do we suppose these laws of nature to be eternal? Because we have seen no interruption in them during the few short years we have inhabited this planet? Or because we have heard of none except those recorded in the Bible in any other age of the history of the earth. But what are the few thousand years of the life of this world to eternity. That God, as the author of nature, can perform miracles, or cause them to be performed, is certain that He will do so, if a sufficient occasion and purpose should present itself, is also certain. That such a sufficient purpose is to be found in the communication of those truths which are to purify, exalt, enlighten, animate, and save the soul is believed by the man of Faith; that is, by the man who has accustomed himself to reflect on spiritual things. But he who hardly knows whether he has, or has not a soul-he who thinks the object of life to be the enjoyment of worldly pleasures, he sees no sufficient purpose for miracles, and therefore he will not believe them. A want of Faith, therefore, leads to a disbelief of Christianity, and that is, as I hope I have shown, a great evil. 2. The second evil resulting from a want of faith is Atheism. We have seen already that the principle of Hume by which he denies miracles, leads directly to atheism, since it involves their impossibility, and thus subjects God to the dominion of the laws of nature. In other words it dethrones God, and substitutes a cold, iron, system of laws at the head of the universe. John Neal, in one of his novels, says, that even the testimony of his senses could not convince him of the reality of a miracle. Nothing could convince him of it. Should he see a decaying corpse, from which life had long departed, raised up by a word, and standing and speaking-he would believe it some deception and no miracle. Is it necessary to prove that one who thinks thus is in fact an atheist-that he has no real conception of GoD-that his divinity is in reality a system of laws, and that he knows of no kind Providence, no loving Father, no spiritual Friend. That the principles of modern infidelity lead directly to atheism is proved likewise by facts. Most of the deists of the present time are avowed atheists. This is going a step beyond their masters. Spinoza has been called a pious man-Rousseau was religious in his own wayHume thought it impossible for any one to deny the existence of God-Voltaire wrote one of the best of his novels to prove his existence from the marks of intelligence in the works of nature-but their followers carrying out their principles, openly deny that there exists in the universe any higher in telligence than that of man. The infidels of the present day are generally atheists. Is it necessary, in order to show that Atheism is an evil, to lift the veil which hangs over the grave, dividing Time from Eternity, and show you the wrath of God revealed against the impious blasphemer of his Majesty. Oh no. What sort of a hell may await him who has renounced his God, in the other world, I know not, but I know that this world is a hell to him. He carries his torments with him wherever he goes. He is like a child who has run away from his father's home and finds itself lost in the populous streets of a city, surrounded with strange faces, and seeing people hurrying by who do not see, or are careless, of its tears and terror. There is no one to whom it can appeal, or ask help with confidence. A God is necessary to us in this world of suffering, so necessary, that as Voltaire says, if there was none, we should invent one. The rich, the comfortable, the happy, may live for a time regardless of God-but what shall the poor, the neglected, the forsaken, those who suffer unjustly, those whose hopes are disappointed, whose strength and spirits are broken, what shall these do without a God? That were a grief I could not bear, Didst thou not hear and answer prayer- The belief in God is "a necessary support to those on whom society imposes hard and heavy burdens, uncheered by any hopes of future fortune, or any of the solaces of self-love." So says the most profound French Philosopher of the day. A world full of atheists! Can we conceive a more horrible idea, than of such a state, where all the bad passions are let loose, freed from all restraints of religion. But such a time can never come. Religion is a natural want of our mind, and human beings can no more get rid of their religion, than of the necessity of eating or sleeping. The harangues of atheists against religion are about as sensible and likely to be as effectual, as if some one should rise up and tell us that it is nothing but an antiquated prejudice which makes us think it necessary to sleep during the night, that it is an injury to us to lose so much of our time from labor and enjoyment—that it is the mechanics who make our beds and bedsteads, who nourish and confirm this notion of the necessity of sleeping, for their own interest. Those who represent religion as a prejudice originated by priests for their own benefit, show as little knowledge of human nature as this. Let no one think to reason out of man the tendencies which have been stamped upon his mind by the Almighty Father. 3. The last evil which flows from a want of Faith, is the debasing of our nature. It is a confidence in his spiritual relationship, his connexion with something better than dust and stones which gives man all his nobleness, and magnanimity, and greatness of mind. It is the consciousness that he and other men have sometimes high thoughts, and noble feelings, that he has the power of doing sometimes a generous action, it is the belief finally that he is the child of God, made in his image, acted upon by his spirit, and intended by him. for immortality, these are the sort of thoughts which produce and strengthen magnanimity of character. Lord Bacon remarks that as a dog, who finds himself supported by a man, has more generosity and courage, because he depends on this nature which is higher and better than his own: so a man who rests and assures himself of divine protection and favor, gathers a force and faith, which human nature in itself could never attain. Is it not certain that a being made up of a soul and body, who wholly neglects to strengthen or improve his soul, and seeks only to gratify the wants of the body, must debase his nature. One of the old poets makes man's principal distinction over the other animals, consist in his having a face which looks up to the stars. But if he does not choose to employ it in such contemplation, but prefers to inspect the earth, he resigns his distinction and prerogative. I have mentioned what I think to be some of the evils of a want of confident belief and persuasion of the reality of things of the spiritual world-of our soul, of God, of Truth, of Heaven. This confidence grows up by exercise. Accustom yourselves to think of God, to pray to him, to thank him for his goodness, and you will soon have a more real, and deep and living faith in his existence. Look inte your own heart, examine your own character and tendencies and powers, and you will obtain a true faith and respect for your own soul and spirit. But no one ever has enough of Faith; all have constant occasion to make the prayer-"Lord! I believe-help thou mine unbelief." ART. 2.-A VISION. Is cum languore corporis ncc membris uti, nec sensibus potest, incidit in visa varia, et incerta ex reliquiis, ut ait Aristoteles, inhærentibus earum rerum, quas vigilans gesserit aut cogitarit. Cic. de Divin. Lib. 11 c. 62. In the last stage of a low nervous fever-when the powers of life, exhausted by protracted disease, seem to be gradually and silently fading away, like the flame of an expiring taperI had passed from the low muttering delirium, so common in this species of disease, into that calm and quiet, but altogether helpless state, which often precedes dissolution. I was perfectly sensible of what was passing in my chamber and at my bedside. I could hear the motions,-the voices of those around me. I distinctly perceived the entrance and departure of my medical attendant-felt the pressure of his fingers on my pulse, and heard the mingled tone of despondence and sympathy with which he assured my friends that this must probably be his last visit. The family assembled at my bed-side; and I heard that voice which I should never cease to revere, had I only this recollection of it, lifting itself up to heaven in my behalf, and making application before the throne of God for the spirit that they believed was departing. It ceased—and, one after another, father, mother, brothers and sisters, came to take their last look of one so beloved,-though so imperfect. I felt the tender pressure of affection as they touched my passive hands, and heard the suppressed sobs, the whispers of condolence and comfort which were uttered as they left the room for the night. I would have given the world to have spoken, to have been able to recognize them by a look or a return of the pressure; yet such was my utter exhaustion that I was totally unable to command a single muscle of my frame. When I was thus left to the solitary stillness of my chamber, the most horrible and awful conceptions possessed me. It seemed as if the universe had ceased to be; as if God and man existed no longer, and I were a lonely and isolated being in the desolate immensity of space; and as if even I-the last existing thing--were about to be swallowed up in the infinite gulf of annihilation. A few drops of cordial, with which my lips were wet by my attendant for the night, seemed to revive for a moment the spark of life. I opened my eyes, and with joy found myself able to gaze, for a last time, on the things around me. with what interest did I then look upon objects of the most trivial importance. The pitcher from which I was supplied Oh! with drink, the spoon, the bowl, the curtains-all seemed to me like animated and conscious beings from whom it was painful to part. The candle, situated at a distance from my bed and partly hidden by a screen, cast a dim and uncertain gleam over the room. The shadows of various objects were thrown irregularly on the wall, which, as I relapsed into lethargy after the effect of the cordial had subsided-assumed various fantastic shapes. I felt a numbness and torpor extending from my extremities over my whole frame. Every pulsation of my heart, as if life were there concentrating its last efforts, seemed to be attended with an absolute and conscious exertion of the will. I put my finger with difficulty on my wrist, and felt the artery throbbing feebly with a slight fluttering motion. I put my hand on my heart-it was the last exertion of life-and found it beating so weakly as to be scarcely perceptible, and as it were about to cease forever. I believed myself dying-and the last impression on my mind, was that of dread at the thought of being ushered, 'an unprepared soul,' into the presence of that God, of whom, during my short life, I had thought so little and whom I had so imperfectly worshipped, to answer for opportunities neglected and privileges abused. Then all thought failed, all sensation ceased. The sound of the blazing fire-the ticking of the clock-all died away gradually on my ears, as he, who is descending into a long and dreary cavern, loses by degrees the cheerful light of heaven, ceases to hear the whispering of the trees, the murmuring of the wind, and that real, though indescribable sound, as it were the breathing of nature, which the simple presence of existing objects seems always to send forth. But though I ceased to live as an inhabitant of earth, I was still conscious of existence. Yet I was totally ignorant of the form I had taken, and of the world to which I was transferred. I seemed to have a power of seeing and of hearing, yet without organs, by which impressions could be received. I found myself conveyed rapidly away, by an unseen irresistible power, from our planet, and from the system to which it belongs. The earth and the pale crescent that attends it gradually lessened to my view, the sun and the planets diminished to points as I departed, and at length not only our system, but the multitude of suns, worlds and systems, with which it is connected, all faded away in the infinite distance. This universe of bodies sparkling with light, filled but an atom of the field before me; they sunk a dim and indistinct speck in the void and fathomless immensity through which I past. The sensation produced by this departure from all that was endowed with life, or associated |