to feel his danger, but also his ability to extricate himself, or you might as well sound your alarms over the sea-you might as well go down into the tombs, and ring them in the ears of the dead.

Still some may contend, that however degrading may be our representations of human nature, there is no reason to fear they will be understood too literally in their application. We are aware, that in applying bad doctrine to practice, there is often something which at once detects its error and absurdity, and so operates to prevent its injurious effects. There are many speculative errors which are indebted for their harmlessness to their very absurdity, and their utter inconsistency with the principles of common sense, and common life. So it may be, in a degree, with those representations of human nature which we have been condemning; still we think that their general effect, or at least their general tendency, must be as we have stated it above.

As an illustration and proof of this, we need only to refer to a fact in the moral history of the world, which ought never to be forgotten; namely, that the atheistic and demoralizing writers of France in the last century, when they undertook the subversion of all religion and virtue, began "by depreciating human nature, by considering it under its worst appearances, by giving mean interpretations to the worthiest actions; in short, by endeavouring to destroy all distinction between man and man, and between the species of man and that of the brutes." In this way they began the subversion of all established principles in morals and religion; and considering the end they had in view, it was a perfectly natural beginning. This step taken, and all the rest followed naturally on; for they had but to convince the

people that their natures were brutal, and their characters soon became as brutal, as they believed their natures to be.

However, that an atheist, who denies the existence of a moral government over the world, and the immortality of the soul, and the reality of all those affections, and relations, and hopes, that distinguish and dignify man-that an atheist should decry and revile human nature, is perfectly natural and consistent, is just what we might expect. But we should hope that Christians would not borrow their representations of human nature from the atheists, and, especially, that they would not borrow those very representations, which the atheists have heretofore so successfully employed to undermine the foundations of public morals, and effect the overthrow of all religion. J. W. C.

The Christian's Life a Pilgrimage.

THE Christian's life is beautifully compared, in the Word of God, to a pilgrimage. It shall be the design of this article to notice several points of resemblance.

And in the first place, the Christian, like the pil-. grim, has not yet any permanent home, or abiding place. The changes to which the good man is subject, in common with others, from the natural course of human life, are numerous; many of them unexpected, and some deeply appalling. If he forms his expectations from the experience of those who have gone before him, he cannot reasonably hope that he shall long remain in the same circumstances. If he is comfortably settled in the bosom of his family, with every thing to warrant

the hope that he shall die there, some adverse dispensation may remove him far from the scene of his joys and hopes, to make his grave in the land of strangers. Riches, honours, titles, nothing earthly can confer a pledge of any particular permanent residence, even during the present transitory state of existence. There are none of us but are liable to be carried, by the providence of God, it may be into distant regions, nor can any one say with respect to any particular spot, however dear, that it is his abiding place. If we have a pleasant habitation, the lightning may consume it, or the tempest may destroy it, or it may be transferred, by some unforeseen dispensation, into other hands. The changes in our families may materially affect ourselves. Children often settle in distant regions, and the aged parents are obliged to follow them, in order to share their filial attentions and support. Death sometimes makes desolations in families, which renders it necessary for the surviving members to seek a new habitation. In short, there are no circumstances, even the most promising, which can be any security against a change of residence in the present life. Even when we are most at home, we are still strangers and pil grims.

But if this life is a pilgrimage, when considered in reference to the successive changes, to which we are liable here, much more is it so, when viewed in relation to that great change which introduces us into the eternal world. Not only are we subject to constant vicissitudes while here, but the period of our residence in this world is short, and altogether uncertain. This is not our home, even though we may escape the changes. commonly incident to our condition; because, in a few

short years, and it may be in a much shorter period still, we must leave this world, never again to return to it.

The life of the good man is also a pilgrimage; because, in his journey through the world, he meets with various accommodations. The pilgrim sometimes fortunately falls into an inn, where every thing is commodious and agreeable, and where he is treated with the best attention; and again, he is liable to uncivil and inhospitable usage, which outrages his feelings, and fills him with disgust.

The lot which is appointed to the Christian, in common with others, in his passage through the world, is a mixture of pleasure and pain. There are many things which are fitted to render his condition agreeable; blessings which can hardly fail to excite his gratitude. The agreeable and wonderful constitution which Providence has given him, the numerous sources of enjoyment which exist without him, the means of gratifying his innocent inclinations, the rich blessings of domestic and social life, to say nothing of the sources of religious comfort which are opened in the gospel; all these, I say, contribute to render life not only tolerable, but often, in a high degree, comfortable. But there is a counterpart to this in the trials and afflictions to which he is also subject. He is liable to sickness and adversity in their various forms; to feel the agony of a separation from those who are most dear to him, to see his property blown away and dissipated by an adverse gale, to have his reputation calumniated by designing and malicious men, and to be the object even of aversion and neglect. And these changes from adversity to prosperity are committed by Providence so much to

the caprice of men, that it is impossible that we should anticipate them. Like the pilgrim who leaves a comfortable and commodious inn in the morning, and knows not what inconveniences he may have to en counter before the close of the day, the traveller through the world has no knowledge, when the sun of prosperity shines the brightest, but it may be the precursor of a dark and desolating storm.

Again, the life of the good man is a pilgrimage, because the connexions which he forms here, like those of the passing traveller, are transient. The pilgrim, as he advances on the way, forms many partial acquaintances, some of which contribute not a little to beguile the solitude and weariness of his journey; but these connexions are ordinarily of very short continuance. An hour or two, or an evening spent at an inn, begins and completes the acquaintance.

There is something, very like this, attending our pilgrimage through the world. We all of us form connexions here, from which we derive a large part of our temporal enjoyments. The more endearing relations which Providence has constituted between members of the same family, husbands and wives, parents and children, brothers and sisters, are very deeply inwoven into the texture of human happiness. There are many other relations also, which we sustain to each other from the peculiar circumstances in which Providence places us, that are fruitful sources of worldly comfort. But these connexions, at longest, are of short duration. The wind påsseth over the objects of our affection, and they are gone, and the place which once knew them, knows them no more. According to the

common course of nature, the child is called to cele