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prayer is evidently implied. Thus the Israelites knew, from the book of Genesis, that their father Abraham was more than expressly commanded to pray, or allowed to pray, even for others by the Almighty himself. And their great lawgiver had often, and with success, lifted up his prayers to God in their behalf. Perhaps also the book of Job might teach them, that men might "pray unto God, and he would be favourable unto them" (xxxiii. 26, xxi. 15, xlii. 8). If, then, we put all these things together, it will be clear, both that the practice of the Israelites to offer up their prayers to almighty God existed at a very early period,-earlier, for instance, than the birth of Samuel-a period antecedent to those great improvements in the law which the prophets by degrees introduced, and also that the Israelites could not have been ignorant of the propriety and efficacy of prayer even in the time of Moses himself.

But we should observe further, that it was the very genius of the Mosaic law to teach by actions as well as by words; and it is by no means to be supposed, even if the Israelites were not expressly enjoined to pray, that they were therefore not enjoined such religious services as would carry with them the spirit of prayer, the feelings and dispositions suitable to devotion, if not the form and words of prayer. Thus (Deut. viii. 10) it is enjoined them, "When thou hast eaten and art full, then thou shalt bless the Lord thy God for the good land which he hath given thee." In this passage no express form of words for a blessing and thanksgiving is prescribed, possibly none was intended to be used; but still the devout feelings of praise and thankfulness are evidently required of them; and wishes suitable to prayer may be made known to God by a devout worshipper, without their being actually embodied in express language.

THE ROBBERS OF ARABIA.⭑

THE Arabian robber, (and they may well be styled a nation of robbers,) considers his profession as honourable; and the term harámy (robber) is one of the most flattering titles that could be conferred on a youthful hero.

The Arab robs his enemies, his friends, and his neighbours, provided that they are not actually in his own tent, where their property is sacred. But the Arab chiefly prides himself on robbing his enemies, and on bringing away by stealth what he could not have taken by open force. The Bedouins have reduced robbery, in all its branches, to a complete and regular system. If an Arab intends to go on a predatory excursion, he takes with him a dozen friends. They all clothe themselves in rags. Each takes a very moderate stock of flour and salt, and a small waterskin; and thus slenderly provided, they commence on

From "Scripture Elucidations." Edinburgh, Whyte and Co.

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foot a journey of perhaps eight days. The harámys or robbers are never mounted. When they arrive, about evening, near the camp which is the intended object of their enterprise, three of the most daring are despatched towards the tents, where they are to arrive at midnight, a time when most Arabs sleep: the others

are to await their return within a short distance of the camp. Of the three principal actors, each has his allotted business. One of them (styled el mostambeh) stations himself behind the tent that is to be robbed,

and endeavours to excite the attention of the nearest watch-dogs. These immediately attack him, and they pursue him to a great distance from the camp, which is thus cleared of those dangerous guardians. Another of the three, called emphatically el harámy, or "the robber," now advances towards the camels, that are upon their knees before the tent; he cuts the strings that confine their legs, and makes as many rise as he wishes. He then leads one of the she-camels out of the camp; the others follow as usual. The third adventurous companion (styled käyde) places himself meanwhile near the tent-pole, called "the hand," holding a long and heavy stick over the entrance of the tent, ready to knock down any person who might come forth, and thus give time for the harámy's escape. If the robbery succeeds, the harámy and käyde drive the camels to a little distance; each then seizes by the tail one of the strongest camels, which they pull with all their might: this causes the beasts to gallop; and the men thus dragged, and followed by the other camels, arrive at the place of rendezvous, from which they hasten to join the mostambeh, who has in the meantime been engaged in defending himself from camels are stolen in this manner. the dogs. It often happens that as many as fifty velling only at night, return home by forced marches. To the chief of the party, and the three principal actors, an extra share of the booty is allowed." project. If any neighbour of the tent attacked perBut very different effects attend a failure of their

The robbers, tra

The

ceives the harámy and käyde, he awakens his friends; they surround the robbers, and he who first seizes one of them makes him his prisoner, or rabiet. Bedouin laws concerning the rabiet are very curious, and shew the influence which custom, handed down

through many generations, (although not connected with religion,) may exercise over the fiercest characters amongst the wildest sons of liberty. The rabút (or he who seizes the rabiet) asks his captive on what business he had come; and this question is generally accompanied by some blows on the head. "I came to rob; God has overthrown me," is the answer most commonly given. The prisoner is then led into the tent, where the capture of a harámy occasions great rejoicing. The next act of the rabát is to clear the tent of all witnesses; then, still holding his knife, he ties the prisoner's hands and feet, and afterwards calls in the people of his tribe. Some one of them, or the rabát himself, then addresses the harámy, saying, Neffa, or "renounce;" and the harámy, dreading a continuation of the beating, is induced to answer, Beneffa, "I renounce." This ceremony is founded on a custom of the Dakheil, which is as follows:

It is established as a law among the Arabs, that so soon as a person is in actual danger from another, and can touch a third Arab, (be the last whoever he may, even the aggressor's brother,) or if he touch an inanimate thing which the other has in his hands, or with which any part of his body is in contact, or if he can hit him in spitting or throwing a stone at him, and at the same time exclaims, Ana dakheilak, "I am thy protected," he is no longer exposed to any danger, and the third is obliged to defend him: this, however, is seldom necessary, as the aggressor from that moment desists. In like manner, the harámy would be entitled to the same privilege, could he find an opportunity of demanding it. On this account the persons entering

That

the tent desire him to "renounce" the privilege of dakheil; and his reply, "I do renounce," makes it impossible for him to claim any further the protection due to a dakheil. But this renunciation is only valid during the present day; for if the same persons on the next day should enter the tent, the same form of renunciation would be necessary, and in general it is repeated whenever any person enters the tent. the harámy may not easily escape, or become the dakheil of any one, a hole is formed in the ground of the tent, about two feet deep, and as long as the man; in this hole he is laid, his feet chained to the earth, his hands tied, and his twisted hair fastened to two stakes on both sides of his head. Some tent-poles are laid across this grave, and corn-stacks and other heavy articles heaped upon them, so as to leave only a small opening over the prisoner's face, through which he may breathe.

If the camp is to be removed, a piece of leather is thrown over the harámy's head; he is then placed on a camel, his legs and hands always tied; wherever the camp is pitched, a hole or grave is prepared (as above described) for his prison. Thus buried alive, the prisoner does not yet resign all hopes of escaping; this constantly occupies his mind, while the rabát endeavours to extract from him the highest possible ransom. If the former belongs to a rich family, he never tells his real name, but declares himself a poor beggar. If he be recognised, which generally happens, he must pay as a ransom all his property in horses, camels, sheep, tents, provisions, and baggage. His perseverance in pleading poverty, and in concealing his real name, sometimes protracts an imprisonment of this kind for six months: he is then allowed to purchase his liberty on moderate terms, or fortune may enable him to effect his escape. Customs long established among the Bedouins contribute much to that effect.

If from the hole, which may be called his grave, he can contrive to spit into the face of a man or child, without the form of renunciation before mentioned, he is supposed to have touched a protector and liberator; or if a child (the rabát's own child excepted) give him a morsel of bread, the harámy claims the privilege of having eaten with his liberator; and although this person may be the rabát's near relation, his right to freedom is allowed, the thongs which tied his hair are cut with a knife, his fetters are taken off, and he is set at liberty.

Sometimes he finds means to disengage himself from his chains during the rabát's absence; in this case he escapes at night, and takes refuge in the nearest tent, declaring himself dakheil to the first person he meets, and thus regains his freedom. But this seldom hap pens; for the prisoner always receives so very scanty an allowance of food, that his weakness generally prevents him from making any extraordinary effort; but his friends usually liberate him either by open force, or by contrivance, in the following manner :

A relation of the prisoner, most frequently his own mother or sister, disguised as a beggar, is received in the character of a poor guest by some Arab of the camp in which the harámy is confined. Having ascertained the tent of his rabát, the disguised relation introduces herself into it at night, with a ball of thread in her hands, approaches the hole in which he lies, and throwing one end of the thread over the prisoner's face, contrives to guide it into his mouth, or fastens it to his foot: thus he perceives that help is at hand. The woman retires, winding off the thread until she reaches some neighbouring tent; then awakens the owner of it, and applying the thread to his bosom, addresses him in these words: "Look on me, by the love thou bearest to God and thy ownself: this is under thy protection." As soon as the Arab comprehends the object of this nocturnal visit, he rises, and winding up the thread in his hands, is guided by it to the tent which contains the harámy.

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If, however, no means can be devised for effecting the prisoner's escape, he must at length conclude some terms of ransom. A sum being fixed, it generally happens that among the rabát's tribe some settlers of his own tribe are found who become responsible for the amount. He is then consigned to those friends, one of whom accompanies him to his own home, and receives from him the stipulated ransom, camels, or other articles, which he delivers punctually to the rabát. If the liberated robber cannot collect among his friends the full amount of the ransom, he is bound in honour to resign himself up into the hands of his rabát, and thus again become a captive. There are but few instances of the rabiet's refusing to pay, or to return if his friendly bail cannot enforce the payment, he must satisfy the rabát from his own property; but he can inflict a severe punishment on his false friend, a punishment so dreaded, that the Arabs very seldom incur it. The bail has only to denounce the other as a traitor (yeboagah) among all the tribes of his (the bail's) nation: after this, if the denounced person should come, in peace or war, to any tent of that nation, he cannot claim the privilege of a guest or of a dakheil, but may be stripped even by his host of all his property.

If the father of a family (or a son) resolves upon a predatory expedition, however dangerous, he never mentions it to his nearest friends, but orders his wife or sister to make a provision of flour and salt in a small bag. To any inquiry respecting the object of his journey, he either replies, "That's not your business," or gives the favourite Bedouin reply, "I go where God leads me."

A father whose son has been taken prisoner, (as a rabiet,) often sacrifices his whole property for the ransom, because he considers it an honour that his son should be a harámy; and hopes he will soon repay him by the result of a more successful expedition.

Arabs never approach a hostile camp on foot, or in small numbers, but for the sake of robbing. To make an open attack, they come mounted on horses or camels; and though their attempt fail, they will be treated like fair enemies, not as robbers; stripped and plundered, but not detained. On the contrary, when an Arab meets an unarmed enemy on foot, he knows him to be a harámy coming with the intention of robbing; he is therefore authorised to make him his rabiet, provided he can seize him in a place from which it is possible that he can return to his own camp before sunset, or reach the tents of some friendly tribe. In this case, the presumption is, that the enemy intended that very night to rob the camp; but if the place where he meets the enemy be at a greater distance than one day's journey, or as far as one can march during the remainder of the day, (counting from the time of meeting till sunset,) he is not justified in making him rabiet, but must treat him as a common enemy.

Should a man be seized at the moment when he is endeavouring to release his captive friend or relation, he is himself made rabiet, provided that he arrived directly from the desert; but if he has been received as a guest in any tent of the camp, or if he has even drunk some water, or sat down in one of the tents, and pronounced the salutation, Salem aleyk ("Peace be to you,") he must be protected by the owner of the tent, and not molested, although his generous design has failed.

Biography.

GEORGE TANKERFIELD,

Burnt at St. Albans, August 26, 1555.*

THE attention of the readers of this Magazine has been repeatedly called to those devoted followers of the Lord, who, at the time of the Reformation, shed their blood for the Gospel's sake. But hitherto the martyrdom of those only has been related who were distinguished by their learning or their station, the captains of the noble army of the cross. The common soldiers, however, if I may so term them, were the more numerous part of that body. For whereas five bishops, twenty-one clergymen, and eight gentlemen, were burned in the miserable reign of Mary, there suffered by fire, in the same period, eighty-four tradesmen, one hundred husbandmen, servants, and labourers, fifty-five women, and five children. The characteristic of the Gospel was then, as in every other age, that to the poor it was preached, and of the poor it was received. The inferior classes, therefore, may well examine with especial interest the annals of that persecution. It is this reflection which has induced me to gather a few particulars of the martyrdom of George Tankerfield, a humble cook of the city of London.

It was a bright summer's day, when a goodly company was assembled at the house of a gentleman of Hertfordshire, close by the town of St. Albans. There was mirth and there was feasting there; and many young and joyous spirits were at the banquet. For that gentleman's son had that day received the hand of a fair bride; and belted knights, and magistrates, and ladies, were collected to do honour to the house. Many a loving wish was breathed for the welfare of the young couple-no more twain, but one flesh; and there were anticipations of their future happiness, and affectionate hopes that they might live in honour, and see their children's children. But it seemed, amid that gay company, as if now and then thoughts of a different kind from those suggested by the scene before them, were in the minds of some that were sitting at the board. The high-sheriff of the county, Mr. Brocket, and his under-sheriff, Pulter, were among the guests; and occasionally, with looks of meaning, they exchanged a word or two; and then there was a sort of hush to the merriment of the assemblage, and a pause ere the lively jest and the joyous laugh again circulated. Thus rolled the hours on, till, when dinner was over, after the early fashion of the age at two o'clock, the sheriffs departed, as men who were hurried away by some call of stern duty.

That forenoon the attention of the inhabitants of St. Albans had been directed to a spot near the west end of the noble Abbey-Church. It was a green and pleasant place, called Romeland, where it is likely children had often sported in gleeful play; but now no sport, as it seemed, was to be acted there. For there was a large dark post set up, and there were bundles of brushwood lying about, and reeds, and sturdy constables were keeping a strict watch, and little knots of people were gathered here and there, talking to each other in that low and earnest tone

• See Fox, vol. iii.

which denotes that some sad spectacle is looked for, or wonderful event has happened.

The greatest crowd, however, was assembled round the Cross-Keys Inn, where a man that had been sent from London was sitting quietly with the host, who carefully attended to him, and supplied him with all that he asked for, and conversed with him as with a friend. That man whom the crowd had collected to see was George Tankerfield, who was kept waiting in the inn all the morning, till the sheriffs had returned from the wedding-dinner; after which he must be had to Romeland, and there at the stake be burned to ashes, because he would not yield to the idolatrous worship of the papists.

Tankerfield was a young man, aged about twentyseven or twenty-eight. He was born at York, but had settled in London. Through King Edward's days he was a stanch Romanist; but when, on the coming in of Queen Mary, he saw the virulent persecution with which the reformers were assailed, he began to think that that could not be the true religion which needed to be maintained with so much cruelty. He began also to mislike the mass; and while doubting in his mind which was the true faith, he betook himself to prayer that it would please God graciously to resolve his difficulties. Then being directed to the New Testament, he saw clearly, by what he read there, the evil of the popish doctrines; which therefore he not only renounced himself, but earnestly endeavoured to prevail also on his friends to renounce with him.

It is by trial and discipline that any one is armed and prepared for conflict; and as God had intended to use this man as a soldier in his cause, he thought good to discipline him previously, that when the last final onset came, he might boldly stand, and unflinchingly maintain the quarrel he had espoused. Accordingly, the chastening of sickness was laid upon him, in which doubtless he communed with his own heart, and was strengthened in the faith he had embraced, and was enabled in quiet retirement to look forward to the death by which he must have seen it likely he would be called to glorify God. As soon as he came forth from this school, he was summoned to practise the lessons he had learned. For having, when somewhat recovered, walked forth one day into the Temple-fields, a man named Beard, one of the yeomen of the guard, called to inquire for him at his house, pretending that he was wanted to go and dress a dinner at Lord Paget's. His wife, deceived by the tale, courteously invited the messenger to refresh himself; and with the eager hope that her husband would earn something for their support, ran to fetch him home, telling him that he was sent for to dress a banquet. But Tankerfield knew well what that message meant. "A banquet!" said he; "indeed it is such a banquet as will not be very pleasant to the flesh; but God's will be done." When he came into the house, he recognised the officer, who made him immediately his prisoner; while the afflicted wife, in a paroxysm of grief at the fate she saw prepared for her husband, was with difficulty restrained from a violent attack upon the guardsman. He was committed to Newgate about the end of February 1555.

Tankerfield underwent examination before Bonner; and so well did he witness his confession before that

bloody man, that in derision he called him Mr. Speaker. The articles objected to him respected auricular confession, the real presence, and the mass. To these he replied, that he did not allow the necessity of confession to a priest, or the body and blood of Christ to be corporally present in the sacrament; and that the mass was full of idolatry and abomination, and against the word of God. And when the bishop began to read his sentence, and was endeavouring to persuade him to recant, "I will not forsake mine opinions," said he, "except you, my lord, can refell them by Scriptures: and I care not for your divinity; for you condemn all men, and prove nothing against them." Neither would he lose the opportunity of warning the people that stood by. For "the Church," said he, "whereof the pope is supreme head, is no part of Christ's catholic Church;" and pointing to Bonner, "good people," he added, "beware of him, and such as he is; for these be the people that deceive you." Then he was delivered over to the secular power, and afterwards conveyed to St. Albans.

As he was on his road to that place, a certain schoolmaster came to him, urging him with the authority of the doctors in favour of popery; but he was answered out of the Scriptures: and as he would not allow Tankerfield's allegations from the Bible unless interpreted by the opinions of the fathers, so neither would Tankerfield credit any position of his, except he could confirm it by the Scriptures. In the end, they parted in amity, the schoolmaster protesting that he meant the martyr no more hurt than his own soul.

Among the crowd which I described as gathered round the Cross- Keys Inn, there were various opinions uttered. Some grieved to see such a godly man brought thither to die a painful death, and others praised God for his constancy in the faith. Some, again, said it was a pity he should hold such heretical opinions; and others reviled him, and declared he was unworthy to live. But he spoke kindly and convincingly to them all, and sent away several with even weeping eyes.

As the host of the inn seemed inclined to shew him good-will, Tankerfield requested that he might have a fire in the chamber. This was granted him; and then sitting on a form before it, he took off his shoes and hose, and stretched his leg into the flame. But when he felt the pain, he quickly drew it back, thus evidencing the conflict betwixt the flesh and spirit, which the martyrologist has described with graphic effect. "The flesh said, O thou fool, wilt thou burn, and needest not? The spirit said, Be not afraid; for this is nothing in respect of fire eternal. The flesh said, Do not leave the company of thy friends and acquaintance, which love thee and will let thee lack nothing. The spirit said, The company of Jesus Christ, and his glorious presence, doth exceed all fleshly friends. The flesh said, Do not shorten thy time; for thou mayest live, if thou wilt, much longer. The spirit said, This life is nothing unto the life in heaven, which lasteth for ever." By and by, as the time drew on when he should suffer, Tankerfield, with that simpleheartedness which seems to have been so peculiarly characteristic of him, asked for a pint of malmsey wine and a loaf of bread. And then, when these were brought, he kneeled down, and humbly confessed his

sins to God, and offered up an earnest prayer; then having read over the account, as narrated by the evangelists and by St. Paul, of the institution of the sacrament, he said, "O Lord, thou knowest it, I do not this to derogate authority from any man, or in contempt of those which are thy ministers; but only because I cannot have it ministered according to thy word." And then he received the bread and the wine with giving of thanks. But of mere bodily food he would take none; for when some of his friends advised him to eat meat, No, he replied, he would not eat that which should do others good, that had more need, and had longer time to live than he.

And now the bridal feast was over, and the joyous wedding guests were separating; and then came the sheriffs with their guard to carry George Tankerfield to the stake. It was his bridal; and shortly he knew that he should sit down at the marriage-banquet of the Lamb. With a cheerful spirit he went to his death; and when he had kneeled down and prayed, he said, that although he might have a sharp dinner, yet he hoped to have a joyful supper in heaven. While the faggots were putting about him, a priest came to urge him to believe the mass. But the martyr cried vehemently from the stake, "Fie on that abominable idol! good people, do not believe him-good people, do not believe him." On this, the mayor of the town commanded fire to be immediately put to the heretic; and said that if he had but one load of faggots in the whole world, he would give them to burn him. But there were some there who breathed a different spirit. A certain knight took him by the hand, and said softly, "Good brother, be strong in Christ." And Tankerfield replied, "O sir, I thank you; I am so, I thank God.” When the fire was set to him, he desired the sheriffs and people to pray for him; and many of them did Then embracing the flame, he bathed himself, as it were, in it; and, calling on the name of the Lord Jesus, was quickly out of pain. So patiently indeed did he endure, that some superstitious papists said, that it was the devil, who was so strong in him as to keep him, and such heretics as he was, from feeling pain.

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Tankerfield was, I believe, the only one who died in the Marian persecution at that place, celebrated as the scene, many hundred years before, of the death of Alban, the proto-martyr of England. S.

EMIGRATION.

AT present labourers are suffering from a too great depreciation in the price of labour. The supply of labour is greater than its demand. How can this evil be rectified? It may be alleviated in many ways by the kind consideration of the rich. But it rests in a great measure with the labourers themselves to remove the evil. Provident habits, and a proper independence of spirit, will lead them to prefer any act of self-denial or hard labour to an abject and degraded dependence on others.

Improvident habits are the ruin of the labouring classes. Idleness, drunkenness, and waste, bring woful want. "Love not sleep, lest thou come to poverty; open thine eyes, and thou shalt be satisfied with

From "A Letter to the Labouring Classes, in their own behalf." By Herbert Smith, B.A., chaplain to the New Forest Union-Workhouse. Rivington.

a deficiency of funds. Then when it is further considered, that this large sum would come in weekly, how large a number of emigrants would it send out with a comfortable independence, to enter on their work and toil, which they must expect in their new abode! Were this plan carried on with spirit, and the contributions became general, the labourer at home might calculate that for every penny he so con

bread" (Prov. xx. 13). Again, "the drunkard and the glutton shall come to poverty; and drowsiness shall clothe a man with rags" (Prov. xxiii. 21). Every kind of vice is ruinous, and many young persons by leaving the path of virtue are brought into a melancholy state of degradation and dependence. On the other hand, provident and virtuous habits are the greatest safeguard to the independence and respectability of the labouring classes. Make them provident|tributed, he would have a return of a shilling by a and virtuous, and you will make them independent and respectable.

To remove the evil of a too-great depreciation in the price of labour, what more can be done by the labouring classes? They suffer from the supply of labour being greater than its demand. How can this evil be rectified? Remove the labourers, and the supply of labour will be lessened; consequently its value will be increased-wages will rise. But where are the supernumerary labourers to be removed to? Does not reason answer, To the place where their services are wanted and their labour would be valued. Emigration is nothing new; it is the means by which the different parts of the world have been peopled. Every flourishing country of which we have any account in history, has had its colonies, to which the inhabitants of the mother-country have emigrated. The East and West Indies have long been resorted to by the youth of the nobility and gentry of our own country. Why should not our colonies also be made in like manner advantageous to our labouring classes? Let emigration be regarded by labourers, not as a sort of unjust transportation from home to an inhospitable distant country, but as an enterprising expedition, which is to deliver them from the degradation of pauperism, and raise them to the exalted position of independent members of society.

The next questions for consideration are, how can the expenses of emigration be provided for? and what inducements can be offered to the persons who emigrate, so that it may be advantageous to them as well as to those who remain at home? The lessening the number of labourers at home, by emigration, would have the effect of raising their wages, improving their circumstances, and placing them in a condition to assist the emigrants. And as the improvement of the condition of those who remain at home arises from the departure of those who go abroad, wisdom and justice seem to dictate the formation of a plan by which the emigrant may also be benefited. This may be done by the formation of a sort of mutual assurance or benefit society, to which labourers generally should subscribe, and the fund so raised should be expended for the benefit of those who leave their native country to earn their livelihood in a far-distant land.

The great objection of the poor to emigrate is, that they have to go to a country to which they are entire strangers, without friends to receive them, or money to enable them to enter upon their new sphere of life with advantage. To give the emigrant spirit and heart at landing on a foreign shore, he ought to be secure of meeting with friends, and immediate employment on such terms as will compensate for the change he has made. This friendly provision should be made by those who stay at home, reaping the advantage of the emigration of others. And this might be done with ease, if a just and generous and confiding spirit could be disseminated amongst the labouring classes generally, so that every labourer would contribute regularly his weekly pence. This would raise a fund amply sufficient to fit out a numerous band of emigrants on a liberal scale, because the labouring classes can number their thousands and tens of thousands; and when it is considered that a thousand pence is above 41., and ten thousand pence is above 401., and that this might easily be multiplied to an immense extent, proportionate to the large number who form the labouring classes of this country, we need not fear

proportionate increase of wages. And when it is borne in mind how small a superabundance of labourers tends to lower the rate of wages, the number of emigrants required to raise the rate of wages will not be so great as might be imagined. Some such plan must be resorted to, if the labouring classes are to be raised to that respectable independence, which is so requisite for the promotion of the general welfare, prosperity, and happiness of the country.

The low rate of wages at which men, women, and children in this country are positively slaving to obtain scanty subsistence, and which enables the rich to live in an undue excess of luxury, is as prejudicial to them and to the country as the excess of poverty is to the labouring classes. The state of society which the prayer of Agur would uphold ought to be encouraged for the general good: "Give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with food convenient for me; lest I be full, and deny thee, and say, Who is the Lord? or lest I be poor, and steal, and take the name of my God in vain" (Prov. xxx. 8, 9). At present the rich enjoy more than their proper share of the produce of labour, and the labouring classes less. Religion, morality, charity, wisdom, and justice, demand that this state of things should be altered. The method pointed out in this letter has, it is hoped, some claim to attention, as being that by which it may be done fairly and peaceably. The two scales of society ought to be kept as equally balanced as possible-each in the state the good providence of God has appointed; for it is clear, it could never have been his intention, nor can it meet with his approval, that one class of society should be living in an undue excess of luxury, whilst many of the other class are almost destitute of the necessaries of life.

In conclusion, my dear friends, I exhort you not to despond; your present circumstances are most distressing, but they are not beyond relief. Fear God, and honour the queen, and you will yet do well. You have still many friends among the affluent, who, regarding this world's riches in the light they ought, are ready to distribute, willing to communicate for the supply of your necessities, if they only knew how they could effectually relieve you.

I look to the influence of true Christian charity for accomplishing all that has been proposed: it is that alone which will turn the heart of the rich to the poor, and the heart of the poor to the rich; relieve the distresses of our country, and unite all classes in the closest bonds of affection. It is the Spirit of Christ which will lead his followers to bring forth the first and most important fruit of the Spirit-love, or deeds of charity. "For ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that, though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, that ye through his "Bear ye poverty might be rich" (2 Cor. viii. 9).

one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ" (Gal. vi. 2). "Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others" (Phil. ii. 4).

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