being circulated and discussed everywhere. A large proportion even of educated men, especially of the young and inexperienced, are incapable of probing the subject for themselves, and their opinions are formed on the representations of others, and under the force of the authority of names. The silence of

men of station, high office, and character in the church at this moment, on a subject which they feel to be deeply interesting and important, it is difficult satisfactorily to account for, and, as we have said, its effects are eminently to be deplored. They may awake too late to the truth of the representations we are now making. Surely no earthly or personal consideration ought for a moment to interfere with the defence of the truth of the gospel when insidiously, and therefore the more effectually assailed; and, surely, the y perception by an individual that such exists in his own position or circumstances, ought to make him the more jealous fully and instantly to discharge his duty, in this matter, to the church and to his Saviour. We are not speaking at present so much of an elaborate examination into the errors, as of the frank, urgent, and public testimony to their danger, which is a bounden duty laid upon all who have influence in the church, who perceive danger approaching her, from whatever quarter, and in whatever age.'

THE FIRST BURST OF GRIEF.

A QUERY was lately introduced, by a dear friend of mine, in a letter which conveyed intelligence of the efforts being made, by various friends, to divert the mind of a bereaved widow from the subject necessarily occupying it. "Is it right to disturb the first burst of grief?" asks my friend, parenthetically.

I answer, No: it is cruel, irrational, and unscriptural. Cruel, for it would check the outlet of an overburdened heart, provided by what some call nature; that is, by the Creator of all things. Some writers there have been, whose words I should be loth to quote, unless in an instance like this, where I would fain shew that even to the most earthly and carnal natures, enlightened only by that knowledge which man may acquire by the mere use of his impaired faculties, the inhumanity of such a process is apparent, and has been strongly set forth too. Who will put a negative on that well-known assertion,

'The grief that does not speak,

Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it break.'

To check the utterance of grief was, in the estimation of that shrewd observer of human kind, to oppress, even to bursting, the heart already too full. And is not this cruel? Again: there is even a notion of duty to the memory of a beloved object, which shrinks from the hasty oblivion that some comforters

recommend, as from a wrong inflicted on what is to them most precious. Another poet, as far removed from all spiritual knowledge as the first, but, like him, deeply read in the darkest pages of man's mind, has expressed this, with great power-at least I have felt it to be so

'Oh no; it is my bosom's pride
This last sad duty to fulfil :
Though all the world forget beside,
'Tis meet that I remember still.

For well I know that such had been
Thy tender care.'

Separation, eternal separation as regards this world, endears in some degree what was before an object of indifference: how much more does it knit the heart of affection to that which it always cherished, but has now lost! There is a positive consolation provided in the very sorrow that demands it; and once more, I ask, is it not cruel to deprive the desolate heart of this its natural balsam?

It is irrational too: even the brutes are sensible of compassionate sympathy. Try the experiment on a dog that is fond of you: if he is hurt, and you have no means of alleviating the smart, caress, and speak in mournful tones of commiseration, and you will find that he appreciates your concern: nor can any mortal affect to disbelieve that his fellow-man is much more susceptible, even in the cradle, of such soothing partnership in trouble. Is it not, then, irrational to withhold, under the plea of superior kindness, the cheap, the welcome solace? Suppose you had irretrievably lost a purse, or a pocket-book, containing the great bulk of your earthly possessions, and a neighbour, marking your distressed looks, should tell you it was a matter of no great conse

quence; you had better not trouble yourself about it -would that reconcile you to the event?-would it not rather produce an irritation of feeling against his stoical endurance of your loss? If in a thing that a little extra exertion, the help of friends, or some unlooked-for interposition, might speedily repair, you would shrink from receiving, or proffering, such counsel in such a way, is it rational to pursue the plan, where the loss is one that can never be replaced? Once more I turn to the first-quoted author, who has, in four words, embodied the whole scope of natural feeling in the case of the unhappy victim of disturbed grief. A chieftain's castle is, in his absence, surprised, his wife and all his children slain, and the tidings are communicated with terrible abruptness. A companion, wishing to rouse the horrorstruck husband and father, addresses some words of choice common-place rebuke of his indulged anguish. The reply is most thrilling-uttered in soliloquizing bitterness of spirit

'He has no children.'

And this, be sure, is the secret response, under whatever variety of suffering, of the heart so irrationally disturbed in the first gush of sorrow.

But I long to take higher ground. Scripture is most explicit upon the subject. Under the Jewish dispensation, a long season of indulged sorrow was not only permitted but appointed, under the title of mourning for the dead. Only the frantic excesses of the heathen, leading to personal disfigurement and maiming, were forbidden. In that very ancient book, Job, what an exquisite picture do we behold of respectful abstinence from even the word of consola

tion! Job's friends sitting on the ground beside him, day and night, until he first broke silence, is a scene as tender and touching as their subsequent expressions were harsh and cruel. David's servants were surprised, it would seem almost offended, at his ready acquiescence in the removal of his child, for whom he had so fasted and prayed, until he explained it to them and even in the prolonged paroxysm of his immoderate grief for Absalom, it was no pious or amiable personage who essayed to rouse him from it. Ezekiel's prohibition to make lamentation for his wife, was given as a sign so amazing as to startle even the torpid minds of his idolatrous people. Our blessed Lord himself never chid the gush of sorrow, though he removed its origin. The unbelief of Martha and Mary he gently rebuked, but not their grief. Oh no; he also wept. Paul's language, too, is very strong, particularly in speaking of the mercy of God to him in raising up his sick friend: shewing how overwhelming to his affectionate spirit would have been such a grievous infliction. I have merely touched on a very few instances, from the earliest to the latest date of the inspired writings; and all may be summed up in the commandment given by the Holy Ghost, Weep with them that do weep.'

6

It may be inquired,' How long is violent sorrow to be indulged?' If the meaning be, how long is the mourner to indulge in grief, I must reply, that is not for you or for me to prescribe; neither can we control it. Rudely, or importunately, or indeed in any way suppressing the manifestation of sorrow, does not affect its indulgence, unless to render it longer and deeper. You may force the worm inward, but that only places it further beyond your