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successes of eminently pious individuals, we may receive much in the way both of rebuke and of excitement. They throw us, indeed, completely into the shade, but while we feel ourselves humbled by the contrast, the effect will be salutary. The dealings of Providence with them will be most instructive to us, and the same grace which enabled them to overcome, is promised to aid us in the hour of trial, and to make us "more than conquerors." Imitate, then, their examples. Catch a portion of their fire. Receive the man'le which fell from their ascending chariots, and go forth to victory and triumph in the strength of the Lord God. These were the noblest of all heroes, for they achieved a victory over themselves. These were the most illustrious of all characters, for they shall be held in everlasting remembrance." These were the most happy of all beings, for they enjoyed sources of consolation and joy unknown to others; and when the illusive dream of felicity flies from its deluded victim, and leaves him a prey to real distress, their happiness received a new and inconceivable addition. And from their thrones on high they survey the race and conflict in the world below. "Wherefore, seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith." "We desire that every one of you give diligence, to the full assurance of hope unto the end; that ye be not slothful, but followers of those, who through faith and patience inherit the promises."

dence, persevering importunity, and animated hope. J Scots Worthies. From the labours, trials, and In short, we might be pleased and impressed by a descriptive sketch of the beneficial effects which the Gospel is calculated to produce; but this pleasure and impression are equally heightened when we have presented to our view living examples of the mighty efficacy of the Word of truth in changing the sentiments, ameliorating the hearts, and reforming the lives of individual men. On such grounds as these we may well attach peculiar value to the eleventh chapter of the Epistle addressed to the Hebrews, in which we have a definition of the great divine principle by which all the saints in every age are influenced, and are called to witness many striking specimens of its actual operation. In support of the leading statement with which the chapter opens, we have not to rest satisfied with abstract reasonings, or sentiments purely theoretical, however well conceived and forcibly expressed, under the unerring guidance of inspiration itself. We have proofs in kind, evidences drawn from real life, facts which, of all credentials, are unquestionably the most conclusive. Men who are strangers to the grand master-principle which forms the weapon of the Christian's warfare, are apt to question the reality or genuineness of his profession, nay, the value of religion altogether. Being themselves wholly under the influence of flesh and sense, they regard all reference to unseen and eternal things as visionary, and represent all pretensions to spirituality and heavenliness of mind as hypocrisy or enthusiasm. But here we find an apostle adducing numerous practical illustrations of faith's victory over sense, establishing, by an appeal to witnesses who cannot lie, that " the Christian is the highest style of man," and exhibiting such noble examples of superiority to the terrors and allurements of the world, as cannot fail to call forth the admiration of the wise and good, and "put to silence the ignorance of foolish men."

Hence, we may successfully maintain the vast importance of sacred biography, comprehending under that title not merely the records of "holy men of old," as preserved in the infallible and imperishable page of revelation, but also the annals, "short and simple" though they be, of distinguished worthies of more modern times. To those who may have it in their power to engage in a course of such useful reading, or who may wish to be directed in the business of selecting works of that description for private, circulating, or itinerating libraries, I would humbly suggest the following, as connected with the history of the Church of Christ, and well calculated to stimulate to holy activity and Christian emulation :-Robinson's Scripture Characters; Cox's Female Biography; Memoirs of Knox and Andrew Melville; of Halyburton and Brainerd; of Brown, Buchanan, and Martyn; of Newton and Scott; of Doddridge and Hervey; of Cols. Gardiner, Blackadder, Melville, and Burn; Memoirs of Eminently Pious Women; Memoirs of Newell, Graham, Ramsay, Mills, Huntingdon, and Woodbury; and though last, not least, the

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BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

OF CLEMENTINE CUVIER, DAUGHTER OF BARON CUVIER, THE CELEBRATED NATURALIST.

THE name of Cuvier is familiar to men of science as a household word. In the departments of natural history and comparative anatomy, and more especially higher fame than almost any other of his cotemporby his researches in fossil geology, he has acquired aries. Though sprung of comparatively obscure pa rentage, he rose, under Providence, by the force of genius and unwearied application, to be one of the most distinguished men of modern times. "Those who have known this great man," says a writer in the his brilliant and diversified career, will not charge us Edinburgh Review, "and have followed him through with overstrained panegyric, when we say, that in all the lists of fame which we have enumerated, he not only attained a pre-eminent distinction, but acquired a reputation in each, which might have gratified the ambition of any common aspirant for fame." His charaeter ranked high both as a philosopher and a statesman. Our object, however, in the present article, is to exhibit him in neither of these capacities, but as the father of the amiable, the accomplished, the pious Clementine. Dutiful in her conduct, and affectionate in her disposi tion, he loved her perhaps too strongly; and when, at length, by the mysterious arrangements of Him who feelings of the parent were so deeply wounded that his cannot err, she was consigned to an early grave, the health became permanently affected, and ere long his useful life was brought to a close.

Sophia Laura Clementine Cuvier was born at Paris | in 1805. From her childhood she displayed a vigour of mind and a desire for knowledge peculiarly promising in one so young; but what more especially gratified her parents was the gentleness of her disposition and feel ings. Her health was never robust; frequent complaints interrupted her studies, but notwithstanding this, her progress was astonishing. And not only in secular pursuits did she evince a desire to excel; in the knowledge of divine things, also, she made the most satisfactory attainments. Reared by her parents in the pure principles of the Protestant faith, she early manifested a lively interest in the Scriptures. She read them frequently, and with an avidity which, under the divine blessing, was followed by a most minute and accurate acquaintance with the truths of the Bible.

love to Him who hath loved us with an everlasting
love, and in mercy hath redeemed us. Now, if not
before, she was prepared, in some measure, to compre-
hend with all saints the height and the depth, the
breadth and the length of the love of God in Christ
Jesus, which passeth all understanding. While her
heart thus glowed with gratitude to a redeeming God
and Saviour, she directed her thoughts with the most
intense application to the truths of religion. Distant
alike from the pride of reason and the bewilderings of
an ill-regulated imagination, she calmly and impartially
examined into her real condition and character, and
consulted such works as were likely to enlarge her
knowledge both of the letter and spirit of the Bible.
The books which were at this time the companions of
her sick-bed were Buck's Christian Experience, Scott's
Force of Truth, Gregory's Evidences, Appia's Chris-
tian Life, and several works of Dr Chalmers.
she read carefully, and extracted those passages which
tended to bring her mind and will more completely
into captivity to the obedience of Christ.

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Though in her reason, however, Clementine was fully convinced of the truth and inspiration of the Scriptures, she complained much that her heart was not sufficiently impressed with the value of those blessings which are proposed for our acceptance as sinners. But she well knew that faith is not of ourselves; it is the gift of God; and, accordingly, we find her writing to a friend in these words: Every day brings me fresh proof of my own insufficiency; but ask, and it shall be given you; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.' These words save me from despair.' The following sentiments, contained in another letter written about the same time, shows that she felt deeply her obligations to the sovereign grace of God:It is not God, the Creator of the world, that we really love, but God the Saviour,-God who receives us graciously. The heart only feels real love to God, as it embraces the mysteries of the Gospel. The mercy of God, his love for sinful creatures, is manifested in an admirable manner and degree in the work of redemption; and when that redemption is embraced, the heart must be regenerated, and consequently filled with love and gratitude to its Saviour; but till then it remains cold and insensible. The grace of God rises in my soul; I comprehend the mercy of the Lord Jesus, and certainly I experience the sweetness of his promises."

At the age of thirteen Clementine accompanied her father on a visit to England, and during this excursion, a circumstance occurred which shows how deeply she was imbued with a spirit of piety and prayer. She accidentally lost a small manual of devotion, which she had been in the habit of using, and, to the surprise of her friends, when the book was found, it was discovered that all the prayers contained in it were not only in the hand-writing of Clementine, but were actually her own composition. As she advanced in years a fine Christian spirit seemed to actuate her whole conduct. In every good work she took a lively interest; she visited the dwellings of the poor, and, supplying their temporal wants as far as possible, she comforted them in their distress, and pointed them to the unfailing source of all true consolation and joy. The Bible was dear to her heart, and she felt a high delight in recommending its glorious truths to others. Often would she seat herself in the cottage of the humble peasant, and with a countenance lit up with holy fervour, her fine intelligent" eye beaming with a purer intensity, she would urge, in strains of more than earthly eloquence, the claims of Him who came to "seek and to save that which was lost." Clementine was one of a committee of twelve ladies who inspect the female school connected with the Lutheran Church in Paris. In the discharge of the duties connected with this office she was most exemplary, visiting not only the classes of the school but the houses of the parents. The case of the poor was never made known to her in vain. She listened to their tale of woe with an attention and tender sympathy which gained their confidence and affection. By her instrumentality, a society was formed of young Protestants belonging to the Lutheran and the Reformed communions, the object of which was to supplying. food and clothing to the poor. Clementine was, besides, a collector for the Female Auxiliary Bible Society and the Evangelical Missionary Society. She also frequently visited the Alms-house for aged Protestant females, to read the Scriptures and pray with them.

With such feelings and desires, the soul of Clementine was soon filled with holy joy and peace in believHence in another letter she thus writes :-

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I want to tell you how happy I am: my heart has at length felt, what my mind has long understood; the sacrifice of Christ answers to all the wishes, and meets all the wants of my soul; and since I have been enabled to embrace with ardour all its provisions, my While thus actively engaged in promoting the cause heart enjoys a sweet and incomparable tranquillity. of Christ, to the utmost extent of her ability, this Formerly, I vaguely assured myself that a merciful amiable young lady was seized with an affection of the God would pardon me; but now I feel that I have obchest, which excited considerable alarm in the minds tained that pardon, that I obtain it every moment, and of her parents and friends. It was towards the close I experience inexpressible delight in seeking it at the of the year 1826 that the pulmonary symptoms first foot of the cross. My heart is full, and it is now that began to develope themselves; and for nearly three I understand the angelic song,- Glory to God in the months she was confined to her bed. During this ill-highest, peace on earth, good will towards men.' But ness her mind was brought more completely under the that which has especially affected me, and has, by the sanctifying influence of the truth as it is in Jesus. She grace of God, opened to my view all the tender mercy thought, and read, and prayed much, and her soul of the plan of our redemption, is the import of those thirsted after a nearness of communion with her God gentle but assuring words, He will not break the and Saviour. Earth and earthly objects dwindled, in bruised reed, nor quench the smoking flax.'" her view, into utter insignificance, when compared, or rather contrasted, with things spiritual and divine. She loved to dwell in thought upon the love of Christ; and while it presented itself to her mind in all its impressive grandeur and sublimity, she felt that her affections dowed forth in the most ardent responsive

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As she advanced in experimental acquaintance with Scripture truth, her love of the Bible became more ardent. It was the delightful companion of her solitary hours, and pondering over its sacred pages was to her a higher enjoyment than all that earth could afford. "I experience a pleasure in reading the Bible," she

said to a friend, "which I have never felt before; it attracts and fixes me to an inconceivable degree, and I seek sincerely there, and only there, the truth. When I compare the calm and the peace which the smallest and most imperceptible grain of faith gives to the soul, with all that the world alone can give of joy, or happiness, or glory, I feel that the least in the kingdom of heaven is a hundred times more blessed than the greatest and most elevated of the men of the world."

In such a frame of mind the lovely Clementine was truly happy. Draw near, ye fond admirers of the pleasures and fascinations of this alluring and deceitful world; take your seats beside the couch of this dying saint, young, it is true, in years, but far advanced in Christian experience; see the calm serenity, the smiling benignity of her face; listen to the accents of holy resignation which fall from her lips. What is the burden of her thoughts? She has lived in the full enjoyment of the comforts, nay, even of the luxuries of life; she has been beloved, caressed, flattered; nought that could administer to her earthly enjoyment and happiness has been denied her, and yet she speaks not of earth nor of the things of earth. The sunshine of heaven brightens up into a rapturous animation those eyes, beaming with intelligence, which sparkle like gems on her pale, her emaciated countenance. Such was the pious Clementine, as she lay stretched upon her sick-bed, comforting and encouraging all around her with the consolations of the Word of life. To one of her Christian friends she thus wrote:-- Ours is, indeed, a delightful intimacy, for it will never end. Often I anticipate the day when we shall be all united in the same love. Oh! how unhappy must they be who know not the sweetness of such a hope! and what thanks do we not owe to that God who has given us the experience of its power!"

In the beginning of the summer of 1827, Clementine's health appeared to be so far restored that her parents were naturally desirous of seeing her comfortably settled in life. The object of her choice, amid the numbers who aspired to her hand, was a gentleman in every way worthy of the high confidence she reposed in him. The marriage was expected to take place on the 25th of August, and with those chastened feelings which become a Christian in the view of so important a step, she wrote in the following terms to a friend:-"

:-"I do not ask of God to make me happy, but to sanctify and purify my soul; and I expect that he will keep and preserve me in the important event. The profound conviction, that there is an infinite and merciful Being, who orders all things, that not a hair of the head falls without his permission, and that he will control every circumstance for my real welfare, gives me an habitual peace and tranquillity which nothing else could inspire."

How often, alas! are our fairest hopes blighted, our fondest expectations disappointed. The thoughts of the Almighty are not as our thoughts, his ways are not as our ways. He dashes the cup of earthly happiness from our lip, that we may learn from our own experience that there is a God who judgeth in the earth. The day of Clementine's marriage was fixed, preparations were made for the happy event, but ere the day came, the lovely, the admired Clementine was laid a patient sufferer on her dying bed. Death had long become familiar to her; she had been accustomed to gaze upon the king of terrors, until, by the habitual exercise of a strong and lively faith, she had obtained the victory over him. On the 16th of August the apprehensions of her friends were excited by the return of a very copious expectoration of blood. She was now obliged to remain in bed, and enjoined to perfect silence. Her countenance bore the aspect of severe anxiety and suffering, but the peace of God kept her mind and heart through Christ Jesus. Frequently

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The intended husband of Clementine was a constant attendant upon her in the chamber of sickness, and he strove by all that care and kindness could do to alleviate sufferings which he was unable to remove. On one occasion, when he seemed to be overcome by the painful feelings which agitated his bosom, she thus addressed him, with a tenderness indescribable: "We must be resigned; do not murmur; without doubt, i shall be grieved to leave so many persons whom I love; but if it is the will of God, I am ready." Her submission to the divine will was evidently cordial, not constrained; it was the submission of a dutiful and affectionate child to the arrangements of a kind and indulgent parent. And yet it gave her great uneasiness when any of her friends praised her on account of her patience and exemplary resignation. "It is God that supports me," was her reply, on an occasion of this kind. "I feel that he is with me; and if he leaves me I feel his absence in a moment." "If God grants you patience," said a visitor, "he sees that you merit his favour." "Hush," said she, with evident displeasure, "talk not of merit.” Sometimes her sufferings were most excruciating and painful, so that she would long for death to relieve her. I would rather die at once," she exclaimed, during a violent paroxysm; but observing her sister weeping, she checked herself, "O how selfish I am! I will take any medicine, and try every remedy, because I wish to recover for your sakes." When her father expressed his wonder at the readiness with which she submitted to the most painful remedies, "It is because I wish to get well," she replied, "I am so happy with you." "My kind father," she exclaimed, with a heart overflowing with affection, "is indeed to me a blessing from heaven."

A short time before her death Clementine presented to her intended husband a copy of Thomas à Kempis invaluable treatise "On the Imitation of Christ," in which she had marked some passages which had struck her in the course of reading. This affectionate Christian friend was unremitting in his attentions to one whom he loved dearest upon earth; and separated as they were about to be for a time, he felt a melancholy pleasure in watching beside her dying couch. One day, while seated by her bed-side, gazing, perhaps, upon the gloomy prospect which awaited him, when he must wander through the wilderness of this world companionless and alone, Clementine broke in upon his meditations with the sudden request, "Lay your head there," and placing her hand upon it, she offered up a fervent prayer in these words, " Lord, bless us both! Lord restore me that I may love thee more; but if thou hast otherwise decided, thy holy will be done."

On the 28th September the disease appeared to have reached its height. She had been delirious throughout the night, but during the lucid intervals which occurred, she gave utterance to expressions of lively faith in the Redeemer, and of child-like acquiescence in his holy will. A few hours before her death she said to a female friend, You are my sister in Christ,-for eternity-that is life; there is nothing else deserves the name.

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Clementine's last moments were passed in dreadful agony; and though about half-an-hour before her departure she recovered the use of her speech, she was unable to do more than pronounce the names of her friends. She was evidently desirous to address a few parting words to them, but she could only press their hands. When heaving her last sigh, a smile of transcendant loveliness settled down upon her countenance, and her happy spirit passed to the bosom of her God and Saviour

* A daughter of Madame Cuvier by a former husband.

When the cold remains of Clementine were deposited in the coffin, an incident occurred which it may be interesting to mention. It is customary in France, on such occasions, to raise the hands of the deceased, place them on the breast, supporting them in that position, by some object which was valued by the departed. In this case the attendants had selected a volume of sermons which Clementine had highly prized. When the Baron came to take the last look of the body of his beloved daughter, he inquired what book supported her hands; and on being told, "That will not do," said he, "the Bible was my daughter's book; is there not one here?' An interleaved copy was shown him, which, on looking at the title page, he instantly recognised. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "that was her book," and he placed it under the hands of the lifeless body.

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The death of his amiable and affectionate daughter produced a deep impression upon the mind of Cuvier; and though he endeavoured to divert his thoughts by engaging in literary pursuits, he never recovered his wonted cheerfulness and elasticity of mind. The following extract exhibits the distinguished philosopher and statesman in a very amiable point of view.

"It has been related by an eye-witness," says Mrs Lee, the memorialist of Baron Cuvier, "that at the first sitting of the Comitè de l'Interieur at which he presided after the death of his daughter Clementine, and from which he absented himself two months, he resumed the chair with a firm and placid expression of countenance; he listened attentively to all the discussions of those present; but when it became his turn to speak, and sum up all that had passed, his firmness abandoned him, and his first words were interrupted by tears. The great legislator gave way to the bereaved father; he bowed his head, covered his face with his hands, and was heard to sob bitterly. A respectful and profound silence reigned through the whole assembly; all present had known Clementine, and therefore all could understand and excuse this deep emotion. At length Cuvier raised his head, and uttered these few simple words, Pardon me, gentlemen, I was a father, and I have lost all.' Then, with a violent effort, he resumed the business of the day with his usual perspicuity, and pronounced judgment with his ordinary calmness and justice."

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In closing this brief memorial of a youthful Christian, whose eminence in holy attainments may well make multitudes of hoary-headed professors to blush and be ashamed, we would urge upon the reader, while he sighs over the shortness and the uncertainty of life, to dedicate henceforth every energy of his heart and mind to the great work of preparing for eternity.

THE BENIGHTED PILGRIM S.
No. IV.

BY THE REV. LACHLAN MACLEAN. Chaplain to the Lunatic and Blind Asylums, Edinburgh. WHEN Overtaken by some unexpected calamity, or oppressed by a load of grief, after the first burst of passion has subsided, man's earliest desire is to impart his sorrows to some friendly ear; as if the sufferer expected, by communicating his griefs to another, to be relieved from a portion of his burden and such, to a certain extent, is exactly the result. While we treasure up in solitary sadness thoughts that fill the heart with anguish, we feel that our griefs are strictly personal,but disclosed to another, they lose their individuality of character, and seem to be diminished when shared by the friend to whom we address ourselves. If the desire of thus turning to our brethren for relief, when visited by affliction, proves the social character of the human race, it must also be regarded as one of the kindest provisions of heaven for our comfort in this state of frequent suffering, since it disposes us to ask | advice when we are generally but ill qualified to direct

ourselves, and inclines us to look for sympathy at a time when sympathy, above all, is what we require. Yet although such is the general character of our race, exceptions too often are to be met with in the case of individuals, who, either from natural temperament, or accidental circumstances, shun all partnership in grief, and brood in silent wretchedness over their concealed sorrows. If persons of such a disposition are occasionally found even among the sane, it may be safely stated that they uniformly constitute no small portion of the inmates of lunatic asylums. In both cases, the first encouraging symptom is a willingness on the part of the patient or mourner to disclose his griefs; with-out this, the energy of the physician, or the tenderness of the friend, will be of little avail; for, although both may use every means that skill or prudence can suggest, yet unless assisted by the objects of their solicitude, and encouraged by their confidence, the most judicious efforts will, in most cases, prove unsuccessful. This confidence, the insane are, in many instances, singularly unwilling to grant. Soured at the world, irritated by what appears to him an unnecessary and cruel exile, or convinced of the hopelessness of his condition, the gloomy lunatic refuses to disclose the wound that rankles in his breast. While this repulsive feeling exerts its fatal influence over the clouded intellect, it is, we again repeat it, vain in general to expect a satisfactory result. But when the unhappy patient unfolds his feelings, and points out the source of suffering, we can then apply the remedy; and, if insanity proceeds not from some constitutional cause or physical derange ment beyond the reach of human skill, the most encouraging anticipations may reasonably be entertained.

In reference to the foregoing remarks, an occurrence of an interesting nature, in which the sad effects of a silent uncommunicative disposition, and the happy consequences of an opposite line of conduct are strikingly manifested, may now be related.

The individual whose case is about to be stated, was, in early life, my class-fellow; we were also members of the same literary society, which latter circumstance enables me to form a more accurate judgment of his talents and principles, than I possibly could have done had we only met in a public class-room. It may be sufficient to observe, then, that I ever looked upon him as a person of unaffected piety, studious habits, and very respectable talents. To the best of my recollection, however, after the lapse of many years, he was of a shy and retired disposition, and of a somewhat melancholy temperament. After the society broke up, we met only casually and but seldom; consequently, my opinion respecting his temperament is not supported by observation carried down to the period of his confinement, but depends upon an early and possibly erroneous impression. It need scarcely be stated that the young man's mental malady had no influence in forming the above judgment, as I would, if asked, have expressed the same opinion, had he never been so situated.

The first time that I visited the asylum, the superintendent accidentally mentioned the gentleman's name and profession, and upon learning that we were acquainted, requested that I would try to ascertain the cause of his derangement, as he conceived it originated, in a great measure at least, in something that still preyed upon his mind, the nature of which, on account of the patient's reserved disposition, he had not discovered. I made the attempt several times, but did not succeed; he met me kindly, even affectionately, and always begged that I would see him soon again; but, excepting the most pathetic expressions of grief for his own sinfulness and unprofitableness as a servant of Christ, he said nothing that could enable me to discover what it was that haunted him night and day; although I perceived at once, by his words, that the mental anguish which he unceasingly endured was principally, if not

altogether, caused by some particular incident upon which his mind brooded with fatal constancy. At last I gained the wished for information, and found that he had at one time entered into some arrangements to go abroad professionally; circumstances, however, occurred, which rendered this unadvisable, and the matter fell to the ground. For this change of mind he reproached himself, conceiving that he had wilfully disobeyed the call of God; and, by a gloomy and despairing interpretation of woe is unto me if I preach not the Gospel," concluded, that his everlasting destruction was inevitably sealed, by his having committed an unpardonable sin. Against this opinion I used every argument which the case suggested; the poor sufferer heard me patiently, expressed himself grateful "for the pains I took to convince him he was wrong, wished it were possible to change his mind; but always conciuded, with a sigh, "that it was impossible."

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On one occasion, when I called, I found my friend engaged in secret prayer, in which duty I understood he spent the greater part of the day. The all-engrossing subject of his thoughts was again reverted to; and, after about an hour's conversation, I was delighted to observe an alteration in his conduct; he listened attentively to my remarks, stated several objections indeed, but evidently with the desire of having them removed. This was the first day I ventured to entertain hopes of his recovery; nor were my expectations long of being realized; the patient's mental and bodily health rapidly improved. I then recommended that he should devote part of the day to study; the proposal delighted him; by the kind attention of the superintendent, a private room, with every convenience, was provided for him, and he began to compose a sermon.

On my next visit to the Asylum, I went into his study, and witnessed, with no small interest, the accomplishment of the object intended by my advice. Old habits were again formed, and the load that oppressed the troubled soul was removed. After a few commonplace remarks, the young man pointed to his papers, and declared, that now indeed he felt happy and comfortable, and could look forward with delight to the time when he would leave the Asylum, and engage in the active duties of life; events to which I had previously in vain attempted to direct his attention. He was shortly afterwards discharged, and preached on the first or second Sabbath immediately following; I believe on the first.

In the course of a day or two after leaving the Asylum, the then happy man called upon me, and while alluding to his former sad situation, expressed the strongest feelings of gratitude towards the officers of the establishment for their uniformly kind and indulgent treatment. His recovery, he observed, was, in his opinion, in a great measure caused at first by the conversation formerly mentioned; but above all, by the duties of the Sabbath, which, breaking in upon the dull monotonous round of a solitary life, had called into exercise his mental powers, and of course enabled him for a time to forget his sorrows. In support of this I may observe, that even when suffering most severely, he seemed to experience temporary relief during the time of divine service; as he always listened with the deepest attention, and afterwards by his remarks proved that his mind had been completely occupied by the duties in which he had been engaged.

In this way, then, I conceive, the delusion was gradually, and unconsciously for a time on the patient's part, dispelled, and the habit of sober reflection regained, by his being regularly led to meditate upon truths, which otherwise, while wedded to his own gloomy opinions, he never probably would have thought of. Reason, thus permitted at intervals to reassume its place, gained fresh strength by every victory over the disease, until at last it became too powerful to be shaken by the dreams of insanity. It ought, perhaps,

to have been stated, that the case at first appeared utterly hopeless; though harmless and inoffensive as a child to others, the worst consequences were to be dreaded to the individual himself. His bodily strength was gone; his mental powers were prostrate, and deprived of all energy, excepting in one fearful line of thought; even had nothing else happened, a broken heart and a wounded spirit would, in all human probability, soon, amidst the struggles of an unassisted conflict, have terminated his earthly sorrows.

It may, perhaps, be thought, that my previous acquaintance with the patient secured me his confidence: this by no means, however, follows as a necessary consequence; for in many instances, such is the singular perversity of a deranged intellect, this fact, instead of forwarding, might have militated against my views. in the case before us, it certainly did aid my endeavours, but not at all to the extent that might have been expected. While the patient lived in the unbroken gloom of insanity, although respectful and kind to me personally, yet early recollection seemed to him a name with. out a charm. I no doubt frequently spread, if I may so speak, a picture of the past before him, but, after a cold and hurried gaze, he turned to the sad and dreary outline of actual existence. I spoke to him as a friend; he acknowledged, yet slightly dwelt upon the claim, wishing to address me rather as the Christian teacher, In this latter capacity the breach was made; that once gained, private friendship was gladly permitted to assist in securing the opening. In a word, whenever a favourable change was produced upon the sufferer, he proved how dear to him was the memory of the past. Names, where, alas! names alone existed, were repeated with affectionate remembrance, and incidents hallowed by youthful associations were referred to as sources of pleasing and animating reflection. Without doubt his having known me disposed him to receive me in a favourable manner; for the first time we met he remarked, "I thought when the name was mentioned to me, it might be you: I am glad it is so, for I would have felt had it been a stranger." But, as stated above, until Gospel arguments, precepts, and promises, had softened the lonely heart, that heart remained unmoved by the entreaties of human friendship. The above narrative, although long, will not, I trust, have appeared tedious, as, combined with the facts previously stated, it most distinctly proves, that to the inmates of lunatic asylums the Gospel has not been preached in vain, and that they are, in very many instances, not only able, but willing, to appreciate the blessings of the Gospel.

An occurrence may now be related, which, but for the peculiar character of the subject of this paper. would scarcely perhaps correspond with the gravity of the present work. The occurrence is pleasing, because it exhibits the insane in a cheerful, even playful state; a situation proceeding, in a great measure, from the salutary changes that have of late years taken place in their treatment. While surrounded, on one occasion, by n few of the patients, the conversation happening to turn upon preaching, all with one voice condemned read discourses. Partly to divert their attention, by draw ing them out, and partly to ascertain if the insane in both institutions with which I am connected were of the same mind on this subject, I took the opposite side of the question. After a little argument had passed, maintained by the other party with a good deal of humour and ingenuity, the discussion was closed for the time by my observing, Well, I shall bring a written discourse with me next Sabbath, and then you can give me your opinion." After the promise was fulfilled, ! waited for the opinion of my critical friends. That, as I fully expected, gave a most decided preference to the unwritten over the read discourse; while, at the same time, it was plainly, though very politely hinted, that as it was the first, so it would be as agreeable to my

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