TURE DOCTRINE.

BY THE REV. JAMES HAMILTON, OF
REGENT-SQUARE CHURCH.

To the Editor of the English Presbyterian Messenger. DEAR SIR,-Chiefly but not entirely for the sake of the many children in the congregation, I have sometimes tried to illustrate a doctrine by a short apologue or parable; and as you kindly asked me to contribute a paragraph to this "Messenger," I have extracted two of these. The first was told when speaking of Imputed Righteousness, and that unchanging ordinance in the government of a holy God, which demands a full obedience, a perfect righteousness as the only passport to heaven. The other was meant to illustrate that act of faith when a sinner first renounces his own righteousness, and casts himself on the work of another.

I remain, most truly yours,

J. H.

THE PILGRIMS AND THEIR PITCHERS.

It was long ago, and somewhere in the Eastern clime. The king came into the garden and called the children round him. He led them up to a sunny knoll and a leafy arbour on its summit. And when they had all sat down, he said, "You see far down the river, and hanging as on the side of the hill, yon palace? It is a palace-though here it looks so little and far away. But when you reach it you will find it a larger and sweeter home than this; and when you come you will find that I have got there before you. And when you arrive at the gate, that they may know that you belong to me, and may let you in, here is what each of you must take with him." And he gave to each of the children a most beautiful porcelain jar-a little pitcher so exquisitely fashioned that you were almost afraid to touch it, so pure that you could see the daylight through it, and with delicate figures raised on its sides. "Take this, and carry it carefully. Walk steadily, and the journey will soon be over." But they had not gone far before they forgot. One was running carelessly and looking over his shoulder, when his foot stumbled, and as he fell full length on the stony path the pitcher was shivered in a thousand pieces; and one way and another, long long before they reached the palace, they had broken all the pitchers. When this happened I may mention what some of them did. Some grew sulky, and knowing that it was of no use to go forward without the token, they began to shatter the fragments still smaller, and dashed the broken sherds among the stones, and stamped them with their feet; and then they said, "Why trouble ourselves about this palace? It is far away, and here is a pleasant spot. We will just stay here and play." And so they began to play. Another could not play, but sat wringing his hands, and weeping bitterly. Another grew pale at first, but recovered his composure a little on observing that his pitcher was not broken so bad as some others. There were three or four large pieces, and these he put together as well as he could.' It was a broken pitcher that could hold no water, but by a little care he could keep it together; and so he gathered courage, and began to walk along more cautiously. Just then, a voice accosted the weeping boy, and looking up he saw a

countenance-such a countenance as is accustomed to be happy though something for the present has made it sad. And in his hand he held just such a pitcher as the little boy had broken, only the workmanship was more exquisite, and the colours were as bright as the rainbow round the stranger's head. "You may have it," he said, "it is better than the one you have lost, and though it is not the same, they will know it at the gate." The little mourner could scarcely believe that it was really meant for him; but the kind looks of the stranger encouraged him. He held out his hand for the stranger's vase, and gave a sob of joyful surprise when he found it his own. He began his journey again, and you would have liked to see how tenderly he carried his treasure, and how carefully he picked his steps, and how sometimes, when he gave another look at it, the tear would fill his eye, and he lifted up his happy thankful face to heaven.-The stranger made the same offer to the playing boys, but by this time they were so bent on their new amusements, that they did not care for it. Some saucy children said, he might leave his present there if he liked, and they would take it when they were ready. He passed away, and spoke to the boy who was carrying the broken pitcher. At first he would have denied that it was broken, but the traveller's clear him, "You had better cast it away, and have glance had already seen it all; and so he told this one in its stead." The boy would have been very glad to have this new one, but to throw away the relics of his own was what he could never think of. They were his chief dependence every time he thought of the journey's end; so he thanked the stranger, and clasped his fragments firmer. The boy with the gift-pitcher, and this other reached the precincts of the palace about the same time. They stood for a little and looked on. They noticed some of the bright-robed inhabitants going out and in, and every time they passed the gate, they presented such a token as they themselves had once got from the king, but had broken so long ago.-The boy who had accepted the kind stranger's present now went forward, and held it up; and whether it was the light glancing on it from the pearly gate, I cannot tell, but at that instant its owner thought that it had never looked so fair. He who kept the gate seemed to think the same, for he gave a friendly smile, as much as to say, "I know who gave you that;" and immediately the door was lifted up and let the little pilgrim in. The boy with the broken pitcher now began to wish that his choice had been the same; but there was no help for it now. He adjusted the fragments as skilfully as he could, and trying to look courageous, carried them in both his hands. But he who kept the gate was not to be deceived. He shook his head, and there was that sorrow in his look which leaves no hope. The bearer of the broken pitcher still held fast his useless sherds; but he soon found that it was vain to linger. The door continued shut.

THE MOUNTAIN IN THE PLAIN.

There was once a mountain in the midst of an extensive plain. The plain was a wild common, on which lived many people, some of them very hard-wrought, some of them very wicked, and most of them very wretched. They busied themselves rooting out the furze, the thistles, and briars that grew plenty on the plain. But it was amazing how fast these weeds grew up again, and what scanty crops repaid their toil. And besides all this, hardly

a day went by but some one was torn by wild beasts which infested the neighbouring forest, or plundered and beaten, and possibly murdered by robbers who haunted there. Yet they took little notice of the mountain. Its sides were rugged. None of the people in the plain had ever been on the top of it. But a few of the more noticing had made some observations on it. They remarked that a perpetual sunshine settled on its summit, and they inferred that it must be a very genial clime, for by the help of their prospectglasses they could make out golden fields and gardens bright with blossom, and over the mountain's edge folded thick bunches of verdure heavy with purple fruit. Still nobody had been on the top, and few paid much attention to the mountain in the plain. One day as a man was musing on the common near its foot, and was grudging to think what a perilous toilsome life he was leading, he It was heard a solemn whisper in his ear. such a startling whisper that it raised him to his feet. It said, "Tarry not in the plain." And he felt an instant force upon him. He began to move before he had time to deliberate. He cast an eye at the mountain, and as he saw high up and far away some of its inhabitants walking in its light, he said to himself, "Happy people! Would that I were with you." And he wandered round and round the hill, but found nowhere that he sort of gulley or ravine that promised to take could go easily up. At last he came to a him to the top. He went winding up some way without much difficulty, till suddenly he came out upon a ledge which overhung a But still the rocky dark lake far below. pass promised to conduct him higher, and determined not to look down if he could help it, he began again to clamber upward, till at last he found himself in a niche of rock beyond which he could not go. He looked up and saw cliff hanging over cliff, and not even a thread of pathway by which to scramble higher. He looked down, and the moment he did so the sweat began to ooze from his finger-points, and his heart to flutter with faintishness and fear, for he was clinging by a jutting crag, and he had scarcely courage to draw a single breath, lest it should loosen his slippery hold and send him and the rotten rock a-spinning to the lake below. Just then the same voice which had startled him on the plain whispered softly in his ear, "Cast thyself down hence." The proposal was a strange one, but the voice was so friendly and encouraging, that he almost hesitated whether he would not comply, when it spoke again in a sweet whisper as before, but this time such a secret might went with it, that the man could not refuse, though he almost wondered at himself. "Cast thyself down." And he let go his hold, when instead of bolting down to the abyss, a powerful arm caught hold of him; he felt himself securely borne, and wafted upward on viewless wings was landed safe on the mountain's crown, and as soon as the amazement of deliverance had somewhat subsided, he flung himself on a fragrant bank where some fruits newly shaken from the tree were lying. He was full of blessedness, and wept a while. That evening one of the people of the plain passing near the mountain, thought he heard the voice of an old neighbour singing far up on the summit. But it was a new song, not known thereaway, and except one verse, the man could remember

none of it:

"He took me from a fearful pit, And from the miry clay, And on a rock he set my feet, Establishing my way."

drink!!"

After these seasons of dissipation, with the accompanying excitement and exposure and vice, there is invariably a dreadful increase of sickness; and many are cut off by fevers, dysentery, and other diseases.

Apart from the sin and immorality connected with the state of things exhibited by the above extract, the mere sanatory and political view of the matter might suggest many thoughts on the subject of education, and especially on the existing provision made for the intellectual and religious improvement of the soldiers in the British army.

CHURCH PSALMODY.

In most of our Presbyterian churches there is room for great improvement in the singing. We hope that more attention will be paid to so important a part of our public worship. We shall, from time to time, refer to this matter; and, meanwhile, open the subject with the following excellent practical remarks by Mr. James Colstone, Precentor in the church in Edward-street, Wardour-street.

REMARKS ON CHURCH MUSIC.

The effects of music, not only in expressing, but also in influencing the different passions and movements of the soul, are well known : and nowhere are these effects so conspicuous and delightful as in the service of Him in whom we live and move and have our being. Music is a principal and most essential part of public worship, and has been so from the earliest ages. Yet, transporting as this exercise is, how seldom do we see it accompanied with its proper effects; being generally performed in our Presbyterian churches in an insipid and slovenly manner, with little either of devotion or harmony. What can be more unseemly and disagreeable than to see the majority of a congregation sitting mute, as if it were an effort beyond their power to join in the praises of God? The only excuse most people make is, that they were not taught to sing when young, or that they have very bad voices. In order to meet such objections, and to reform the psalmody in our churches, I would humbly suggest that parents of all ranks should make it a point to get their children early instructed in this praiseworthy part of education. And where this has been neglected in youth, I would recommend that every opportunity of instruction be still embraced. Even after arriving at manhood, any person of common abilities may make such progress as will enable him, at least, to join with those around him in the public singing. The hours of congregational teaching or practising are generally such as people are not otherwise employed in their

daily avocations; and it is much to be regretted that these opportunities of improvement are not more generally embraced; many even of those who do attend seem to think their being there rather a favour bestowed than one received.*

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It must be admitted, that some persons want that voice and ear which are requisite in order to make good singers; and some are so destitute of these as to forbid every hope of improvement. Very few voices, how ever, come under this head; and it will not be improvement as any of the other faculties, denied, that the human voice is as capable of either of body or mind. That some may not be discouraged, I may mention, that I have known cases of individuals, up to fourteen or fifteen years of age having little or appearance of a good voice, who nevertheless by practice became accomplished singers. may here observe, that I disapprove entirely of singing bands, as well as of instruments, in churches. In Solomon's Temple, where the worship so much consisted of rites and ceremonies, these were appropriate. But among Christians, where the acts of worship are personal acts, it cannot be right to praise hired voices of others. These things were the Lord by proxy either of instruments or not used in the time of the apostles, nor for many centuries after: nor till both doctrine and worship had been corrupted from their early simplicity.

I

Some say that they are useful for leading and helping the singing of the congregation. But I am persuaded that experience proves the very reverse to be the effect. I have ten years I was in a band, and out of a congremyself seen the bad effects of bands. For gation of fourteen hundred, often there were not twenty that would lift up their voices to that God from whom all their blessings flow. No doubt many of them were anxious to join; especially of the poor and aged who where the band was set; but they were were chiefly near the pulpit, round the place afraid to disturb the singers by joining, when not sure of the tune. Of the congregation many were merely listening to the band and admiring the harmony. I have seen enough to convince me that bands are stumbling-blocks and hindrances to the true praise of God, and the sooner they are done away with the better.

By congregational practisings weekly, an effective band would soon be made of the whole congregation, and we would have the happy effects of well-regulated music in the

house of God.

We ought to deem it a blessed privilege that we can sing the praises of God in his sanctuary. What would the Covenanters not have given for such liberty of conscience! Yes, what would not John Brown of Priest hill, and Peden, and Renwick, and Cameron have given for this privilege?—when worshipping in caves or on the mountain sides, they were afraid to lift up their voices in praise lest the sound should disclose their meeting-place to Claverhouse and his cruel soldiers, by whom they were surrounded! We need not go to centuries past. Look in our own day at Dr. Kalley and the poor islanders of Madeira, obliged to fly from their persecutors; what would they not have given for the liberty we enjoy of worshipping and praising God under our own vine and figtree, none making us afraid. J. F. C.

* There is congregational practising in Edward-street Church every Thursday evening at eight o'clock, after the

usual weekly service; at which the members of other con

gregations are cordially invited to attend. Anderson's "Sacred Harmony" is the book recommended for congre

gational use in our English Presbyterian churches.

HARD TEXTS EXPLAINED.

1 Timothy ii. ver. 4, 5, 6. "Who will have all men to be saved, and to come unto the knowledge of the truth. For there is one God, and one Mediator between God and man, the man Christ Jesus. Who gave himself a ransom for all to be testified in due time."

IN verse 4, All men (and all, in verse 6,) cannot, without being wrested from the context and doing violence to the whole scope of the passage, be made to signify all mankind, and so be construed into a proof of the being opposed to other parts of Scripture, doctrine of universal redemption. Besides there would then be a contradiction in the passage itself. For it would thereby involve the supposition that God willed the salvation of some ineffectually. "God doeth according to his will in the army of heaven, and among the inhabitants of the earth." (Dan. iv. 35; Isa. xlvi. 9, 10.) Doth He not "work all things according to the counsel of his own will" (Eph. i. 11.) If, then, from this expression, that "God willeth all men to be saved," the doctrine of general redemption be affirmed, the efficacy of the will of God is necessarily denied.

all is not here taken for every individual of The explanation of the difficulty is this: mankind, because it is not the will of God that all men in this large sense should be saved, many being condemned, and that justly, for their sins. But the word all is used in a more limited sense, in reference to the subject in hand; as in many other passages, e. g., Mark i. 5, " There went out unto Him all the land of Judea." Acts xix. 10, word of God." "All they which dwelt in Asia heard the

In the first verse of this chapter the apostle exhorts that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanks be made for all men; for kings and all in authority. The Judaizing Christians thought that they should not pray and magistrates; and many thought that the for heathens, and especially for heathen rulers Gentiles should receive no benefit from the Messiah.

Therefore the apostle meets these errors by exhorting that prayers be made for all men, all sorts and conditions of men, rulers and subjects, Gentiles as well as Jews.

For this is good and acceptable in the sight of our Saviour, who will have all men, Gentiles as well as Jews, to be saved, and to come to the knowledge of the truth.

For there is one God, the God and Father of all, and one Mediator between God and men; it is one God which shall justify the circumcision by faith, and the uncircumcision through faith, and Christ is the one Saviour and Mediator for Gentiles as well as Jews, the middle wall being broken down, and all being one in Christ Jesus. And this Mediator is in our nature, the man Christ Jesus. This no more can be urged, as Socinians do, against the true Divinity of our Lord, than can such passages as the following be argued against his true humanity: "they crucified the Lord of glory," "God purchased the Church with his own blood." It is the

human nature of Christ which is referred to

in verse 6, in which nature alone he could be the ransom (Aurpov); the man Christ Jesus, who gave himself a ransom, an atoning sacrifice in the room and stead of his people, whether Jew or Gentile, for in Him shall all nations be blessed. To be testified in due time, by the preaching of the Gospel first to the Jew and then to the Gentile, whereunto (v. 7.) I am ordained a preacher and an apostle, a teacher of the Gentiles in faith and verity.

SOCIETY, MANCHESTER.

OBJECTIONS TO FAMILY WORSHIP ANSWERED.

It would be more honest for people frankly to own that they have no heart for it, and that this is the real cause of their neglecting it, and not any valid objections they have against it; but since they will torture their invention to discover some pleas to excuse themselves, we must answer them.

First objection. "I have no time, and my secular business would suffer by family religion."

Were you formed for this world only, there would be some force in the objection; but how strange does such an objection sound from the heir of an eternity! What is your time given to you for? Is it not principally that you may prepare for eternity? And have you no time for the great business of your life? Why do you not plead, too, that you have no time for your daily meals? Is food more necessary for your body than religion for your soul? May you not redeem sufficient time for family worship from idle conversation, or even from your sleep? May you not order your family worship so as that your domestics may attend upon it, either before they go to their work, or when they come to their meals?

Second objection. "I have not ability to pray."

Did you ever hear a beggar, however ignorant, make this objection? A sense of his necessities is an unfailing fountain of his eloquence. Further, how strange does this objection sound from you! What! have you enjoyed preaching, Bibles, and good books so long, and yet do not know what to ask of God? Again, is neglecting prayer the way to qualify you to perform it?

Third objection. "I am ashamed.” But is this shame well grounded? Are sinners ashamed to serve their master? little practice will easily free you from all this difficulty.

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Fourth objection. "But, alas! I know not how to begin it."

Here, indeed, the difficulty lies; but why will you not own that you were hitherto mistaken, and that you would rather reform, than persist obstinately in the omission of an evident duty?

Fifth objection. “But my family will not join in them."

How do you know? Have you tried? Are you not master of your own family? Exert that authority in this which you claim in other cases.

Sixth objection. "But I shall be ridiculed and laughed at."

Are you more afraid of a laugh or a jeer than the displeasure of God? Would you rather please men than him? Therefore, let God have an altar in your dwelling, and then let morning and evening prayers and praises be presented, till you are called to worship him in his temple above, when your prayers and praises shall be swallowed up in everlasting praise.-Samuel Davies.

THE annual soirée of the Young Men's Society, in connexion with the Scotch Church, St. Peter's-square, was held on the evening of Monday the 30th ult., Mr. Robert Freeland, President for the ensuing year, in the chair, and Mr. Duncan Matheson, Secretary, in the vice-chair. The meeting was unusually well attended, and among those present we may note the Rev. Dr. Cooke, of Belfast; Rev. Alex. Munro, Rev. Robert Cowe, Rev. Wm. M'Caw, Colonel Anderson, R.A., Robert Barbour, Esq., Thomas Greig, Esq., John Stewart, Esq., &c.

The usual honours to royalty being enthusiastically acknowledged, the Rev. Mr. Munro delivered the subjoined address to the members of the society. These pastoral addresses form a distinctive feature in the annals of the society, and have been productive of the happiest results, in directing the minds. of the members to the proper channels of inquiry, and arousing within them, by their stirring eloquence and affectionate tone, a desire for mental culture and religious truth. The Rev. Gentleman was listened to throughout with deep interest. Of the strangers, Dr. Cooke, Rev. Mr. Cowe, and others, favoured the meeting with excellent and appropriate speeches; and a number of the members, in spirited addresses, introduced congenial subjects.

MR. MUNRO'S ADDRESS.

At your call, Mr. Chairman, I appear once more before the Young Men's Society and their friends. It might be supposed, that having the privilege of addressing the greater part of them, weekly, in another place, I should forego the present opportunity, and leave to others the liberty of speech on this occasion. Most willingly, indeed, would I be a listener rather than a speaker this night. Most gladly would I have nothing to do but hear, as I have often before heard, the voices of those whose mental powers your society is fostering into strength, and whose skill in giving fit utterance to thought, it has, of late years, so singularly improved. But you have arranged it otherwise. You have kindly invited me to bear a part; and to no invitation do I ever yield a more ready response than to the annual call of our youth to be one of them for the night; that we may gather around us the memories of the past, and, in company, brace our minds with resolves and hopes for the future.

Being here, I expect to gain more than I can give to share rather than to dispense. A venerable professor with whom it was for a time my lot to live, being asked why he wished so much to have the company of young men, made this reply:"It is my aim to enlarge my rational existence. And so, while I value my old friends, for in them I possess the past, I value also my young friends, for in them I possess the future; and therefore it is, that I seek to engraft myself on the rising generation."

This then may be part of my ambition tonight, to graft, by a rejuvenescing process, my views and feelings among theirs, whose hearts, like the green and springing sapling, are shooting forth the blossoms which promise air and abundant fruits for the coming time.

I rejoice to see that your society still lives; and that it is as life-like as ever. Discussion societies, often ushered into existence with much ado, usually perish by an untimely death. One, it may be, is smitten with palsy. A leading member or two drop their functions, and the whole gradually withers. Another

party question gets into it. Forthwith, there are flushed brows, flaring eyes, with a storm of incoherent words; exhaustion supervenes, and all is over. A third of these societies becomes the victim of dyspepsia. Acrid and envious humours, venting themselves in sarcasm, smart retorts, and personal reflections, corrode the springs of life, and it expires. And a fourth, by reason of bad ventilation or sheer inanition, when fresh topics are withheld, and frivolous discussions are multiplied, dwindles consumptively into a phantom, unsubstantial as the moonbeam; and at length, like the said moonbeam, it disappears.

But your society has hitherto escaped or overcome this throng of distempers; and having, in virtue of a sound constitution, and a wholesome regimen, lived so long-why should it not live indefinitely? Spiritless, mindless, pithless, indeed, would be that generation of young Scotchmen in Manchester who would let it die; who would suffer that banner, inscribed with so worthy a motto, and so long bravely upheld, to fall from their hands, and be trampled in the dust:-Sed Deus avertat omen. This must never be.

That the Society's existence may be prolonged, that its honours may be multiplied, and that its usefulness may be increased, permit me, respectfully, to contribute, with others, this night, my mite of suggestions. In doing so, I wish them to have weight only proportioned to their worth. You will, I know, not allow them to have less: I will, believe me, not look for them to have more.

Assuming, then, that your end is the improvement of yourselves and others, there are, as I conceive, three distinct and separate objects as methods, to be pursued, as bearing on this:-First, the acquirement of knowledge: secondly, the improvement of your faculties: and thirdly, the attainment of skill, correctness, and facility in expressing your thoughts.

Now, as to the first of these, the knowledge of qualities in natural objects, and of events in the life of men and nations, constitute the raw and original materials, on which thought can be employed, thoughtwhether in the shape of reason or of fancy. It follows, then, that the larger and more varied this knowledge is, the fuller, other things being equal, will be the inductions, and the more truthful will be the conclusions of reason while imagination, blessed with an exuberance of stores, will gather from these, and present in new combination whatever is richest and rarest in its range. Many a man's reason runs into crotchets, because of the want of a due knowledge of facts, to restrain its discursions, and guide it on the highway of truth, and so, as the legends of Italy tell us, like Genevieve in her bridal bloom, shutting herself up in an empty chest, he shuts up his mind, with all its noble endowments, into empty and narrow conclusions, where it is left to lie prisoned and powerless for life. Many a fancy, too, from ignorance of actual things, like the youthful Phaeton spurning the information of his father Sol, runs riot into vague abysses, floundering on in chaotic courses of thought; instead of holding that clear and regulated though still lofty path among realities, by which it may best move the heart, and lend auxiliary charms to the lessons of virtue and of truth.

I have said that the facts in which this primary knowledge consists, are those that relate to the qualities of natural objects, and to events in the life of men or of the world,