Now so far did God go in His condescension in taking on Himself all the infirmities of the flesh, to which the nature of man is subject on account of sin, (although He took them without sin,) that He did not refuse to undergo the sufferings of childhood, nor choose to begin His mortal life in any other way than that which is common to all; except indeed, that, through the HOLY SPIRIT, He was born without spot of a spotless Virgin, and by this cleansed all that was sinful in our origin, and consecrated for us the sacrament of our second birth.

And so, "unto us a Child is born ;" and the GOD of Majesty laid it aside Himself, and made Himself of no reputation, taking on Himself not only an earthly body of the nature of mortal man, but also the weak and helpless age of childhood. 0 blessed Childhood! whose weakness and foolishness is stronger and wiser than all men; because in Thee the power of GoD and the wisdom of GOD is working His works through ours, things Divine in things human! See, the weakness of this Infant triumphs over the prince of this world; it binds the "strong man armed;" it takes captive the cruel oppressor; it releases and sets free our captivity! The mute and voiceless simplicity of this Infant makes eloquent the tongues of those that could not speak; it makes the tongues of men and of angels to speak, sending down cloven tongues of fire. This little One, Who seems to know nothing, is He that teacheth man knowledge, and angels too; for He is in truth the GOD of all knowledge, the Wisdom and the Word of God. O holy and sweet Childhood, that didst restore unto men true innocency, through which men of every age may return unto the blessed state of childhood, and be made like unto Thee, not in the weakness of Thy limbs, but in humility of thought and piety of manners. Ye sons of Adam, who are too great in your own eyes, and have grown up to be as tall as giants by your pride: unless ye be converted, and become like this little Child, ye shall not enter the kingdom of heaven. "I am the Door of the kingdom," saith this little Child: unless the tall pride of men bend itself, the door of humility will not let them in. For what? Dost thou, thou that art dust and ashes, still bear thyself proudly, when thy GOD is become lowly? Art thou still great in thine own eyes, after that before thine eyes thy God Himself hath become a little one? He made Himself so low as to seem almost nothing, He without Whom not anything was made; and thou art puffed up and exalted beyond all bounds, thinking thyself to be something, when thou art nothing! "Thou deceivest thyself," cries the Apostle to thee; since even if thou wast anything great, so much the more oughtest thou to humble thyself. "The greater thou art, the more humble thyself, and

thou shalt find favour before the LORD," (Ecclus. iii. 18,) saith the wise man, "for GOD resisteth the proud, and giveth grace unto the humble;" GOD, Who Himself, to be thine example, being greatest of all things, became humblest and least of all. It was not enough for Him to become less than the angels by taking on Him the condition of our mortal nature, unless He also became less than men by assuming the age of helpless infancy. Let the good and humble man behold Him, and glory : let the wicked and proud behold, and be confounded. Let him behold the incomprehensible God become a little one; let him see this awful mystery, the little Child Who is to be adored : this mystery which is the redemption of the godly, the glory of the humble, the condemnation of the wicked, the destruction of the proud. O adorable and tremendous mystery! How holy and terrible is Thy name! How great the fountain of Thy mercies, the depth of Thy judgments! Who ever drank of this fountain and did not glow with love? Who ever considered that depth, and was not filled with fear? He that hath not loved is wicked and impious, and he that did not fear is hardhearted and senseless. Yet there is no reason why thou shouldest be afraid of His judgments, if thou dost not bear thyself insolently against His mercies. And He would rather be loved than feared with servile fear: He approves rather of that which the free and willing affection of sons offers Him, than that which is extorted by force from the fear of slaves. And so now when He for the first time manifested Himself unto mortal men, He chose rather to show Himself as a Child, and to appear more an object of love than of terror; for He now is come to save men and not to judge them, and so He might now bring forward to sight that which invites love, and defers until hereafter all that might cause fear.

Let us then approach with confidence unto the throne of His grace, though we could not without trembling even think of the throne of His glory. There is here nothing of terror, nothing of severity, for thee to fear; but there is kindness and gentleness of all kinds, to give thee reason for confidence. And if power and terror are indeed with Him, yet for the present He hideth it all; He is sparing him that repenteth, as long as the time lasts during which He will spare thee on thy penitence, and receive thee on thy confession. Let it not cause thee scruple, that thou hast heavily offended Him: this Child when hurt knows not anger, or if He is angry, He may be easily appeased. In truth nothing can be more placable than the mind of this Child for this very purpose He anticipates thy disposition to make peace and atonement with Him, sending Himself first His ambassadors to treat of peace with thee, that thou who art guilty

mayst be desirous of reconciliation. Only desire and will it, truly and perfectly; He will not only grant thee pardon, but He will heap upon thee His grace; yea, moreover, He thinks it no small gain to have recovered the sheep He had lost, and so He will keep a day of festival and rejoicing with His angels. Most fitly, therefore, did the age of childhood, so innocent and easily pacified, suit the gentle counsel of GOD: most fitly and properly did He begin His work of saving sinners from this time of life; to console by the hope of so easily obtaining pardon those whom their own guilty conscience had made horribly afraid.

O sweetest Child, the good JESUS! how great must be the multitude of Thy sweetness, which Thou hast laid up for them that fear Thee, and hast prepared and wilt accomplish unto them that put their trust in Thee, when that is so very great which Thou hast already shown unto those that know Thee not yet! Yes, it is sweetness beyond compare, it is love that cannot be told, that I should see the GOD that made me, now made a Child for me; that the GOD of majesty and glory should not only become like to me by taking on Himself a true human body, but should also appear as an object of compassion, and seem to need human aid from the weakness of His age. Yes, in truth, Thou Child and GOD, the saving help of my counte nance, and my GOD, Thou art wholly sweetness, and wholly love, and yet that Thou art so tender in limb maketh Thee sweeter to me still. This it is that maketh the minds and hearts of Thy little ones able to receive Thee, who are not yet fit to receive Thee as their solid food. Until then it is sweet, very sweet it is and pleasant to the taste, to think of GOD's being a Child; and to do so has besides a great effect and power towards heal ing and sweetening any rancour of temper, any bitterness of speech, any rudeness of manners that may be in us. Can we believe that there can be any room for wrath or sullenness when the thoughts and memory dwell upon this Divine sweetness? No, surely, by this all anger and bitterness will be put away from us, with all malice. And so will it come to pass that like new-born babes, we may find grace worthily to praise our LORD, the Babe new-born, and the tuneful concert and harmony of our lives, as well as our voices, may rise before Him, and so out of the mouths of babes and sucklings, may be perfected the praise of Him that was a Babe and a Suckling, our LORD JESUS CHRIST, to Whom with the FATHER and the HOLY SPIRIT, be praise and rejoicing throughout all ages for ever. Amen.

FOREIGN TESTIMONY. - England, because there is the Church in her Apostolic and primitive purity of doc

trine and ministry, is the most interesting country to me.-BP. HOBART (New York, America.)

A FRAGMENT FROM MY JOURNAL.

In the year 1835, the East had not become so much frequented by European travellers, but that it cost some labour, and forecasting, and plans to accomplish a voyage to the coast, and a journey through the lands of Syria and Palestine.

The Levant Company had now been defunct some ten years, and the tide of commercial adventure from the West, which had been mainly interrupted by the breaking out of the French Revolution, had scarce begun its reflux eastward; and although in Constantinople and Egypt the native population had begun to feel the effects of the general peace in Europe, in Syria the Frange was still an object of curiosity, and except when there was any profit to be made of him, he was-at least, by the Mohammedan portion of the population-everywhere regarded with jealousy and mistrust, and not unfrequently exposed to insult and contumely. Then, as now, the Christian convents afforded him shelter and sometimes personal protection, for the Catholic name of "Christian" is sweet in a land where a wound from a common foe is deeper than that which the Church can inflict on a member of its own body.

I sailed from one of our outports, on board a trading schooner loaded with a cargo of general merchandise suitable to the Levant, and bound direct to the Coast of Syria.

It was a beautiful morning when we came out of the docks, and as we dropped down the river there seemed to be every prospect of our having a fair run down channel. But four-andtwenty hours had not elapsed before we were reminded that we were entering upon the autumnal equinox "when sailing was now dangerous."

After our pilot left us, we had light baffling airs, which but for a strong spring-tide, would have done little for us. We managed, however, to creep down about mid-channel before we encountered any decided intimation of the approaching equinox. Everything around us portended unfavourable weather; the sea from the westward began gradually to increase, and our second sun set angrily.

Our commander was an energetic and intelligent little man, who had his wits about him, and seemed to have every confidence in the seaworthiness of his little vessel, which was barely 120 tons burden. His barometer told him what the heavy swell and lowering sky foreboded, and as the water deepened in colour and almost blended itself with the deep grey and purple clouds which rose darker and darker from its bosom, he made the best preparation he could to meet the coming storm. The crowns of the waves began to curl over in bright contrast with every surrounding

object, as they were cast upon the top of the swell, and all around us partook of that gloomy and anxious stillness, which at sea so often precedes a heavy tempest.

Being the only passenger, I found nothing to call off my attention from observing what was going forward on board. I saw everything being securely lashed and battened down, and as there was but little prospect of either moon or stars to assist us in our course, all needless lumber was stowed away, and our little craft made snug and handy for the night.

At length, towards midnight, the threatened storm broke upon us like a thunderclap, and the weather became terrific. Sometimes hoisted on the pinnacle of a wave, and sometimes buried in the trough of the sea, we lay for the most part of fifty hours hoveto, under a storm trysail, with the schooner's head off the land: ever and anon, a body of water coming aboard enough to swamp us, and, but for the precaution of our captain in having had the waist-boards unshipped, it might have been questionable whether the buoyance of our little vessel would not have been overpowered. Our decks were swept clean of everything that was not part and parcel of the ship, and although the waves seemed to conspire to bury us and carry us to the bottom at a plunge, we rose again and again out of the depths of the ocean, and shook off the waters which had rolled over the gunwale, and from every direction.

When our frail vessel became the sport of the angry elements, how fully could we enter into the language of the Psalmist, when he says, "they mount up to heaven, they go down again to the depths; their soul is melted because of trouble." And who that has been much at sea, knows not the encouraging tone of the experienced mariner's voice, as he says, the “worst is over," and cannot appreciate the moment when he sees all storm-enjoined precautions abating, and preparations gradually being made to take advantage of the clearing weather, the reefs shaken out, and the sailors' clothes hung in the rigging to dry? The Christian heart is naturally filled with gratitude and praise to his Almighty Deliverer, and the Englishman, as a member of a great maritime nation, finds that his pious forefathers, mindful of every contingency, have prepared in the Church services a beautiful and touching form of prayer and thanksgiving suitable to the occasion, which he fails not to have recourse to.

As the weather moderated, we found we could lay our course, and we soon cleared the Channel, and with the tail of the equinox made a fair passage to the Straits of Gibraltar.

On entering the Mediterranean, we found the wind easterly, and unfavourable. We were, however, in some measure compensated for this by obtaining alternately some good views of the Spanish and African coast, all of which was new to me, and of course