brother," has bamboozled the churchwarden, and not paid for conscience' sake what he knows he is bound to pay in all honesty and with all cheerfulness, and which he would pay if he had any conscience at all these, and such as these, form pleasant topics for smart repartee and jocular hilarity. Abuse of the establishment covers the frailties of many an erring brother or sister, and is the bond which binds together elements as much at variance as the winds. their reckless indifference to the feelings of mourners, reckless as to their own decency of conduct, and perfectly callous as to any seriousness which might be produced by, in large parishes, at least, constantly coming in contact with the dead. I freely admit that the very frequency of this contact has a direct tendency to remove much of that feeling which may have been experienced on first entering upon the office. I have heard many of my clerical brethren state that, on first taking orders, a funeral always made a most Little indeed can avail, if the pulpit give an solemn impression upon them, which lasted for uncertain sound, if the ministrations be not some time, arising, in the case of a parishioner, as to zealous merely, but scriptural, sound, edifying, whether he had done as much as he could for that awakening, soul-saving. Still, surely the very parishioner's spiritual and eternal welfare; but appearance of evil is to be avoided, and will be that this almost entirely wore off when their avoided by all who wish prosperity to our Zion, sphere of labour was in a dense population. It in a day when its utter desolation is the earnest doubtless may be so with the sexton. But surely desire of thousands who, from interested motives there is an outward decency and gravity required and dread of worldly loss, dare not join the claat the interment of the remains of a fellow-crea-mour of those whose cry is, "Down with it; ture, however humble he may have been. If I have down with it, even to the ground." witnessed with regret the change of the "amen" in the clerk according to external circumstances, I have had other feelings arise in witnessing the conduct of a sexton. I have seen the coffin lowered into the vault, when taken from the plumed hearse, with becoming gravity and hypocritical solemnity; and the pauper's corpse huddled into the shapeless hole by the same functionary within a marvellously short period. I have witnessed the well-dissembled gravity and solemn air and external sorrow give way to the jocund laugh of jolly dissipation. Surely there must be some remedy for this. There is, to my mind, a peculiar sacredness connected with buildings set apart from worldly purposes for the solemn service of God; and, doubtless, the nonconformist may ask, "What can there be sacred in stone and mortar?" My feeling may be superstitious, and probably by many would be regarded as silly; yet, I cannot bear to see men strut into church with their hats on, even should there be no service; and I have not quite made up my mind as to the propriety of the communion-table being turned into a writingstand for a vestry-clerk to note down the squabbles of a tumultuous mob, which I have witnessed in our own churches. Now, I think I am totally free from the most remote tendency to the maintenance or the introduction of anything into our churches in the most remote degree savouring of papistical heresy; still, I do think the above remarks, brief and imperfect as they may be, are worthy of the serious consideration of the churchwardens, to whom in an especial manner belongs the responsibility of seeing that everything connected with our churches should be conducted with decency and order. It is of vast importance that everything should be removed calculated in the slightest way to injure the established church. There are enemies ready enough to spy out the mote, while they cannot discover the beam. In many a non-conforming coterie no subject is more rife for comment and ridicule than the parish-church. The consecration of a church, the rite of confirmation, the visitation dinner at the inn, the examination of a national school, the obstinate resistance to poor-rates, the means whereby some "friend or We have quite made up ours: it is a most unseemly practice which ought never to have been tolerated.-ED. RELIGION IN OTHER LANDS. No. X. HOWEVER much travellers who have visited Mexico may differ, there are two points on which they seem all nearly to agree-the loose character of the priesthood, and the gorgeous though worse than puerile ceremonies connected with their religious creed. This may be fully illustrated by the following remarks of persons who had ample opportunities of forming a correct opinion, and who have no sinister motive whatever for misrepresentation or over statement. On the loose character of the clergy, adverted to in a former paper, it would be as improper as indelicate to particularize; but the following is a specimen of the frauds which they unblushingly practice: "It is related that Hidalgo, the celebrated priestly leader of the revolutionary movement, was accustomed to travel from village to village, preaching a crusade against the Spaniards, and exciting the creoles and Indians; and one of his most effective tricks was said to have been the following:-Although he had thrown off the cassock for the military cloak, he wore a figure of the virgin Mary, suspended by a chain around his neck. After haranguing the mob on such occasions, he would suddenly break off, and, looking down at his breast, address himself to the holy image after the following fashion :- Mary! mother of God! holy virgin! patron of Mexico! behold our country-behold our wrongs-behold our sufferings! Dost thou not wish they should be changed? that we should be delivered from our tyrants? that we should be free? that we should slay the Gauchupines? that we should kill the Spaniards?' The image had a moveable head fastened to a spring, which he jerked by a cord concealed beneath his coat, and, of course, the virgin responded with a nod! The effect was immense, and the air was filled with Indian shouts of obedience to the present miracle" (Mayers). Not but what thousands of frauds have been habitually, and now are, practised by the Romish priesthood in different countries, for the purpose of exercising an unhallowed influence over the people. How far that influence has obtained in misery in a ball dress. In the adjoining room long tables were laid out, on which servants were placing refreshments for the fête about to be given on this joyous occasion. I was welcomed with true Mexican hospitality, repeatedly thanked for my kindness in coming to see the nun, and hospitably pressed to join the family feast. I only got off upon a promise of returning at half-past five, to accompany them to the ceremony; which, in fact, I greatly preferred to going there alone. "I arrived at the hour appointed; and, being led up stairs by the senator don found the morning party, with many additions, lingering over the dessert. There was some gaiety, but evidently forced. It reminded me of a marriagefeast previous to the departure of the bride, who is about to be separated from her family for the first time. Yet how different in fact this banquet, where the mother and daughter met together for the last time on earth! At stated periods, indeed, the mother may hear her daughter's voice speaking to her as from the depths of the tomb; but she may never more fold her in her arms-never more share in her joys or in her sorrows, or nurse her in sickness; and, when her last hour arrives, though but a few streets divide them, she may not give her dying blessing to the child who has been for so many years the pride of her eye and her heart. The religious ceremonies are peculiarly gorgeous, but sufficiently puerile; calculated to captivate the silly, the worldly, and the lovers of pleasure; to give rise to and to nurture a spirit of reckless infidelity; to cause much subject matter for serious consideration and for fervent prayer to every pious mind. There is something, indeed, painfully humiliating in beholding the effect of Romish pageantry, even in civilized countriesmore so than witnessing the rude ceremonials of the untutored savage; and it is a feeling generally blended with less of pity and more of provocation; which, however, is to be watchfully guarded against and resolutely repressed. Every cere- "I have seen no country where families are so mony in Mexico partakes of the ridiculous: ge-knit together as in Mexico, where the affections nerally splendid, it is made so for a purpose-to are so concentrated, or where such devoted respect gratify the carnal heart. Even burial loses its and obedience are shown by the married sons and solemnity. Scarcely a day that does not bring daughters to their parents. In that respect they its accustomed commemoration. always remain as little children. I know many families, of which the married branches continue to live in their father's house, forming a sort of small colony, and living in the most perfect harmony. They cannot bear the idea of being separated, and nothing but dire necessity ever forces them to leave their fatherland. To all the accounts which travellers give them of the pleasures to be met with in European capitals, they turn a deaf ear. Their families are in Mexico-their parents, and sisters, and relatives-and there is no happiness for them elsewhere. The greater, therefore, is the sacrifice which those parents make, who, from religious motives, devote their daughters to a conventual life. The following is one of two accounts, now lying before the writer, of the ceremony of taking the veil. The circumstances in both were not precisely similar, but one account may suffice : "Having gone out in the carriage to pay some visits, I suddenly recollected that it was the very morning of the day in which a young girl was to take the veil, and also that it was necessary to inquire where I was to be placed; for, as to entering the church with the crowd on these occasions, it is out of the question, particularly when, the girl being, as in the present case, of distinguished family, the ceremony is expected to be peculiarly magnificent. I accordingly called at the house, was shown up stairs, and, to my horror, found myself in the midst of a goodlie companie,' in rich array, consisting of the relations of the family, to the number of about a hundred persons; the bishop himself, in his purple robes and amethysts; a number of priests; the father of the young lady, in his general's uniform; she herself in purple velvet, with diamonds and pearls, and a crown of flowers; the corsage of her gown entirely covered with little bows of ribbon of divers colours, which her friends had given her, each adding one, like stones thrown on a cairn in memory of the departed. She had also short sleeves, and white satin shoes. "Being very handsome, with fine black eyes, good teeth, and fresh colour, and, above all, with the beauty of youth, for she is but eighteen, she was not disfigured even by this overloaded dress. Her mother, on the contrary, who was to act the part of madrina, who wore a dress fac-simile, and who was pale and sad, her eyes almost extinguished with weeping, looked like a picture of 66 however, was furious at the whole affair, which, he said, was entirely against the mother's consent, though that of the father had been obtained; and pointed out to me the confessor whose influence had brought it about. The girl herself was now very pale, but evidently resolved to conceal her agitation, and the mother seemed as if she could shed no more tears-quite exhausted with weeping. As the hour for the ceremony drew near, the whole party became more grave and sad, all but the priests, who were smiling and talking together in groups. The girl was not still a moment. She kept walking hastily through the house, taking leave of the servants, and naming probably her last wishes about everything. She was followed by her younger sisters, all in tears. "But it struck six; and the priests intimated that it was time to move. She and her mother went down the stairs alone, and entered the carriage which was to drive them through all the principal streets, to show the nun to the public, according to custom, and to let them take their last look-they of her, and she of them. As they got in, we all crowded to the balconies to see her take leave of her house, her aunt saying, 'Yes, child, despidete de tu casa-take leave of your house, for you will never see it again! Then came sobs from the sisters; and many of the gentlemen, ashamed of their emotion, hastily quitted the room. I hope, for the sake of humanity, I did not rightly interpret the look of constrained anguish which the poor girl threw from the window of the carriage at the home of her childhood. "They drove off, and the relations prepared to walk in procession to the church. I walked with the count S: the others followed in pairs. The church was very brilliantly illuminated, and, as we entered, the band was playing one of Strauss's waltzes. The crowd was so tremendous, that we were nearly squeezed to a jelly in getting to our places. I was carried off my feet between two fat senoras, in mantillas, and shaking diamond pendants, exactly as if I had been packed between two moveable feather-beds. "They gave me, however, an excellent place, quite close to the grating, that is to say, a place to kneel on. A great bustle and much preparation seemed to be going on within the convent; and veiled figures were flitting about, whispering, arranging, &c. Sometimes a skinny old dame would come close to the grating, and, lifting up her veil, bestow upon the pensive public a generous view of a very haughty and very wrinkled visage of some seventy years' standing, and beckon into the church for the major-domo of the convent, or for padre this or that. Some of the holy ladies recognised and spoke to me through the grating. But, at the discharge of fire-works outside the church, the curtain was dropped; for this was the signal that the nun and her mother had arrived. An opening was made in the crowd as they passed into the church; and the girl, kneeling down, was questioned by the bishop; but I could not make out the dialogue, which was carried on in a low voice. She then passed into the convent by a side door; and her mother, quite exhausted, and nearly in hysterics, was supported through the crowd to a place beside us, in front of the grating. The music struck up: the curtain was again drawn aside. The scene was as striking here as in the convent of Santa Teresa, but not so lugubrious. The nuns, all ranged around, and carrying lighted tapers in their hands, were dressed in mantles of bright blue, with a gold plate on the left shoulder. Their faces, however, were covered with deep black veils. The girl, kneeling in front, and also bearing a heavy lighted taper, looked beautiful, with her dark hair and rich dress, and the long black lashes resting on her glowing face. The churchmen near the illuminated and magnificently-decked altar formed, as usual, a brilliant back-ground to the picture. The ceremony was nearly the same as on a former occasion, but there was no sermon. "The most terrible thing to witness was the last, straining, anxious look which the mother gave her daughter through the grating. She had seen her child pressed to the arms of strangers, and welcomed to her new home. She was no longer hers. All the sweet ties of nature had been rudely severed; and she had been forced to consign her, in the very bloom of youth and beauty, at the very age in which she most required a mother's care, and when she had just fulfilled the promise of her childhood, to a living tomb. Still, as long as the curtain had not fallen, she could gaze upon her, as upon one on whom, though dead, the coffin-lid is not yet closed. "But, while the new-made nun was in a blaze of light, and distinct on the fore-ground, so that we could mark each varying expression of her face, the crowd in the church, and the comparative faintness of the light, probably made it difficult for her to distinguish her mother; for, knowing that the end was at hand, she looked anxiously and hurriedly into the church, without seeming able to fix her eyes on any particular object; while her mother seemed as if her eyes were glazed, so intently were they fixed upon her daughter. "Suddenly, and without any preparation, down fell the black curtain like a pall, and the sobs and tears of the family broke forth. One beautiful little child was carried out almost in fits. Water was brought to the poor mother; and, at last, making our way through the dense crowd, we got into the sacristy. "I went home thinking by what law of God a child can be thus dragged from the mother who bore and bred her, and immured in a cloister for life, amongst strangers, to whom she has no tie, and towards whom she owes no duty. That a convent may be a blessed shelter from the calamities of life, a haven for the unprotected, a restingplace for the weary, a safe and holy asylum, where a new family and kind friends await those whose natural ties are broken, and whose early friends are gone, I am willing to admit; but it is not in the flower of youth that the warm heart should be consigned to the cold cloister. Let the young take their chance of sunshine or of storm: the calm and shady retreat is for helpless and unprotected old age" (Madame de la Barca's "Life in Mexico"). The following sketch is illustrative :--- "There were six chairs ranged together, and on these lay stretched out a figure, apparently a dead body, about six feet long, enveloped in black cloth, the feet alone visible from their pushing up the cloth. O, horror! Here I sat, my eyes fixed upon this mysterious apparition, and lost in conjecture as to whose body it might be. The master of the house? He was very tall, and, being in bad health, might have died suddenly. My being received argued nothing against this, since the first nine days after a death, the house is invariably crowded with friends and acquaintances; and the widow, or orphan, or childless mother, must receive the condolences of all and sundry, in the midst of her first bitter sorrow. There seems to be no idea of grief wishing for solitude. Pending these reflections, I sat uneasily, feeling or fancying a heavy air in the apartment, and wishing most sincerely that some living person would enter. I thought even of slipping away, but feared to give offence, and in fact began to grow so nervous, that, when the senora de tered, at length, I started up as if I had heard a pistol. She wore a coloured muslin gown and a blue shawl; no signs of mourning. After the usual complimentary preface, I asked particularly after her husband, keeping a side glance on the mysterious figure. He was pretty well. Her en TREES AND SHRUBS. No. VII. FOREST TREES. THE HORSE-CHESTNUT. (Esculus Hippocastanea). THE horse-chestnut tree, and the Spanish, or sweet chestnut (Fagus castanea), although, from the similarity of their fruit, they bear the same name, are two distinct genera. There are, at least, three species of the horse-chestnut, two natives of America, and one of Asia. The Asiatic, or common horse-chestnut, is supposed to have been brought into Europe A.D. 1550. "Clusius," says Mr. Selby, "informs us that at Vienna, in 1558, there was a plant of this species that had been brought there twelve years before; and our countryman Gerard, in 1579, the first writer who mentions it, speaks of it in his 'Herbal' as a rare foreign tree; and, as his description is minute and particular in regard to its growth, &c., we may suppose that a specimen or specimens of it had at that time attained a considerable size, and even flowered in England; a supposition which would accord with the statement of M. Bosa, St. Hilaire, that the horse-chestnut was brought from the mountains of Thibet to England in 1550, and from thence to Vienna in 1558. (Dr. Royle, however, says he never met with the common horse-chestnut in the mountainous parts of northern India, though there the pavia, or Indian chestnut, is abundant). In France it was not known before 1615, when it was first raised from nuts procured from the Levant." Evelyn, who wrote in 1663, says, "In the meantime, I wish we did more universally propagate the horse-chestnut, which, being easily increased from layers, grows into a goodly standard, and bears a most glorious flower, even in our cold country." As a tree it is extremely grand, though somewhat formal, from the regularity of its growth. It is distinguished also by the beautiful arrangement of its white blossoms. The most eligible situation for it is in lawns and parks, planted singly, its overshadowing branches affording an excellent protection for cattle from the heat of the sun; the fruit, also, is good food for deer, which are very fond of it. It is of quick growth, but soon decays after its maturity. The wood is of little value. As a tree, Mr. Gilpin does not admire it. He calls it a heavy, disagreeable tree. He admits, however, that the flower is in itself beautiful, and that the tree itself in some situations may be so. Sir T. D. Lauder entertains a totally different opinion. "We conceive," says he, "that there are few objects within the limited range of the British Sylva which is more calculated to raise the thoughts of contemplative man from 'Nature up to nature's God' than an enormous horse-chestnut tree, clothed in all the richness of its heavy green velvet drapery, embroidered over with the million of silver flowers which cover it from top to bottom." In Turkey, the nuts are ground, and mixed with provender for horses. The common species is propagated by sowing the nuts, after preserving them in sand during winter, to prevent their rotting early in thespring. The plants, in a proper soil, will shoot nearly a foot the first summer, and may be transplanted the following autumn, or in February or March, into the nursery, and set in rows at the distance of three feet, and one foot asunder. They are to remain two years, and will then be fit for planting where they are to continue. The most favourable soil is a sandy loam, inclining to moisture. The whole annual shoot is completed in three weeks after the buds are opened; and when the flowers fall the buds for the succeeding year are formed, which continue swelling till autumn, when they are overspread with a thick tenacious juice, that defends them from the frost; and on the return of warm weather this melts and runs off, and enables the buds to expand. The horse-chestnut is perfectly hardy, and remains uninjured from the severest winters. The pavia, or scarlet flowering horse-chestnut, is a native of Carolina, the Brazils, and the east. It seldom grows above sixteen feet in height. The leaves, though not unlike in shape, are much smaller than those of the common tree. They are of a vivid bright red colour. SHORT READINGS FOR FAMILY PRAYERS. Rector of Fethard, Tipperary. No. XXI. SEPARATION FROM THE WORLD THE ESSENCE OF upon the soul, and is, in fact, the true worm that dieth not and fire that is not quenched. Salvation, then, is not merely negative or relative: it is a positive and substantive thing; a real blessing and actual condition of the mind and heart. It is, in a word, precisely to the soul what health is to the body. But it is manifest that so mighty a work as that of man's moral renovation must admit of degrees, and exist in different stages of advancement. And thus, the scriptures speak of babes in Christ, of young men, and of fathers. 66 whatever may be his comparative state of ghostly strength or weakness, has the necessary qualification, and is "meet to be partaker of the inheritance of the saints in light." Still, though capable in degree of more or less, there must be something in kind which constitutes salvation. There must be some definite line which separates between the evil and the good. What, then, is that line? How shall we discern between the righteous and the wicked, between him that serveth God and him that serveth him not?" The question is not, observe, about the perfection, but about the essence of the thing. Nor, again, is the point in hand of a forensic kind it is not salvation taken in the sense of "deliverance from the wrath to come," nor of THAT great salvation which was the price and What is that moral condition, that character of the acceptance with God. No: it is simply this: purchase of Emmanuel's blood consists of two distinct parts:-1. He "delivered us from the mind, that preparedness of the heart, that prinwrath to come." He died in our place. He ciple infused into the soul itself, which implies was wounded for our transgressions. He was that, if we were at this moment taken into eterbruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our nity, we should be happy? This question is, I was upon him; and with his stripes we are think, answered in that one sentence of our peace healed." By the offering of himself he made reLord's great intercessory prayer-"They are_not conciliation for us in heaven. He satisfied the of the world, as we are not of the world" (John divine justice, and cleared a channel for the di-xvii. 16). Whoso answers to this description, vine compassions to flow down. He brought all God's attributes to harmonize and blend in man's salvation; so that "mercy and truth are met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other." Such was the great work wrought by the Redeemer for us; a work by which the kingdom of heaven was opened to all believers. But still, our justification before God would be but a mere negative thing, it would be but a mere escape from an outward hell, if the seeds of misery were left within us; if there were not some remedy for the diseases, some cure for the maladies of the soul; if there were no friendly hand to stop the throbbings of the heart, no soothing voice to say to the perturbations of man's anxious bosom, Peace; be still." Man wants more than to be freed from pain. He was made for happiness; and he can find no rest without it. Indeed, it is idle to talk of neutrality as it respects our weal or woe. We are incapable of this blank existence. To us, the privation of enjoyment is the essence of misery. To us, separation from God is not simple loss. It is not the absence of good alone: it is the presence of all evil. It is not unconscious sleep, but a night of distracted dreams, wandering upon the dark mountains, amidst 66 "Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace And rest can never dwell." The truth is, there is seated in the soul, bound up in the primitive constitution of man's being, a hungering and thirsting after uncreated good; an appetite for enjoyments pure and infinite, which, if mocked with counterfeits of bliss, if denied the bread of heaven and the water that springeth up into everlasting life, reacts upon itself and recoils We seem to be placed in the midst of a scheme of things which is the precise opposite of that in which holy and happy spirits live above. "The lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life," these form the prime elements of that which scripture calls emphatically "the world." This compound of carnal grossness and artificial glare is essentially contrasted with the pure inpath and rejoice the hearts of the blessed in heanocence and genial sunshine which gladden the ven. The human mind, then, is so constructed that it cannot tend at once in contrary directions: it cannot choose things repugnant to each other; for "no man can serve two masters." "If any man love the world," says St. John, "the love of the Father is not in him." Such is the trial to which we are exposed, the ordeal we have to pass, the test to which the temper and quality of our spiritual taste and tendencies are now put. On the one hand, a vain and voluptuous world opens out its imposing scenes of earthly honours, pomp, and glory, displays its soft enchantments, exhibits the most seductive objects to the fancy, flatters the senses, and invites the heart to "take its fill of pleasures." On the other hand appears, though faintly and upon the distant horizon, the dawn of a celestial day; disclosing, it is true, calmer and purer delights than earth can yield; displaying a softer landscape and more lovely scenes than those on which the sun of this world shines. But these are rather the "shadow of good things to come, than the very image of the things;" rather earnests of a future inheritance, |