others; in assurance of forgiveness for past sin, through the sacrifice of Christ, you will enjoy a peace which neither wealth nor philosophy can give; and when the shadows of death gather around you, it will be "a lamp to your path, a guide through the gloom."

THE KNOWNOTHINGS AND THE DONOTHINGS OF ENGLAND.

I have frequently been asked, in my private intercourse with society, what I think of a new sect of philosophers which has sprung up among us-I mean the Secularists; and perhaps you will not, my fellow-countrymen, deem it out of place for me to put down the character and intentions of this erratic body. They have done me no harm and no good,-I entertain for them no personal wrath or distinguished respect, and I will, therefore, deal with these gentlemen in a quiet tone of voice, without any expressions of surprise, excitement, or passion. They appear to me to be the last and the most recent exhibition of a lost humanity, sailing without a rudder, and steering without a compass.

It is now, as far as I can judge, some two years ago since a personal friend asked me to accompany him, one Sunday night, to hear a Secularist oration, in a great Secularist-hall, the name of which I do not recollect, but certainly somewhere within or without the walls of London. I went. I paid twopence to get in. I took my seat amid a great crowd. I saw, I listened, and I was amused. The whole business was of a commercial character, as much so as if we had gone to a Drury-lane opera or a gin-place saloon. The performing star of the evening was a gentleman of the name of Cooper,-playbills informed us of the nature of the performance,-admission was to pit, gallery, and boxes according to tariff of charges,-persons went round the assembly hawking books and pamphlets, and a professional orchestra diversified the entertainment with stringed instruments and vocal score. Then came the lecture. In coarse, rude, ludicrous, and outrageous language the orator dwelt, for an hour and a half, upon the sublime doctrine of a resurrection from the grave, speaking with all the dogmatism of a Heliogabalus, and with all the impertinence of a buffoon. Everybody who believed in a resurrection was, according to the orator, a blockhead or a knave, and the audience was ever and anon plunged into loud gustos of laughter at ridiculous pictures of a spiritual state, at the expense of the sincere and the pious all over the world. When the orator resumed his seat I rose from mine. I asked permission to speak. Then followed one of those picturesque and unique scenes, which no Hogarth could paint or Shakspeare dramatise. Sunday night, said they, was not the night for discussion. I persisted, and got out a few sentences. The orator got out a few sentences also, telling the noisy assembly, in pretty plain terms, that I was an ass. One man received orders to blow an organ, another man began to make it play-the orchestra set up a tune-the door keepers put down the lights-there was the roaring of voices, the shrieking of females, the protestations of unknown friends, the stench of gas and cigars,in fact, a Charybdis, if ever there was a Charybdis on this earth, created simply, by an attempt to secure free debate and liberty of speech. Amidst the darkness and confusion a party recognised me, put his hand upon my shoulder, and whispered these consolatory words in my ear:- -"Sir" said he, "I perceive you are the victim of a great delusion, the delusion that the people who come here want any opinion but their own." Others came round, and equally sympathetic, they formed a body guard for my protection, and I was safely escorted from the roaring and raging waves that threatened to engulf me. On my way home I mused and meditated, and said to myself, "Is a Secularist-hall a better place than a church or chapel ?"

--

Well, countrymen, I meet a Secularist, and when I meet him, I shake hands

with him, and I say,

"What believest thou?" "Believe!" says he in astonishment, "We do not believe." "What!" says I, "is there a future life?" "Mum" says he. "Is man immortal,' "Mum" says he. "Was the world made?" says I. "Mum " says he. "Is there a Divine Creator?" says I. "Mum says he. "Is there a future retribution for evil and a reward for good ?" "Mum " says he. "Good heavens!" says I, "then you believe nothing!" "Nothing at all," says he. "What! is there not a God?" "Dont know." "Is there not an eternal glory?" "Dont know." "Is there not a Divine justice ?" "Dont know.' "Where did you come from?" "Dont "Where are you going to?" "Dont know." "What are you?" "Dont know." "What may you be?" "Dont know." "Then what do you know?" says I. "Only what we see, hear, taste, touch, and smell," says he. "And is this philosophy ?" says I. "It is," says he. "Indeed" says I, and I may take the liberty to add that it is also the philosophy of dogs, cats, lions, and kangaroos, and their only philosophy, for they are the creatures of sense, not of intellect, and reason, and faith.

know."

However, the Secularists, as I am aware, put aside all questions of faith, in order that they may turn their attention to practical pursuits. We are told that they think Christians have preached so much about faith as to forget there are duties to perform in this world, and they call themselves Secularists because it is to secular purposes they apply themselves. Very well; it therefore becomes my purpose to ask my friend, the Secularist, not what he believes, but what he does. If he is the genuine English Knownothing, I may be able to discover that he is truly that great Do-something who has been expected to visit the earth for many years. I am aware that the Secularist has no chapel, or pulpit; but he has his hall and his platform. True, he may not preach; but he lectures, and is as much a hired teacher as any priest whom he may condemn. "But come, now, Mr. Secular Secularist, what are you about-have you formed a teetotal society to save the land from intoxication ?" "Can't say," says he. "Well, perhaps you have created a society to give the slaves of America liberty ?” "Can't say," says he. "Well," says I, "have you established a machinery to save the world from war ?" Can't say," "" "Have you established schools ?" "Can't say." "Have you any scheme for the people to get land or freeholds ?" "Can't say." 66 Do you visit the homes of the poor ?" "Can't say." "Have you been among the Spitalfields' weavers to inculcate habits of independence and comfort ?" "Can't say." "Have you taken steps to redeem the streets of London from the desolating floods of prostitution ?" "Can't say. Come, tell me have you established a penny bank ?” "Can't say."

66

soup kitchen ?" Cant say."

Or

a

race may

"And I sup

Then, of course you have sent out no mission to elevate savage nations ?" "Can't say." "Can you say you intend to sacrifice friends, home, reputation, country, and life, that the human be exalted throughout the earth?" "Can't say. "I suppose you snuff, smoke, drink beer, and read Reynolds ?" "I suppose we do." pose you go to your hall, you hear the music, you listen to the lecture, you pay your money, and you go home and eat your supper?" "Yes," "And what else do you do?". "We do what we think should be done.” " 'Pray tell me what you think is that which should be done?" Why the thing which should be done is the very thing that is wanted." "What is wanted, says I ?" "Securalism is wanted," says he." "What is Secularism ?" says I. What do you

think it is," says he? "Is it getting up a dance and going to a play," says I ; and here the conversation drops.

And I understand, fellow-countrymen, that large portions of the working classes of England are disposed to accept Secularism as the religion for humanity, and the Secularists as the prophets of a new dispensation. Why the humblest and the most despicable religious sect on earth may boast of a Sundayschool, a Dorcas society, or a mission of charity; and I do not know a single

religious sect in England so degraded as to imagine that the human mind may be only a modification of gas, and a futurity of justice, an idle dream. Yet Lwill not deny to the Secularists a mission. They overlook the fact that no nation or people has ever risen to greatness, and no man to sublimity of character, whose doctrines were materialistic and hopes but earthly; yet the Secularists have this mission among mankind, a mission namely, of scourging and chastising Christendom, because of the corruptions of the Christian religion.

Yes, countrymen, if the religion of the Son of God had only been known in England as it was originally known in Judea-the religion of Faith, Liberty, Justice, and Love-our dear country would never have given birth to philosophers who preach eternal negation.

SAXON in the Empire.

DIVINE LOVE.

To illustrate the force of his love, the Almighty has borrowed illustrations from the most endearing and tender affections of the human heart. No affection can be more free and unrestrained, than the affection of a devoted husband to the wife of his bosom; and that we may know how fully and devotedly God loves us, he speaks of us as his bride, and calls himself our husband: "Thy maker is thy husband; the Lord of Hosts is his name." The love of a father is a strong affection, and no one but a father can tell how the afflictions of a child affect a father's heart. Yet "like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him." Of all affections there is none so tender as that of a mother for her little one. No tongue can utter the fulness of a mother's love;' no heart but a mother's can understand it. Her first and last thoughts are for her child, and her chief concern is for its welfare. She thinks nothing too much to do for it, and she thinks nothing too hard to suffer.. She will toil for it through the day, and watch for it through the night, and think herself repaid for all if she can see it peaceful and happy. If it be sick, she will stand by its cradle, or fold it in her arms, and gaze on it with a world of tenderness. If its life is in danger, her eyes are at once filled with tears, and her soul is full of sorrow; but if Providence removes the affliction, and her little one begins to smile again, her cup of joy runs over. If her child be lost, she is almost distracted; and when it is found again, she is transported with joy. A woman not far from Mossley, lost her child some months ago. It had gone with some other children to the moors to gather wild fruit, and was lost among the hills. When the rest of the children returned at night, this little one was wanting; and no one could tell where it might be found. The poor helpless child was left to weep many miles away, on the lonely mountains; and wander up and down in the dark amidst rocks and crags. The mother was in an agony. Her cries ran through the whole village, and there was nothing heard through the night but, Where is my child? O what will become of my child? I passed through the village a day or two after, and the child had been fonnd, and had just been brought home. The street was crowded with people, and all seemed glad, but the mother was in an ecstacy.

"I was once," says an English author, "going in my gig up the hill, in the village of Frankford, near Philadelphia, when a little girl, about two years old, who had toddled away from a small house, was lying basking in the sun, in the middle of the road. About two hundred yards before I got to the child, the teams (five big horses in each) of three wagons, the drivers of which had stopped to drink at a tavern on the brow of the hill, started off, and came nearly abreast, galloping down the road. I got my gig off the road as speedily as I could; but expected to see the poor child crushed to pieces. A young man, a journeyman carpenter, who was working on a shed by the side of the road, see

ing the danger, though a stranger to the parents, jumped from the top of the shed, ran to the road, and snatched up the child from searcely an inch before the hoof of the leading horse. The horse's leg knocked him down; but he, catching the child by its clothes, flung it back, out of the way of the horses, and saved himself by rolling back with surprising agility. The mother of the child, who had apparently been washing, seeing the teams coming, and seeing the situation of the child, rushed out, and catching up the child just as the carpenter had flung it back, and hugging it in her arms, uttered a shriek such as I never heard before, never heard since, and I hope shall never hear again; and then she dropped down, as if perfectly dead!" Her joy for the unexpected preservation of her child was too great for her frame to bear.

Evangelical Reformer.

THE CHARACTER OF CHRIST.

The virulence with which the Infidels of the present day have attacked the character of Christ is symptomatic of their determination, were it possible to sweep away his religion from the earth. Mr. Joseph Barker is found among the detractors. He can unsay what he said some years ago, when he stood forward for the defence of Christianity, but he can never refute it. We propose giving some parallelisms of his sayings now and then in future numbers of The Defender. This week we give a contrast of his views of the Saviour's character when an Infidel, and a New Connexion Methodist Minister. It needs no commentary. "Look on this picture, and on that."

JOSEPH BARKER IN 1854.

We have something good in the character and teachings of Jesus. There is no such perfection in them as Christians suppose; but there is something good. For instance, Jesus shows a regard for the poor and affiicted. He hates pride and hypocrisy. He inculcates mercy and benevolence; and he exerts himself, according to the Gospels, in relieving distress and suffering. This is all good. He may have been a Jew merely. His benevolent regards may not have reached to the Gentiles. Still it was something to be concerned for the welfare and the comfort of his poor countrymen.

What Jesus really was, and what he really taught and did, we have not the means of knowing. The gospels give somewhat contradictory views of his character and teachings. But take what view you will, in no respect can he reasonably be held forth as a pattern of perfect moral excellence; or as an example of all virtue.

JOSEPH BARKER IN 1842.

Christ was a man,- -a perfect man. He was made in the likeness of sinful flesh, he was made in all points like as we are, yet without sin,—he was subject to human affections and infirmities,—he was born under the law, -he was subject to temptation and pain,—he had a human character, and human relationships, he took upon himself the form of a servant, and in this light we would now call upon you to contemplate him. Viewed in this light, he still stands alone. There is a perfection and loveliness about him, which can never be sufficiently admired, and which can never be sufficiently loved. There was not a stain upon his whole character. He did no sin, neither was any guile found in his mouth. His enemies laboured hard to

find some fault in him, but their labour was in vain. They tried to catch him in his words, but they could not succeed.

It is true they laid many bad things to his charge,—and some, who were decent people, were so preplexed by the wicked reports which were circulated respecting him by his enemies, at times they scarce knew what to think of him: but his intimate and constant friends, who were witnesses of all he did, and to whom he revealed his whole soul, declared him to be holy, harmless, and undefiled, and separate from sin and sinners. The scribes and pharisees called him a sabbath-breaker, a seditious man, a blasphemer, a gluttonous man, and a winebibber, a friend of publicans and sinners. They said he was in league with the devil; that he cast out devils by Beelzebub, the prince of devils: they said he was possessed of a devil himself, and was mad, and as if nothing might be left unsaid that it was in the power of malice to invent and utter, they actually called him Beelzebub himself, the prince of devils. But it was all false: there was not a particle of truth in the whole. The simple fact was this, he was too good for them. The very reason why they abused him so was because he was so good. There were plenty of bad men in those days, but they let them pass. Andthey would have let the Saviour pass, if he could have been content to join their party, and be no better than themselves. But he could do no such thing. He had come to declare the truth, and he declared it faithfully, and he enforced it by a spotless and perfect example; and this was what provoked their rage. He touched their self-importance, he struck at the root of their earthly interests aud honours,-he exposed their hypocrisy,-he trampled on their traditions, he refused to acknowledge their authority,he had no selfishness, no bigotry, no intolerance about him, he was the friend of universal man, he thought better of a kind-hearted Samaritan, than of a cruel, selfish Jew,-in a word, he struck at the root of the power of his enemies, by giving the people right notions of God and duty, and teaching them to think for themselves. They reproached him because he was faultless: they hated him because of his loveliness. Even Pilate himself, who heard all that his enemies witnessed against him, declared in open court, in the most solemn manner, that he found no fault in him, and his disciples have left it on record to all ages, that he was a "lamb without blemish and without spot."

But this was not all. He was not only free from all evil: he excelled in all that was good. His tempers, his words, and his whole behaviour were one consistent and affecting exemplification of purity, of piety, and of love. How humble he was! He might have been a king if he would, but he refused: he might have been attended by the rich and mighty; but he preferred the company of his poor disciples. He might have lived in palaces, and ruled men by the force of arms; but instead of that he was a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief, and had not where to lay his head. He welcomed to his presence, those whom the haughty scribes and pharisees would not look down upon. If men were truly penitent; if they had renounced their sins; if they were truly desirous to be reconciled to God, and to live in newness of life, it was enough for him. It mattered not how poor they were, nor how abandoned they had been; he received them into the number of his followers, and regarded them with the greatest tenderness. Look at his temperance. He made no provision for the flesh; the thought of fleshly indulgences ap