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The object of a true eclectic philosophy should be, to keep each of these principles in subjection to the others, and gather that portion of truth with which each presents us. S. X.

No. 2. Judgments of God. DEAR SIR,—You have invited your readers to answer questions in the Youths' Magazine ; I wish to do so to the best of my ability.

Concerning the Judgments of God to individuals I believe they are all

1. Corrective, not penal.
2. Chastisements, not retribution.
3. In mercy and love, not in anger.

To the believer, it may be to convince them of some sin they have been guilty of as in the case of David when his child died, and in the case of the widow of Zarephath. (1 Kings xvii. 18.) It may be to make them see the utter worthlessness of all earthly things, and to wean them from the love of earth to heaven.

To unbelievers it is a very common means used by God for converting a man from his evil way; for when he has lost his all, money, relations, and friends, he is often brought to look in to himself, and see what perishing things they all are, and then he is led to think who sends these trials. One purpose in such judgments is to make the believer perfect. “We are made perfect through sufferings.” Therefore let not the believer be discouraged as it is a proof he is loved by God: “Whom I love I rebuke and chasten.”

Such judgments often befal nations on account of particular sins they have been guilty of, as threatened in Ezekiel xiv. 13.

I thought it right to give you my reasons for these answers because I am at this time under the rod of spiritual darkness : at times I feel that I am forgotten by the Almighty, and were it not that I believe it is for my growth and improvement, and to wean me from the pleasures and attractions of this frail world, I might almost despair; but when he has tried me I shall come forth as gold—all darkness and sorrow shall depart, and never shall we be sorry that we have been chastened.

All the texts throughout the Bible bearing upon the subject,

prove that every believer must be tried either in spiritual or worldly affliction. I hope I have not been too presumptuous in my conclusions, and trust you will forgive it.

Believe me, Sir,

Yours truly,


No. 3. The Centurion's Excuse, The centurion was, doubtless, a good man, kind, humble, and faithful, which he manifested in his solicitude for his servant's recovery, and his humility in not deeming himself worthy to be noticed by any peculiar honor from his Lord.

As it was only necessary for this centurion to command his soldiers and those under him, to have his orders immediately executed, he could fully appreciate the value of a command from one infinitely greater, and understand how word from the Saviour would be sufficient to effect the cure of his servant. Andover.

S. B.


No. 4. Socinianism. DEAR SIR, I am a youth but lately installed in a public office, amongst companions of all sorts. Some of them make no profession of religion ; but their worldly conduct, and lax principles, are to me a sufficient assurance that they are in the wrong road. I hope therefore that I am in little danger of following their example. But there are two individuals in particular, with whom I am on more friendly terms, who really appear to be upright and honorable, and whose amiable bearing towards myself seems to entitle them to confidence. I find however, that they are both Socinians in creed, and they seem anxious to win me over to their opinions. Though religiously educated, my parents were simple, timid, Christians, who furnished me with no weapons for such a controversy as that in which I find myself likely to be drawn ; and as I am no classic, I am quite at a loss when plied with arguments which turn upon the critical m of particular texts of Scripture.

Can you help me in my difficulty, and enable me to confute, what I feel assured may be confuteă.


* Answers are solicited from our readers.


A BANK beneath a hawthorn hedge,
Well cover'd with green moss and sedge,

With flowers was spangled o'er ;
Daises were scatter'd all about,
And violets were just come out;
There the blue periwinkle clung,
And hyacinths their bright bells hung,
And primroses were thick as stars,
And “lords and ladies" in their cars,

And many a blossom more.
Within this bank a little mouse
Had scoop'd a comfortable house,

And lined it well with hay;
The ivy and the primrose leaves,
Conceal'd the door, and kept out thieves;
And here he brought his ears of wheat,
His nuts and all his winter meat,
And here he crept to sleep and eat,

Through many a stormy day.
But when the flowers began to bloom,
And shed abroad their sweet perfume,

He long'd to walk about.
His stores began to fail him, too,
And he must labor, well he knew,
While fields were green, and skies were blue;
Then when the trees were brown and dry,
And dark and dreary was the sky,
The storms might beat, the wind might blow,
He would be safe from rain and snow,

And need not venture out.

* We extract this charming little Piece from a choice volume of Prose and Poetry, recently published, entitled “ The Holly Tree-a Winter Gift.” We hope its popularity will not be limited to this season only. “The Ancient Fountain” is surely perennial. It is elegantly got up, and published by Mr. B. L. Green.

So, one fine morning off he rambled,
And through the hawthorn hedge he scrambled;
This hedge enclosed, (I should have said)
A spacious garden, overspread

With flowers in rich profusion :
The meanest, humblest bl om there
Appear'd to him so rich and rare,
That the green bank he loved before,
With all its sweet and simple store,
Now seem'd so worthless in his eyes,
He wondered how he e'er could prize

A scene of such confusion.

Each bed, each border, he admired,
And thought he never should be tired

Of such a paradise ;
He climb’d the honeysuckle bowers,
Play'd with the fallen lilac flowers
Stood in amazement to behold
The tall laburnum's cluster'd gold.
The sweet May-rose, the tulip bright-
Anemone so frail and light-
Something he found to give delight,

Where'er he turn'd his eyes.
He frisk'd and rambled all about,
Now in the sunshine, and now out,

Delighted more and more;
And when he saw the mimic snows
Decending from the guelder rose,
He nestled in a violet bed.
And when he dared again to tread,
With cautious foot, the whiten'd ground,
He wonder'd that he had not found

Such pleasant snow before.
This glorious world of sun and shade,
Of leaf and bloom, he thought was made,

For him, and him alone ;
Here he would live the summer through,
And every day find something new;

He'd sport away the sunny hours,
And sleep at night among the flowers,
He would not need a cellar here,
Nor toil nor famine need he fear,
When summer days were flown.
But when our mouse began to feel,
That he should like to make a meal,

In vain he sought for food.
In vain he ransack'd every bower,
He could not eat a single flower ;
The shrubs had neither seed nor fruit,
Nor aught that would his palate suit.
Nor could he find a wholesome root,
Although he dug up many a flower-
For some were bitter—some were sour,

And not a leaf was good.
The sun retired behind a cloud,
A bitter wind was piping loud,

And sweeping roughly past :
The chilling rain began to fall,
Soon leaves and flowers were dripping all;
Alas! poor mouse! where would he find
A home like that he left behind?
The thought no sooner in his mind,
He starts at once, with hope inspired,
And cold and hungry, wet and tired,

Reaches his home at last.
His own dear home! how pleased was he
The well-known little cave to see,

And nestle in the hay!
And “ah!” he thought—“the flowers are bright,
But I'll prepare for winter's night,
Content to toil while all is gay,
With now and then a game of play ;-
Enjoy the sunshine and the flowers,
Yet lay up store for future hours,
And still, wherever my footsteps roam ;-
From the green bank, my sheltering home,
I'll never turn away!”—

Myra Sargent.

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