men, or, if such appearances are permitted, and really witnessed by such men, then that the resurrection of Christ was an incomplete demonstration of the truth it proclaimed. Mark well what I say here.. Either that the resurrec ion of our Lord, if it ever occurred,—and that it did, none of us will gainsay,—was intended by God as ample proof of man's immortality, for all who should ever believe it, and that consequently no other was ever designed to be given them, or that,. if any other has since been given, it has been added to that of Christ, because it was needed. Needed, after Christ's resurrection? Needed by believers in him, after that event in which all the celestial councils were gathered up and expended? Perhaps! there MAY be exceptional cases. May be! But let us be cautious have not asserted that the Bible proof is insufficient for us, as still creatures in the flesh. And yet, I have declared what all know to be true, that in certain states of feeling we would fain have more. But that at times-oftentimes-we do so feel, eagerly and importunately, is no proof that God has not already, in the Resurrection of his Son, done all he ought to satisfy our solicitude; is no proof that it would be wise and judicious in him to do more. Indeed, the fact that by the lips of his own Son he bas proclaimed to us that there is a life beyond, that by bringing him again from the dead he has demonstrated it, and there paused, ought, I thin, to suggest, that he deems it wisest and best that no further manifestation should be made to us. For when we reflect upon the Divine dignity of him who suffered and rose that we might believe, upon the collocation of majestic and supernatural circumstances which surrounded the occurrence, and upon the evident care with which fit witnesses were prepared and assembled to behold it, and to hand it down in the statements which record it, it does seem to me as if that resurrection, the result of the councils and deliberations of all heaven for ages before—was designed as at once the first signal annunciation, and the final and decisive assertion of our immortality, ever to be made by God to man. Framed on so grand a scale, performed on so public a theatre, and guarded and authenticated by human testimony so ample and convincing, surely, it was But I have said, despite this scriptural intended for all time, and all mankind. revelation of the future, we long for someAll subsequent repetitions of it in smaller thing more. Now not venturing positiveproportions as in the case of individual ly to deny the reality of all apparitions or apparitions of departed persons to surviv- communications from the heavenly world, ing friends-have the effect, have the ap-leaving the argument we have just subpearance at least, of marring its fulness, of impairing its significance, of casting doubts upon its sufficiency to establish the truth of human immortality. And so the fact that Christ rose from the dead, if it be a fact, does really appear to reduce us to this alternative; either, that it is sufficient to satisfy all reasonable and Christian persons of the reality of a future life, and that consequently no other appearances from the spiritual world are to be expected by reasonable and Christian A mouse rustling in straw, a raven flapping at the window board, a mystic rapping under a table, or a luminous shining in the room of an excited expectant, may be taken, (mistaken) for a signal from the world of the immortals. I know not. These may be true prophets of heaven to assure us of our future. I fall back on Christ and his Resurrection. That is God's designation of my immortality. It shall be mine, all-sufficient, allsatisfactory. Let others seek what they will, of additional, and, as I think, superfluous assurance. I am content and satisfied with that. mitted to do that by what it may, and reverentially remembering that in God's sight, special needs may present special claims; not perhaps disbelieving, yet unbelieving, in any visible and tangible intercourse between that world and this, I would suggest at least one reason why that desire for something of the miraculous, beyond the return of Jesus, is not gratified. The feeling, as we have shown, is very general, perhaps universal. And the question is, why should not this desire for a nearer, and clearer, and more positive knowledge of the future, be answered in the way it seeks? I answer thus. Such a response, I fear, would interfere sadly with this world's duties. Would we not be unable to walk soberly under such a transporting light? Would not the occupations of this earth, and this earth itself, seem stale and jejune to him who had but to retire from its vulgar details to his chamber, there to hold high commerce, directly, immediately, with the inhabitants of heaven? At death, to be sure, there is no more worldly work to do; and then, a gleam wafting past the fading sight, a tone dropping from some mid-air choir upon the delighted ear, could mar no task, and if they did render earth less attractive, that would be only a desirable effect at such an hour. And accordingly, if such signals are ever given, they are reserved, I think, for that final juncture, when, "The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed, Lets in new light thro' chinks that time has made; Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view, Who stand upon the threshold of the new." But death is but one out of ten thousand hours in the course of life; and if a special glimpse be sometimes then vouchsafed, we can admit its suitability, while feeling that such visions, opening upon us during our march towards it, would leave us as disqualified for mortal requirements, as is the excited spirit of a dying man, hailing the glimmerings of the heaven into whose unclouded splendors he is just about to enter. Let us keep bright the light of Christian hope and faith, which Christ has lit within us, and then let our outer lives be lived on patiently under that of the common earthly sun. Despite our longings, that is all we really need, if our confidence in our Redeemer is what it ought to be. And, depend on it, it is all which with safety to our duty we could endure. I know we are apt to fancy that we are exceptions; that though others might, we would not be disabled for common life by the close and conscious contact with eternity which we desire. But we forget that this feeling is not confined to ourselves, that all who are alive to the great interests of immortality share it with us. We say to ourselves, "The Resurrection of Christ is a thing of the far past, and though I believe, and found my ordinary trust for the future upon it, yet, as I brood upon that future, the longing to prove it now, to look upon it in the person of one of its inhabitants, or to grasp the certainty of its reality by some signal, obviously from within its borders, grows so strong within me, as really to indicate that God might answer my wish." But as we so commune with our souls, others are thinking the same thoughts, and framing the same desires. Eternity is to them as dread a reality as to us, death as, dark, and a future life as dear. If, then, on the ground of our intense solicitude for some palpable testimony on the subject, a special grace is granted to us, why not to them too? And, confident as we are of our own equability, sure that we should not be unsettled for any earthly office, if it were, and others who know us well may not be so sure of that as we,-let us but for a moment suppose a whole community so gifted-so afflicted, ratherwould the humble but wholesome labors which discipline us to patience, and perseverence, and fortitude every day, be es sayed as cheerfully, and performed as steadily as now, under the exhilaration of an atmosphere so highly charged with spiritual excitement as ours then would be? Would not the world above and about us, now mercifully unseen, but then, at least intermittently visible from a thousand sparkling outlets all around us, overflow and absorb to our sight this earth beneath us, rendering its work distasteful,' its enjoyments insipid, and swallowing up the pleasant light of its affections in a constant blaze of transcendental extacy, just as the pale flame of a daylight taper is swallowed and overpowered in a flood of sunshine? The work, the enterprise, the art and science of the world, the toils of invention and discovery, with all their invaluable effects upon our moral and spiritual faculties, and their results in our characters, would droop, and cease among men who were ever and anon looking with gaze intent cupations of the angels. The trials and diffi upon the oc culties of household economy, now school. ing the tempers and dispositions of our wives and sisters, would shew trite and mean then, I trow; and instead of training to firmness, and industry, and forethought, would be renounced with disgust. And the quiet home joys, the kindly emotions, the gracious reciprocities of household love, invaded by a perpetual influx of feelings of a far higher fervor, would speedily dissolve in the heats of an exalted enthusiasm. All the homely, human virtues, which, in the moderate light and warmth of our present economy, are now growing wholesomely, and ripening for the gardens of God above, would scorch and wither under the ardent sun which would be let out upon them, from amidst the blaze of an unfolded heaven. We know that such results would ensue, from such manifestations from the world of mystery which lies about us, for such have been, and are now the results, of a system, based, as its advocates believe, on familiar intercourse with that world. I speak not now of Christian Spiritualists of those who hold, or think they hold, their communications with heaven, under the check of reason and the Bible. Their intercourse with the realm of the infinite may be real, or it may be delusive. I have my convictions about it; they, theirs. Neither are pertinent to the present point. But I am thinking of those who, on the strength of their convictions, that a new and more perfect revelation of our immortality than that Christ has given us, has been vouchsafed to them, have herded into a separate sect. And I say that the extravagances and obscenities of which we have sometimes read as transpiring in certain "cir cles,' "" # are just confirmations of all I have above advanced in regard to the bewilderment and confusion of thought which would befall us, the distraction of our faculties from the common and necessary duties of life, the disregarded of all social proprieties, and of all our most *This has special allusion to John M. Spear's cantrips in 1857, at Cleveland, Ohio, in which men and women sat together in puris naturalibus. Cutty Sark, in Tam O'Shanter, was modesty to this. sacred standards of earthly right and virtue, into which we would be hurried, were we, as yet creatures in the flesh, and the subjects of physical laws, and physical organizations, to be admitted into the contiguity of sight and sense with the unseen world of spirits. Rely on it, my reader, that we are better as we are; shut in within our own earthly domain, our attention confined to its labors, and duties, and delights, by the inscrutable veil which separates as from the realm for which we are preparing. That veil, for our sakes and for our satisfaction, has been lifted once, by the august hand of the Son of God. When he ascended into heaven, he dropped it upon our mortal sight forever.-for wise and prudent reasons we may be sure. It will be lifted once again for us, but only when death conducts us beneath it, and when the interests of this life cease to have claim upon us. Let us be content in reference to all beyond, "to walk here by faith and not by sight.' So even the miraculously enlightened Paul admonishes us. That we should wish to burst at times, the barrier between our world and God's is natural; for, present denizens of the one, we are destined heirs of the other, and the instincts of our inheritance wil sometimes stir within us. But to this desire, God has granted one answer, designed to be sufficient for all time, and for all who believe in the earthly life of his Son. "I am the Resurrection and the Life," that Son himself assures us. And we may be certain that any Christian man, who itches for aught beyond the demonstration of His Resurrection for a proof of future being, is feeble of faith in the bringing again from the dead of the Lord Jesus.' When, then, tempted to desire a fresh and present revelation of the unseen world, let us remember how God has already provided for our wish; and, repressing all morbid cravings, let us sit down and read quietly the xxviii. chap. of Matthew and the xx., and xxi. of John, which relate the resurrection of our Lord. And as our faith, quickens, and the scene and circumstances grow real before us, as we see him in the dusk of morning, discovering himself to the Magdalene, as we walk with him to Emmaus, till our hearts burn within us by the way, or as with Thomas, beholding the prints of the nails in his hands and his side, our foolish doubts vanish in a gush . of triumphant faith, we shall be well satisfied that we need no further disclosure of heaven's secrets than the vision Christ has given us. Well for us, too, if we remember the inference, and heed the warning it gives us, that just in proportion as we feel a desire grow upon us for visions, and communications from other spirits than his Holy Spirit, he is becoming insufficient for us, and our faith in him and his resurrection, and the redemption he has wrought for us, is weakening and departing. At such times, let us turn steadfastly to him, and look on him, and listen to him as he speaks to us, as to Martha, "I am the Resurrection and the Life; he who believeth in me, though he were dead yet shall he live; and he who liveth and believeth shall never die. Believest thou this?" Charlestown, Mass. are THE SYMPATHIES OF THE HEART. How much, how very much of human life, its many disquietudes, its heartfelt sufferings and wearying cares, may be learned from the faces and casual remarks of the wayfarers in a great city. Often a sigh is breathed into our very ear by some burdened heart, unconscious that it had thus betrayed its sorrows; and we startled at hearing some low word of regret, or tone of entreaty from the lips of those whose garments might otherwise have brushed by us with no word of comment; but no sooner is the slightest key presented revealing another heart, than our sympathies start at the touch; we look back, perhaps turn, that we may get a sight of the face whose heart has thus been, as it were, made known unto us. We speak here only of the profounder feelings of the human bosom, lying too deep for tears, and far, far too deep for smiles; there where deep calleth unto deep, in the recesses of that book of mysteries, the human soul. If we are in a cheerful mood, the sight of another face beaming with smiles, or simply tranquil-that holiest of all states of the mind-is welcomed by us with a kindred feeling of pleasure. Even when sad of heart ourselves, if affliction have not made a Marah of bitterness within us, we witness the sight of cheerfulness in others with a gentle benevolence, giving thanks that the light of the great and beautiful earth is not darkened to every eye; but a sad face, one that beareth the superscription of sorrow-the still, soulspeaking traces of endurance-awakens our holiest interest, our heart goeth out in compassion, and we would fain whisper the language of condolence Most sweet and blessed is this ordination of the Divine will, that in a world like this, where joy is but the oasis in the great desert of suffering, heart should thus beat responsive to heart in its utterance of distress; that its going forth should be more prompt at the great call of weariness and grief than mirth and gladness. Yet let no one believe his heart to be right who curls the lip in scorn or discontent when a glad face appealeth to his own. No, no, whatever be our own lot, let us rejoice with those that do rejoice, and the more that such are in the world, keeping our souls fresh with the dew of youth. HELP! BY LILLY WATERS. God! I walk a stormy sea, Madly desh the waves of sin O, I faint, I sink, I die, One half the amount of physical and mental labor now performed by mankind, would be amply sufficient (if properly adjusted) to feed and clothe all, sumptuously. The cause why it is not so,-too much finery and luxuries. Editor's Table. BY REV. A. G. LAURIE. Must the present number of the Repository | the article that shall then take the place of this, come out under the same auspices as did the he will exhilarate the observers. Meanwhile last? We fear that it may, and therefore we we prepare for the worst that may befall to take time by the forelock, and begin our pre-ourselves and them, and, as says old Chaucer, paration betimes. "Tis the early bird catch-["make at least a countenance to werk." es the worm, get up, get up," said Curran to And what shall it be about? A well-a-day, his lazy son, as he broke into his bed-room one the reader as he reaches this point, knows ul bright morning. And " serves the worm right as well as we, for we are utterly empty, and for bein' up afore the bird," was the filial re-all abroad. But the Month December is impeply. Whether we shall catch the worm and rious, and brooks neither hesitation nor delay. make it serve our purpose, by our rathe at-So let us e'en buckle to the duty of the hour, tempt, or rather positive rathe, comparative and that, without regard to the pleasure or the rather, superlative rathest-by our precipitancy, be ourself the worm gobbled up by cur own rashness, remains to be tried. We have a shrewd apprehension that the latter alternative will be our fate. than we, But, the Editress, still under the depression of sickness and sorrow, and he, whom we ex pected to stand as her sponsor for this month, overwhelmed with other cares unfitting him for a work he could have achieved so much better and called on suddenly to try our haud once again, on a magazine which has always been a favorite with us, among our Denominational Periodicals, we would deserve to have any spurs we have ever won, hacked from our heels, an' we came not to the rescue, for a lady and a friend, even though we do as we dread we shall, make but a lubberly fight of it, as a substitute for what would doubtless have been a bright success in the hands of either of our principals. Even yet our brother knight may appear on the field, when that mortal antagonist Time, in the form and armor of Month December, shall ring his challenge for him to don his mail, and do his devoir as doughty champion should. And gladly then, shall we retire from the lists, take place among the on lookers, enjoy the onset, and cry, "good lance," "brave sword,' ," with the lustiest throats in the crowd, at the thrust of wit, the eut of criticism, or the headlong rush of Truth, on moral or religious Wrong, with which, in labor that may lie in it. So, there! there is a moral maxim out of which something may be made: that we ought, i. e., that we owe it, to do our duty,-what is due to God and right,— because we are due it, or because it is our duty, and without any thought of the hire by which God repays us for it. We remember how once, long ago, while riding to a preaching appointment in one of the loveliest regions of Canada West, we found ourself quite unexpectedly in the heart of a scene of quiet natural beauty. We drew rein, and gazed with a delight the fresher, that we had not till that very moment, observed the charms of the locality, We had passed and repassed the spot in many a ride before. But we had either never beheld it in a frame of mind so receptive of nature's loveliness, or there really was at that time a happier combination about it of all the elements of beautiful landscape than we had ever previously beheld there. Sloping uplands retreated on the right and on the left, from the road we were travelling. On the one side they were green with cultivated verdure, shaven and smooth as an English park, and on the nearest lawn, a party of cricketers were busy in white shirts snd trowsers, at their lively game. And on the other side, a long belt of woodland curved along the windings of a brook, now hiding its waters, and now, by gaps, disclosing them, glittering through the twinkling foliage in the yellow |