from which had gone forth the command to number Israel. On it sat the monarch-a few years before but a simple shepherd youth-taken by Divine favor to be the ruler over a nation of millions, and made to sit pre-eminent among the kings of the earth. Led on and shielded by the Most High, he had made victory his handmaid, and the princes of the East paid homage at his footstool. Peace and a rich prosperity had succeeded the turmoils of war and anarchy, and were shedding their kindliest influences on the land of Palestine. In this palmy period, when the glad song of humble and grateful adoration should have gone up from the prince and his subjects -when the Hand that had guided, and the Arm which had sustained them should have been recognised-when the glory should have been ascribed to the Author of mercies so great and of blessings so abundant-then it was that a fatal ambition invaded the breast of David. Tempter led on his thoughts.

And perhaps thus the

"True, I was a shepherd's boy. How little then did I think of what the future would bring! While I sat on the banks of gliding streams, and answered their murmurs from a shepherd's lute-while I made my first rude attempts at harmonic numbers, and listened to the echo of my music from overhanging cliffs did I then, even in dreamy reveries, fancy that bands of chosen singers, with instruments bedecked with gold and gems, would attend my pleasure?-that a thousand trained musicians would tax their skill to minister to my gratification? Yet a wave of my hand brings these around me, awakens to life every string, and makes the air vocal with harmony; and but a nod again hushes all these to stillness. I watched my roving flocks, and in the loss of a single lamb I felt a pain for their diminished number. The grass was my bed, a rock my pillow, the heavens my canopy, or at most a rude tent or cave my kindest protection, when cold or storm drove me to shelter. Now flocks and herds, gold and precious stones, are mine, and the wealth of a nation is at my bidding. Who now can count my treasure? Who now is my compeer in palaces, and chariots, and regal splendor? In war what army has stood

before me? What captain baffled my skill? Where is the power that has withstood the onset of my warriors? Where the prince that has matched me in wisdom of plans and success of execution? And to all this have I attained without the aid of birth, of wealth, or of the powerful. I found Israel the scorn, and have made her the terror of her enemies -down-trodden, and have lifted her up-in anarchy, and have given her law and order. Under my government she is filling up all her borders, making good the prophecy, that in numbers she should be as the sands of the sea. And all these are my subjects. Would that I could estimate them, and tell their thousands, and could say to envious kings, what power of armed warriors are at my bidding! It shall be--I must know my greatness-Israel must be numbered."

Unhappy king! The Tempter has triumphed. The command has gone forth to Joab; but from a higher throne a command has also gone forth. The Angel of Death has been commissioned to follow the numberer of Israel, and to thin these ranks of which royalty hoped to boast. Dreadful have been his footsteps. And now he has come to the sacred city. Hasten, erring king; if thus for thy sin the blow has fallen on thy distant provinces, who shall stand before the avenging sword in Jerusalem, where thy throne has reared itself in proud ambition? What avail now thy lofty walls and armed defenders? Hasten, hasten, king, for great is the sin that has entered thy boastful heart. It may be there will yet be mercy; if not, thine is the sin; present thine own breast to the shaft. Canst thou abide the deep curses of the widow,

of the orphan, and the childless bereft for thy sin."

That proud heart has melted. The meekness of the shepherd youth has again possessed that breast. Fast fall the tears of repentance. Deep, deep are the harrowings of remorse, and deeper yet the anguish for a sin bringing calamities so fearful on those, whom, in his humbled pride, he again feels to be his fellows. Prostrate in body and in spirit, he casts himself on ONE who, dreadful in wrath, is yet tender in mercy. Forgive-pardon, O pardon my sin; or if past for

แ

giveness, on me and my household be thy wrath; for in me is the guilt, and let not the sword drink the blood of others for my offence."

Mercy took the sceptre-the sword returned to his scabbard —a propitiating sacrifice and an offering of deep-felt gratitude blazed on the altar, by the threshing floor of Ornan. The sweet singer of Israel, humbled and subdued in heart; the multitudes of Jerusalem, snatched from the jaws of the devourer, sent up with pious gratitude their hymns of praise. Joy sat on every countenance-neighbors greeted each other in the gladness of their hearts-mothers with streaming eyes pressed their infants to their bosoms-husbands, fathers, brothers, embraced in living health the partners, children, and sisters over whom the red sword of the destroyer was but just now fearfully gleaming; and one united paean of praise went up from the walls of Jerusalem to the God of Israel.

Editorial.

CLAIMS OF RELIGION ON THE YOUNG.

THE idea which many, and especially the young, have of religion, is that it is a system of gloomy and cheerless demands and observances, at variance with their hopes and prospects. Life, the close woven chain of friendship and affection, is too dear in their estimation, to have its brightness dimmed, and its texture broken, by the abstractions of faith, and the grasp of its stern obligations and discipline. The serious mood and the contrition of heart required, belong, as they feel, rather to the autumn of their years; when life has lost its charms, and trifles are become burdens, and the soul is almost impatient to quit its earthly tabernacle and be gone. They wish no such darkened cloud to overhang their smiling way. To be happyto enjoy each fleeting hour as it comes and goes-this is the end and object for which they live. Hence their ready re

sponse to every call that invites them to the choice of religion, "Not now, but hereafter."

It is true, doubtless, that the inference thus drawn and acted on, which so belies heavenly wisdom, is often the result of too faithful an observation of the conduct of many who profess to belong to Christ. They live more as if driven to duty, than as if drawn and sweetly corresponding in the heart to the service which they acknowledge to be necessary. Their purposes of elevated consecration to God are faint and few; and they seem as if the claims of a Master, rather than the love of a Father, were urging them to any act of homage. With many a wishful look and almost aching heart, they throw back their gaze to the merry companions they have left, and the pleasures in which they once shared; and soon perhaps they may be seen retracing their steps, to pluck again some of the flowers that hang out their poisonous sweets, to tempt the longing thought and errant hand. Conscience is not wholly at ease; they dare not be bold in sin, as they might once have been; and yet, with such hopes as their own, they are not satisfied. Thus gloom and sadness may gather on the brow, and the countenance become too certain an index of the disquiet of the mind and heart within. Their testimony, when seen and read, will be, that they have not found peace and happiness in the trial they have made of religion. If for others it has worn its charms and breathed forth its blessings, to them no smile has clad its features; its look has been to frown on their desires, and to forbid their hopes. It seems but the stern aspect of the Mosaic economy, rather than the milder loveliness of the economy of grace by Jesus Christ, that they have found. The joys in promise recede further and further, the longer they press forward; and it but remains, that they sit down to mourn over the sacrifices they have made, or turn their backs on visions so delusive, and plunge anew into the world and its oft regretted scenes of gayety and mirth. Such, alas! is the experience of too many, from whom the youthful borrow the dark shading which they throw over a religious life, as it asks their acceptance. To those to whom to forsake the way of the natu

ral heart is itself distasteful, a testimony like this is enough; and gladly they avail themselves of its voice to confirm their own opinions-adverse as these are to the truth of God-that the ways of religion are not pleasantness, nor her paths peace.

Theirs is a mistaken view; the judgment they have formed is an unfair one. Religion has had no just trial. The impleadings against her have falsified her character; it is false testimony on which they rest; and these, so injurious, have wrought her condemnation. The verdict is an unrighteous one. Her appeal is to the tribunal of the candid, to those who have been willing, to allow her true character and relations to be exhibited and felt. There is an antecedent probability that religion should be a source of happiness, and not of gloom and sadness, to the young. It has God for its author; a being of infinite benevolence; well acquainted with all that passes in that heart just bounding forth in all its buoyancy of admiration of nature, life, and the thousand thousand hues which give a coloring to the scenes we are passing, and are to pass on earth. He has nicely strung the whole frame, and in that harp of wondrous mystery, has placed a chord of feeling which may vibrate to every touch that hope or fear, joy or sorrow, love or friendship can give. In every such adaptation, religion is full; promises she has to beckon on and to cheer; warnings she urges to keep us from sin; consolations are hers to pour upon the stricken, wounded heart; and voices of love, and scenes of coming blessedness, to attemper our earthly affections, and win them to a purer and holier state. There is nothing, on the other hand, which might be supposed to produce gloom; to take away the brightness of youth's best aspirations. The favor of an unforgetting and blessing God has no gloom in it; the still small voice of the Spirit, as it comes to the heart, and whispers of the love that passes knowledge, and tells us it is ours, is not a voice of gloom; the opening portal of Heaven at the end of our pilgrimage, and the welcome of our Father, our Redeemer, what is there in these that speak of gloom? what to sadden the youthful, confiding heart? But then there is self-denial. Ah, how