next morning, though he said little, he was evidently ashamed and humbled; and he went about his work very industriously, and was particularly kind to little Robert. I prayed constantly for my good man, and that God would be pleased to guide his heart aright; and, more than a week having gone by, without any similar occurrence, I flattered myself that he would never do so again. But in a very little time, either the deacon was short of change as before, or some tempting occasion presented itself, which my husband could not resist, and he returned home once more under the influence of liquor. I never shall forget the expression of his countenance, when he came in that night. We had waited supper a full hour, for his return; the tea-pot was standing at the fire, and the bannocks were untouched upon the hearth, and the smaller children were beginning to murmur for their supper. There was an indescribable expression of defiance on his countenance, as though he were conscious of having done wrong, and resolved to brave it out. We sat down silently to supper, and he scarcely raised his eyes upon any of us, during this unhappy repast. He soon went to bed and fell asleep; and after I had laid our little ones at rest, I knelt at the foot of the bed, on which my poor misguided husband was sleeping, and poured out my very soul to God, while my eyes were scalded with the bitterest tears I had ever shed. For I then foresaw, that unless some remedy could be employed, my best earthly friend, the father of my little children, would become a drunkard. The next morning, after breakfast, I ventured to speak with him upon the subject, in a mild way; and, though I could not restrain my tears, neither my words nor my weeping appeared to have any effect, and I saw that he was becoming hardened, and careless of all. How many winter nights have I waited, weeping alone, at my once happy fireside, listening for the lifting latch, and wishing, yet dreading, to hear his steps at the door!

After this state of things had continued, or rather grown worse, for nearly three months, I put on my bonnet one morning, after my husband had gone to his work, and went to the deacon's store; and, finding him alone, I stated my husband's case, and begged him earnestly to sell him no more. He told me it would do no good, for if he did not sell it, some other person would sell it; and he doubted if my husband took more than was good for him. He quoted Scripture to show, that it was a wife's duty to keep at home, and submit herself to her husband, and not meddle with things which did not belong to her province. At this time, two or three customers called for rum, and the deacon civilly advised me to go home and look after my children.

I went out with a heavy heart. It seemed as if the tide of evil was setting against me. As I was passing farmer Johnson's on my way home, they called me in. I sat down and rested myself for a few minutes, in their neat cottage. Farmer Johnson was just returning from the field; and when I saw the little ones running to meet him at the stile, and the kind looks that passed between the good man and his wife; and when I remembered that we were married on the very same day,

and compared my own fortune with theirs, my poor heart burst forth in a flood of tears. They all knew what I was weeping for, and farmer Johnson, in a kind manner, bade me cheer up, and put my trust in God's mercy, and remember that it was often darkest before daylight. The farmer and his wife were members of the temperance society, and had signed the pledge; and I have often heard him say, that he believed it had saved him from destruction. He had, before his marriage, and for a year after, been in the habit of taking a little spirit every day. He was an industrious, thriving man; but shortly after his marriage he became bound for a neighbour, who ran off, and he was obliged to pay the debt. I have heard him declare, that when the sheriff took away all his property, and stripped his little cottage, and scarcely left him those trifles which are secured to the poor man by law; and when he considered how ill his poor wife was at the time, in consequence of the loss of their child, that died only the month before, he was restrained from resorting to the bottle, in his moments of despair, by nothing but a recollection of the pledge he had signed. Farmer Johnson's minister was in favour of pledges, and had often told him, that affliction might weaken his judgment and his moral sense, and that the pledge might save him at last, as a plank saves the life of a mariner, who is tost upon the waves.

Our good clergyman was unfortunately of a different opinion. He had often disapproved of pledges: the deacon was of the same opinion: he thought very illy of pledges.

Month after month passed away, and our happiness was utterly destroyed. My husband neglected his business, and poverty began to stare us in the face. Notwithstanding my best exertions, it was hard work to keep my little ones decently clothed and sufficiently fed. If my husband earned a shilling, the dram-seller was as sure of it, as if it were already in his till. I sometimes thought I had lost all my affection for one who had proved so entirely regardless of those whom it was his duty to protect and sustain; but when I looked in the faces of our little children, the recollection of our early marriage days, and all his kind words and deeds soon taught me the strength of the principle that had brought us together.

I shall never cease to remember the anguish I felt when the constable took him to jail, upon the dram-seller's execution. Till that moment I did not believe that my affection could have survived under the pressure of that misery, which he had brought upon us all. I put up such things, of the little that remained to us, as I thought might be of use, and turned my back upon a spot where I had been very happy and very wretched. Our five little children followed, weeping bitterly. The jail was situated in the next town. "Oh George," said I," if you had only signed the pledge, it would not have come to this." He sighed and said nothing; and we walked nearly a mile, in perfect silence. As we were leaving the village, we encountered our clergyman, going forth upon his morning ride. When I reflected that a few words from him would have induced my poor husband to sign the pledge, and that if he had done so he might have been the kind father and the affectionate husband that he once was, I own, it cost me some considerable effort to suppress my emotions. "Whither are you all going?" said the holy man. My husband, who had always appeared extremely humble, in presence of the minister, and replied to all his inquiries, in a subdued tone of voice, answered with unusual firmness, "To jail, reverend sir." "To jail!" said he, "ah, I see how it is; you have wasted

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