-the only one left by the woodman's axe on an aged elm before my window-broken from the trunk, and hanging suspended by a merely external connexion, which could convey no nourishment to it. During the day, I watched, with regretful looks, the evident fading of those leaves that had formed so graceful a screen to the window of my study: while, tossing more wildly in every fresh gust of wind, the broken branch seemed hastening to its final fall. -professing to rely on the stock that he seems to spring from; clinging to him rather than to that stock; and, by the weight of their worthless fellowship, hastening the fall that may prove as fatal to themselves. I marked how the grasp of those climbers continually tore down the leaves, which lay heaped beneath, until a very rude, short gust of wind swept them off in a moment, amid clouds of dust. Here was the positive reality of the prophet's touching image, "We all do fade as a leaf; and our iniquities, like the wind, have carried us away." Towards evening, a party of idle boys congregated on the open space; and, after trying various pastimes, took it into their heads to I turned from the window at length, overenjoy a swing, as they said, on, or rather with, powered by the thought-how awful is the the drooping branch. By turns they seized responsibility of a branch, a recognised memit, springing from the ground, or climbing by ber of the visible Church! Either it is good, the trunk; and, struggling as high as they pleasant, profitable, doing honour to the stem could, they set the bough in motion by their that bears it; or a blemish, a disgrace to that weight, waving to and fro, in desperate glee, stem, and to those who behold it a snare. at such a distance from the ground, that had And oh, how mysterious is the union, which, the slender strip of rind given way, the con- abiding, gives life, strength, beauty, and fersequences must have been dreadful. Em-tility; but which may be destroyed without boldened by impunity, each foolish lad endeavoured to surpass his predecessor in this wanton exposure of life and limb; until, alarmed at the scene, I privately sent to a person sufficiently authorised, who, placing a ladder against the trunk, mounted, and with one blow of an axe rendered the separation complete. The withering branch, thus cut off, fell, and was borne away to be cast into the fire and burned. Perhaps few seasons are more friendly to solemn thought than the closing eve of a summer's day, clouded over and ruffled by the stormy wind. Here was a text, that would require very little skill to spin it out to a long discourse: a similitude clear to the dullest apprehension, and fraught with humbling considerations. Likening my elm to "the True Vine," how could I fail to follow up the comparison? A fair professor, with much to invite the good opinion of men, unable to withstand the trial of trouble and persecution arising because of the word, and virtually broken off through unbelief; yet maintaining that outward hold, which includes no spiritual participation in the root and fatness of the tree; hanging on, with weak though vaunting tenacity, and pointing downward, while every living branch bears its head toward the sky; the very abundance of his leafy professions only rendering more conspicuous his progress towards utter corruption, and holding out a perilous temptation to thoughtless souls. They, perhaps, not stopping to investigate the reality of his union with the tree, and delighted to find him tending to their own earthly region, from which his fellows labour more and more to rise, catch at him as a sort of connecting link immediately breaking the outward tie. May not such a branch, under the power of selfdeception, conceive that still it lives, though palpably withering in its place? It is an impressive call for deep searching of heart, when, for aught we know, the axe may be sharpening that is to lay us in the dust. As these ideas occupied me, I happened to glance on a favourite greenhouse plant, the principal part of which had once, by a fall, been apparently broken as hopelessly as the elmbough; but my anxiety to save it had prompted so many expedients, that, by dint of propping, binding, and other careful helps, the injury was repaired, and my plant stood as vigorously blooming as ever. Sweet lesson! I mentally said; may it be mine to become a healer wherever I see a weak branch in danger of separating from the tree. Many a wounded spirit is utterly broken by the injudicious harshness, or unbelieving hopelessness, of those who might bind it up, if they would heartily set themselves to the work. Surely this, one of the blessed offices of the Saviour, well becomes his followers. To crush a weak brother is an easy, and, to our corrupt nature, congenial task; but to raise the falling, to support the wavering, to dress the wound, and, by dressing, to hide it from unfeeling eyes-this is an acting of the new nature, which God the Spirit alone can create and sustain. Biography. FENELON, ARCHBISHOP OF CAMBRAY. FRANCIS DE LA SALIGNAC DE LA MOTTE FENELON, archbishop and duke of Cambray, was born at the castle of Fenelon, in the province of Perigord, August 6, 1651. He was of an illustrious family. His father was Pons de Salignac, marquis of Fenelon, and his mother Louisa de la Cropte, sister of the Marquis de St. Abre. He was educated at home until the age of twelve, when he was sent to the university of Cahors. But it was under the care of his uncle, Anthony, marquis of Fenelon, a man of the noblest genius and highest character, who took Francis into his own house at Paris, that he made such rapid advancement in his studies, publicly preaching at Paris, and with the greatest effect, when only nineteen. By the persuasion of his uncle, however, who exhorted him for some years to imitate the silence of Jesus Christ, he retired from his public ministry, and devoted himself to the acquisition of more extensive knowledge. soon afterwards the archbishopric of Cambray. When this latter dignity was offered him, Fenelon refused to accept of it, from the most conscientious motives. He felt that it was utterly incompatible with his office as preceptor of the princes; and it was not but at the king's command, and by an arrangement that allowed him to remain at Cambray nine months in the year, that he accepted the archbishopric, and resigned the abbey of St. Vallery. This disinterested conduct on the part of Fenelon, - for he might have retained all his preferments,and singular perhaps as it was disinterested, while it raised him higher if possible in the estimation of his friends, was unquestionably one chief source of the rancorous hostility so soon testified towards him. This conduct was a strong rebuke to those who were grasp they could grasp. It condemned the courtly flatterers, who left no stone unturned to promote their own advancement, or the advancement of their friends. "You are going to ruin us!" said the archbishop of Rheims, when he heard of the determination; an exclamation which throws no small light on the grounds of the hostility to Fenelon, who, consequently, very speedily became the object of aversion to those who were incapable of testifying the same generosity of spirit. Bossuet, bishop of Meaux, was not the least rancorous. This prelate, unquestionably a man of great talent and acquirements, was anxious to obtain the situation of chief almoner to the duchess of Burgundy; but fearing, from the circumstance of Fenelon's having been preceptor to her husband, the appointment would be conferred upon him, Bossuet and his friends brought the charge of heresy against the archbishop, and tried every effort, and not without effect, to bring him into suspicion both with the court and the people at large. At the age of twenty-four he was fully admitted into orders, and obtained preferments from the archbishoping at every thing, and tenaciously keeping all that of Paris, being appointed superior of a community of women, who had lately embraced the Roman Catholic faith. Soon after, he was appointed by Louis XIV. chief of the missionaries who were sent along the coast of Saintonge, and the Pays d'Aunis, for the purpose of bringing the Protestants into subjection to the papal see. For this object military force had been hitherto employed, and the most revolting barbarities practised on those who were branded as heretics; barbaritics which have, in too many instances, stained the annals of the Romish Church, and testify how little she is inspired with the tender compassion of the holy Jees. This persecution of those who had embraced the Protestant faith-the progress of which was marked by the revocation of the famous edict of Nantes, which had been promulgated in 1598 by Henry IV., whereby the free exercise of their religion was secured to the French Protestants, and which was understood to be perpetual-throws the greatest disgrace on the reign | of Louis XIV. The cruelties to which the Protestants were exposed, both before and after the revocation, for they were hunted like wild beasts upon the mounteins, and many of them were put to death,) are sad evidences of the fury of his misguided zeal. The gentle spirit of Fenelon, however, revolted at the thought of seeking to bring men to the confession of supposed truth by the sword and the faggot. He resolutely refused the appointment, until he received the express assurance that no military force whatever should be employed; an assurance which was not granted without considerable hesitation. This mission being finished, Fenelon returned to Paris; but though presented to the king, he neither courted preferment, nor sought to ingratiate himself farther in the royal favour. His time was wholly occupied in the duties of his profession and it was the singular zeal and ability that he testified, not only in his discourses, but in his writings,-for at this time he published "The Functions of the Pastors of the Church," which led to his appointment of preceptor to the young dukes of Burgundy and Anjou, on the recommendation of their governor, the Duke of Beauvilliers. He entered upon this office in 1689; the duties of which he sedulously performed for six years. During this period, he was elected member of the French Academy, with the highest expressions of re#pect; and in 1695, the king gave him the abbey of St. Vallery, resigned in his favour by his uncle, and At this period, Madame de la Mothe Guion, the founder, or rather reviver of the mystics, began to excite no ordinary attention.* It is evident, from ecclesiastical history, that the mystics existed so early as in the third and fourth centuries, and that the habits of profound contemplation and retirement from the world, in which they indulged, led to the monastic seclusion, of which St. Anthony was the most eminent example. The pretended Dionysius the Areopagite is, however, generally considered to be the founder of this sect, in the fourth century. Macarius and Hilarion are also included among its supporters. Thomas à Kempis, in the fifteenth century, adopted a kind of purified mysticism. Michael de Molinos, a Spanish priest, though resident at Rome, still further extended these views The eventful circumstances in the life of Madame Guion cannot fail to be peculiarly interesting to the Christian. On account of the avowal of her opinions, she was sent to the castle of Vincennes, as if she had been a prisoner of state. There she employed her lonely hours, for the space of ten years, in pouring out the effusions of her heart in hymns expressive of her love to God and of the fervour of her devotion; and after her long imprisonment, she lived a retired life for more than seven years at Blois, where she died, June 9, 1717, in the seventieth year of her age. Some of her poems were translated by Cowper, specimens of which are contained in this Number. The reader will find a most interesting account of this lady, and of the doctrines of the mystics, in the eighth volume of "Grimshawe's Life of Cowper." by publishing, in 1681, the "Spiritual Guide," which caused great alarm to the doctors of the Church. Molinos was in consequence cast into prison, where he died at an advanced age, in 1696. At length Madame Guion embodied these views in their present form, which is known in France under the name of Quietism, from the calm repose and indifference to external objects which is characteristic of these principles. The mystics professed to elevate the soul above all sensible and terrestrial objects, and to unite it to the Deity in an ineffable manner; to inculcate a pure and absolutely disinterested love of God for his own sake, and on account of his admirable perfections; to maintain a close and intimate communion with him, by mortifying all the senses, by a profound submission to his will, even under the consciousness of perdition, and by an internal sanctity of heart, strengthened by a holy and sublime contemplation. Numerous proselytes embraced the views of Madame Guion, which Fenelon was supposed to favour. He had heard her, with the utmost admiration, descant on the pure and disinterested love of God, at the Hôtel de Beauvilliers. On the publication of his book, entitled "An Explanation of the Maxims of the Saints concerning the Interior Life," he was solemnly charged with heresy. Opposition beset him from every quarter. The people were exasperated against him. His name was vilified in the writings of the bishop of Meaux, who obviously acted more from his own ambitious views, than from any sincere love of truth. Every means were attempted to promote Fenelon's ruin; and at length, through the continued misrepresentation of his enemies, he was banished from the court into his own diocese; more, it is believed, on account of his political than religious views. Into the latter the king probably did not very diligently inquire; but the former certainly were not very likely to be regarded with favour. Telemachus, his great work, was not indeed then published, but its spirit had been inculcated into his pupils. A brief, after a lapse of time, which shewed the pope's feeling on the subject, was obtained for condemning his book, which was declared to be unsound in general, and to contain twenty-three most heretical positions. He ascended the pulpit at Cambray with the decree in one hand, and the Maxims in the other, and read aloud his own condemnation, amid the tears and admiration of his congregation. "This step," says Mosheim, "was differently interpreted by different persons, according to their notions of this great man, or their respective ways of thinking. Some considered it as an instance of true magnanimity, as the mark of a meek and gentle spirit, that preferred the peace of the Church to every private view of interest or glory. Others, less charitable, looked upon this submissive conduct as ignoble and pusillanimous, as denoting manifestly a want of integrity, inasmuch as it supposed, that the prelate in question condemned with his lips what in his heart he believed to be true. One thing indeed seems generally agreed on, and that is, that Fenelon persisted to the end of his days in the sentiments which, in obedience to the order of the pope, he retracted and condemned in a public manner." The book had been brought before the consultators of the Inquisition to be examined. The examiners, ten in number, were not all of the same opinion. Five were for censuring it, and five maintained that it contained sound doctrine. A famous doctor of the Sorbonne, and a great friend of the bishop of Meaux, declared, when he read it in manuscript before publication, that it was all gold. The archbishop of Chietti, one of the examiners, openly declared, that they must either burn all the books of St. Francis de Sales, or admit that of the archbishop of Cambray. And a Roman Catholic writer of his life remarks, that he had advanced nothing but upon the credit of the most approved mystical theologists; yet his enemies would not let him and the others take their fate together (though he was much more moderate than they were), but resolved that his doctrine should stand good in those authors' writings, though it must be condemned in his. Fenelon now constantly resided at Cambray. His time was actively employed in superintending the affairs of his diocese, and performing the duties of his situation with the utmost assiduity. He paid the greatest attention to those who were to be admitted into holy orders, and constantly preached in the various churches. His sermons were warm, powerful, and energetic, and made a deep, and in many instances a lasting impression upon his hearers. He was of a remarkably forgiving disposition. He prayed constantly for those whose envy and ambition had removed him from public life. He testified the power of the Gospel in its sanctifying, enlightening, and saving efficacy. A member of a corrupt Church, he had not imbibed her prejudices. His spirit was far different from her spirit of persecution. His views, indeed, were not those of the Protestant Churches of the Reformation; but he is supposed to have had an increasing bias to embrace those views. He always treated the Protestant pastors with the greatest kindness. His heart seemed to overflow with affection for the whole race of man; and long was his memory cherished with affection by those among whom he laboured. At the very commencement of 1715 he was seized with a dangerous illness. He lingered for a few days, and expired on the 8th of January. After his death his religious works were collected and published at Rotterdam in two volumes folio. Among these, not the least important is the "Demonstration of the Being of God, grounded on the knowledge of nature, and suited to the meanest capa. city," and which is generally allowed to be one of the best-written books on the subject in the French language. It was published by himself in 1713. In early youth he composed "Dialogues upon Eloquence in general, and particularly that of the Pulpit," a useful work, but which was not printed until after his death; for he was extremely unwilling to bring his works under the notice of the public. His "Fables" and "Dialogues of the Dead," written for the improvement of his royal pupils, testify his qualifications for being the preceptor of a prince. The life of Fenelon was written by the Chevalier Ramsay, a native of Ayr in Scotland, who, after embracing in succession the tenets of the various sects of Protestants, at length wholly renounced his belief in Christianity as a revelation from God, although, according to his own statement, "he could not shake off his respect for the Christian religion, the morality of which is so sublime." In this state he was intro duced to the archbishop of Cambray, who received him with that fatherly affection which immediately gains the heart. He had studied for some time at Leyden, where he had imbibed, to a certain extent, mystical views. For the space of six months, religion was the subject of earnest inquiry and the most minute investigation; and at length, by the instrumentality of Fenelon, the chevalier was brought to embrace the truth of the Gospel as a revelation from God. From this period a warm friendship existed between them; and the Life of the Archbishop" is a lively and grateful tribute to the memory of one to whom the chevalier was, under Divine grace, indebted for opening his eyes to the folly and the guilt of those who will not receive Jesus of Nazareth as the Son of the Highest, God over all, blessed for evermore. CHRIST SIGHING OVER MEN'S OBDURACY OF HEART: A Sermon, BY THE REV. RICHARD HARVEY, M.A. Rector of St. Mary's, Hornsey. ST. MARK, vii. 34. And looking up to heaven, he sighed, and saith unto him, Ephphatha, that is, be opened." THE prophet Isaiah foretold of the Saviour of the world, that he should be "a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief." He predicted this in reference, not so much to the bodily sufferings, which might be his portion, as to the mental agony, which he would have to endure in making atonement for sin, and contemplating the guilt of those who rejected him. As submitting, therefore, to stripes for the healing of the nations, and at the same time knowing, that of the "many" who "are called," ""few are chosen," we are authorised confidently to inquire, was there "ever sorrow like unto his sorrow?" The apostle Paul, however, speaks of him as "for the joy that was set before him enduring the cross, despising the shame." The sorrow, therefore, which he experienced from surveying a world at enmity with God, and the larger portion of mankind obstinately bent on continuing so, may be regarded as more than countervailed by the delight which he felt at bringing them nigh, who were before afar off; and reconciling aliens to their of fended Father. His soul was troubled at men's guilt and hard-heartedness: but when, as Isaiah also described him, he should "see of the travail of his soul," he would "be satisfied;" because he would see the handwriting against his people blotted out and nailed to his cross. As respected the sins of men, and the means employed to atone for them, our Saviour must be regarded as a mourner, and one who was "touched with a feeling of our infirmities:" while, with regard to the salvation of sinners, and the effects, which would result to men, from his death and sufferings, he must be considered as "rejoicing in spirit," and cheered with the prospect of their future happiness. scribed as healing a deaf and dumb person; On the present occasion our Lord is deand in working this extraordinary cure, we are told that, looking up to heaven, in prayer to his Father, and in thankfulness that he was heard, "he sighed, and saith unto him, Ephphatha, that is, be opened." Let us consider the circumstances of the miracle itself. Our Saviour had lately been induced by her faith and importunity to cast out an unclean spirit from the daughter of a Grecian woman. He did this on his entrance into the coasts of Tyre and Sidon: but he was ever going about doing good, and his fame was such, that, at his departure, an opportunity was again afforded him of shewing his mercy and loving-kindness. Jesus, departing from the coasts of Tyre and Sidon, came unto the sea of Galilee, through the midst of the coasts of Decapolis. And they bring unto him one that was deaf, and had an impediment in his speech; and they beseech him to put his hand upon him." On former occasions he had spoken the word with Divine authority, and at his bidding "the blind received their sight, the lame walked, the lepers were cleansed:" in this instance he was pleased to change his method of proceeding. His power had been questioned by many: it had been alleged that he performed his miracles by the aid of Satan, and he probably was anxious to convince all that the virtue was in himself. He did not, therefore, heal the applicant at once, but took the deaf man aside from the multitude, and put his fingers into his ears, and spit, and touched his tongue." These means could not assist the cure they alone could not effect any thing to restore speech to the dumb, and hearing to the deaf. They were but signs of the exertion of that power which Christ possessed in himself; and, as such, might tend to awaken the poor man's faith, and encourage those who brought him. And to shew that he acted by a Divine power, in union with the Father, and had compassion for the man's affliction, and felt for the calamities to which we are exposed by sin, "looking up to heaven, he sighed, and saith unto him, Ephphatha, that is, be opened." To the great astonishment of the people, an immediate cure ensued. The words of the prophet were fulfilled (Is. xxxv. 5): "The eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the 66 deaf shall be unstopped." 66 Straightway his ears were opened, and the string of his tongue was loosed, and he spake plain." Our Lord, as his custom was, commanded the bystanders not to publish to others what had been done. He did not wish to excite the envy of the Pharisees, or to raise a tumult among the people; least of all did he desire to obtain praise and applause from men. But the more he strove to conceal the wonderful work which he had done, the more did they take occasion to speak of it. "He charged them that they should tell no man: but the more he charged them, so much the more a great deal they published it, and were beyond measure astonished, saying, He hath done all things well: he maketh both the deaf to hear, and the dumb to speak." Such are the circumstances of this miracle, and such the effect produced at the time upon those who witnessed its performance. Assuredly it was a work of mercy upon the man, who was thus graciously healed; and it was designed to be a blessing in a spiritual sense not only to him, but to those who beheld it, and to us who read of it. And yet we are told, that although it was a labour of love, Christ sighed when he performed it. He groaned in the spirit, and was troubled; yea, he wept at the raising of his beloved Lazarus. He shed tears over Jerusalem, which was dear to him, as the apple of his eye. Alas! he knew too well that many would remain faithless and unconverted, even though "one rose from the dead." He saw that the city, where God had hitherto chosen to place his name, would be left desolate, and not see the things that belong to her peace before they were hidden from her eyes for ever. Well, therefore, might his spirit be heavy, and his heart sad, when he contemplated the misery of the poor sufferer before him, the calamities to which men are exposed by sin, and the spiritual deafness of most of his hearers. Well might he sigh, when the opening of the deaf ear recalled to his mind the number of those who had ears, but would not hear, who closed their eyes that they might not see, and hardened their hearts that they might not be converted, who, in short, would "not come unto him, that they might have life." "Looking up Looking up to heaven, he sighed, and saith to the man, Ephphatha, that is, be opened." I know not, men and brethren, how I can lead you to a more profitable consideration of this passage, or impress upon you more fully the reasons which led our Saviour to sigh in the midst of the good work, which he was performing, than by asking you to bethink yourselves what the Redeemer would now feel, if he were to look down upon us from the throne of his glory. Imagine him casting his eyes upon the members of this congregation, for whom he gave his life, and saying to our hearts, "Ephphatha, be opened." Would he not have reason to sigh with respect to the manner in which many would respond to his appeal? A few among us, perhaps, who had hitherto been deaf to all his entreaties, who had paid no heed to his loud remonstrances, and had not been moved by the gentler accents of his love-a few might answer with Samuel, " Speak, Lord, for thy servants hear." A few might be persuaded to be in earnest-might be awakened to better things-might be roused to a sense of the all-importance of religion-might be led to see that they ought to act in accordance with their prayers, and that more is meant by "seeking first the kingdom of God and his righteousness," than an attention to outward propriety, and an observance of our external duties. But when Christ says to the hearts of all, "be opened"-when he addresses each and all of us, "look unto me, and be saved"-when he calls upon every one of us, "take up your cross, and follow me"-and when he speaks thus, not to heathens, who never heard of him-not to Israelites, who profess to reject him-but to Christians, to members of his Church, and of his familyto baptised followers, outwardly in covenant with him-his professed soldiers and servants,-may he not well sigh that so many should turn a deaf ear to his entreaties and remonstrances? Can it fail to occur to him that when he came to bring back all who were wandering, to rescue all who were perishing, to save lost sinners, the flock was comparatively small, who would own him for their shepherd, and accept his great salvation? Must not the joy, which was set before him in the great work which he was accomplishing, have been sensibly damped by the assurance that the Gospel, which was "the savour of life unto life" to them that believe, would be made "the savour of death unto death" by them that perish? Oh! can we wonder that Christ should sigh, when he opened the ears of the deaf man, and knew that so many ears, which were open to all that was bad, would be deaf only to him? Can we feel surprise at his groaning in spirit at the raising of Lazarus, when he saw that many would be exasperated against the worker, instead of convinced by the work? Is it astonishing that he should weep over his beloved Jerusalem, when he found the inhabitants shutting their eyes, that they might not see the things which belonged to their peace? What could we have expected, but that the Saviour would be a man of sor |