trenched, impaled, and fortified against Heaven, that no influence from above can lessen or increase it.

Heavenly Father! what a contrast. Is this he who will do thy will? Never, till the heart be changed to something as unlike itself as to the holy Being it claims to be united to. Well at that last day may Jesus repel with abhorrence such a claim. United while so opposite! Can two walk together, except they be agreed? Well may he say, "I never knew you-depart from me." What can he know, what can he accept as God, in the earthliness and selfishness of such a heart-passions that as man entered never into his?

And how will these rejected ones stand amazed in the assembly of those who knelt together here, and acted together in their mighty works, and spoke together their prophetic words; no difference appearing between them, because they saw nothing in religion but opinions which they adopted, and habits which they conformed to. How will they stand amazed, when, side by side with theirs, these bosoms are laid open, to find them seared and scathed with anguish for things that never troubled them, while the impressions of what they have lived for are gone from these, as from sands that the tide has gone over? Bosoms, where the thought of God came in the morning and stayed till eve—and came again at midnight on their slumbers-bowing their heads with shame amid the world's applause, and exalting them to dignity above its utmost reach? These with his Scriptures before them, and on their knees, have studied the pattern of their Saviour's character, and mourned because they were not like it, and prayed for suffering and death to make them so; and in anticipation that they should be like him and be with him, have grown amazed at the measure of their own happiness. And these are like him -distant indeed in degree, but still like him—in that they have lived for what he lived for, and have delighted in what he delighted in-suffered most for what most afflicted him-desired most what was the object of his

cares, and loved most what had the nearest interest in his bosom and in the ordinary paths of life, they have habitually regarded every thing about them, have calculated, valued, and judged of things, as Jesus did when he walked those paths before them.

THE LISTENER.-No. XL.

MR. LISTENER,

But a month ago, I was invited to pass a fortnight at the house of an old and valued friend of my mother's, whom I had never seen. Her letters, however, breathed the tone of true piety, and, as I was informed she had, though early left a widow, brought up a son and daughters in an exemplary manner, I had very little doubt but that my visit would prove very satisfactory. When I arrived at the pleasant mansion of Mrs. Rivers, I found only the female part of the family at home. I was welcomed by her and her daughters with real cordiality: I was much pleased with the lady of the house, and I thought the young ladies elegant and amiable. In the time which elapsed before dinner, they were busily engaged in working for the poor; and I found by their conversation, that they were deeply interested for the spiritual as well as temporal welfare of their poor dependants. I also discovered that they were well informed and accomplished; not by their quoting all the books they could remember, or by their displaying all their portfolios of drawings, but by the general rationał tone of their discourse, and by the very pretty landscapes and figures of their designing which ornamented the drawing-room. After dinner had passed off, and coffee had made its appearance, a pause ensued in our conversation, when Mrs. Rivers asked me if I was fond of music. On my replying in the affirmative, the two young ladies rose, and with great alacrity proposed play

ing to me. And while Caroline was arranging the music and piano-forte and Laura tuning the harp, I could not forbear reflecting how often the pleasure awakened by the preparation for music had been damped by the cold indifference of the performers, by the reluctance with which they consented, and by the ill-humour too frequently displayed. But nothing of this kind now allayed my enjoyment, and after listening to some very pretty English and Italian songs, chastely and beautifully executed, Mrs. Rivers said, Come, let us have some sacred music. The young ladies complied; and, to a common observer, it might seem as readily as they had done before; but it might be fancy, or did I not see less of alacrity-I certainly did see a very great willingness to finish the performance. When they had retired to rest, their mother and I continued chatting. She spoke of the piety and amiability of her girls, and, with the parent's tears springing to her eyes, she gave many instances of their self-denial, their charity and self-controul. From this subject we wandered to education, and she asked me how I liked their music and singing. I answered, as in truth I might, that seldom had I heard such rich execution, tempered with such judgment and expression. "I am heartily glad to hear it," rejoined Mrs. R., "for their music, first and last, has cost me a thousand pounds, and they have practised six hours every day for many years; but I do wish they would sing a hymn at our family devotions: the servants like it, and would gladly join, if they would lead, but my daughters do not seem to like it, though I tell them they have no idea how it increases the devotion of the lower orders." The day after this conversation was Sunday, and we went to their parish church. Like many country churches, it possessed no organ, but the girls of the Sunday-school and a few young men and women, had been instructed by the parish clerk, and viler squalling, miscalled singing, did I never hear. But judge of my

astonishment, Mr. Listener, when I saw that though my young friends held, like most of the congregation, a hymn-book in their hands, yet there was certainly no singing on their part, no, not even did I see a movement of the lip. At dinner, Mrs. B. deeply lamented the torture which every one's ears must be subject to while hearing the singing in their church; "But,” added she, "the parish is poor, and cannot afford to pay a good instructor." I then could not forbear mentioning that the instruction of them by the young ladies might effect some reformation. To my great astonishment they both replied, that they did not think it of such importance, that it did not signify, and that it would be a great deal of trouble. I assured them that twice or thrice a week would fully answer the end designed, and I could not forbear saying, that no part of the worship of God could be of small importance. Mrs. Rivers seconded my opinion, but they remained firm, and here the subject dropped. And when I got into the retirement of my chamber that night, I puzzled for some time to find out the great objection to singing in church themselves, or teaching others to sing. And when I reflected on the express injunction of the Apostle, and on the great help that harmony is, as Mrs. R. observes, to the devotion of many, I wondered why two ladies, on whose music so much expense and pains had been bestowed, should think scorn to dedicate some part of their time and talents to the Almighty, (who gave them their voice and execution,) in praising him themselves, or in teaching others to praise. At last, Mr. Listener, I resolved to apply to you, and resolved to ask you for a solution of my doubts, and if you will tell me why a church is a place in which nobody with a good voice may sing, though every-body with a bad one may do their utmost to annoy and distract the congregation; and what there is in sacred music, as instantly to damp all ardour in the performers; and why those who could execute it with fervour, neglect, and then pay those to perform it in

whose lips the sacred words become mockery and profanation, you will be doing great service to many besides Your constant reader,

EUGENIA.

The Listener wishes these questions were more difficult to answer than they are, or that there could be any doubt of the mournful origin of these strange discrepancies. When man was created, his person beautified, and his mind endowed, and placed in the midst of a material creation, whose yet hidden properties he was to discover and improve into sources of most exquisite delights, and instruments of exercise to his own yet unknown faculties, those personal beauties, those mental endowments and those material properties, had all one purpose and one end-the service of God and the happiness of man-for both were then but one, and could not be disunited. When these ends parted, and man chose himself a happiness independent of his Maker, he took to his own share these splendid gifts, these treasured materials of delight, these stores of intellect-ano- ther's workmanship-and regardless altogether of the purpose of their creation, devoted them to his own pleasure, honour or advantage, or what in his corruption he considered such. God let it be. He let his beautiful world become a prison-house of villainy, and his splendid gifts the instruments of sin. With those powers that he had created for his glory and his service, he let his creatures make themselves a happiness to which he was no party; till in the' revel of possession, they found that they could do without the Giver. Time went onthe beginning was forgotten-man no more remembers how he got these powers, and for what purpose he originally had them—he finds himself in possession, calls them his, and sets about to do with them what he pleases, holds himself responsible to no one for their use, and thinks it a great matter of boast if he does no harm with