rect that disturbance, which is occasioned by ignorant people's getting up from their seats and standing on their feet, when that heavenly prayer comes to be read in a Second Lesson, which is neither enjoined by authority nor received by general custom, and must therefore go for a private fancy, which ought to find no place in public assemblies.

A parity of reason is not therefore sufficient to introduce new ceremonies upon, without authority, rule, or custom. People are much at their liberty, in their family or closet devotions, but must not innovate in congregations. The clergy ought not to lead the people into new ways, nor should the people follow them upon pretence of better edification.

The first general council that was ever held in the Christian world, and the most esteemed, was that of Nice; and that decreed in the xxth canon, that all Christians, everywhere, should say their prayers standing on their feet, (and not kneeling) every Sunday in the year, and every working day besides, betwixt Easter-day and Whitsunday.

The Council assigns no reason for this, (as they need not) but they who lived then and a little after, tell us it was, that the Christians were thereby to shew, that they were risen with Christ. Now certainly this reason, considered in itself, will hold altogether as good, for standing up at prayers, every day in the year, as on any week-day betwixt Easter and Whitsuntide. But certainly, that curate would have been held for an audacious perverse creature, who should have exhorted his people to stand up at their prayers all the days in the Lent season, because there was as much reason to do so before Easter-day as after it; and because the council had not forbid the doing so, and because that standing up is a posture of respect and of attention. Private men have nothing to do to assign reasons for introducing ceremonies, of which there is no need, and for doing which they have no authority.

But what, if, after all, these innovations of standing up at the reading the Second Lessons and at the singing Psalms, be not sincerely intended for greater decency's sake, and shewing more reverence, and exciting greater devotion, but merely to start up a new distinction, and make a farther difference betwixt those who come to the public worship in the same place, and at the same time, with one another, but who are of different parties, with respect to the King and State affairs? You know in what parish you are, and what sort of people they are who chiefly promote these innovations, and are most forward to distinguish them. selves by little ceremonious observances; and you also know what king it is they incline to.

The Low Church people, as they are called, are content when they come to church, to comply with the rules enjoined by their lawful governors, and to stand, or kneel, or sit, as they are bid to do by rule and custom; but 'tis very likely that they will scruple to join in any new ceremony, without command of authority, as well because they care not to be imposed upon by any private fancy, as because these innovators are by no means acceptable to them. They will therefore do as they used to do, and so they will be marked and known for Low Church people, which will have such consequences at church, as other marks of distinction have in other places, the mischief of which has been enough, one would think, already, and needs no augmentation.

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My advice is, therefore, that you do not leave the parish church because of these new-fangled whimsies; but resort thither as timely and as constantly as you have hitherto done; and behave yourself well, as seriously, and devoutly as you ought to do; and have no manner of regard to what you see others do, as to the ceremonial part, if it be not appointed by the rubric or approved by custom, which you have hitherto been guided by in public worship; and that you may the better see how little countenance or encouragement is to be given, even by private people, to any innovations in the Church, I will shew you, in a few words, the rise and origin of one or two of the most corrupt practices of the Church of Rome. Some bundreds of years had passed, before any picture, image, or statue of a saint was placed in any Christian church throughout the world; though it is not unlikely that there were both in other places for ornament and honour. It came at length into a painter's head, to represent, in as lively a manner as as he could, the sufferings of a martyred saint, to which the church was dedicated, i. e. by whose name it was called; and to hang this piece in some conspicuous place within it. Wise men were offended with the novelty; not at the picture, but at the setting it up in the church; but the common people were mightily pleased with it, and said that pictures were the only books which they could read; and found themselves much edified by seeing how the saints had glorified God; and

confirmed the faith by their constancy in suffering and enduring torments for the sake of Christ: and could such good thoughts and noble resolutions be better raised in them than at church, where they met so often to worship God? And therefore such good pictures were most properly placed in churches. There lived hard by a very devout statuary, who excelled in carving images both of stone and wood, who seeing the people so mightily taken with the picture, asked them one day, whether an image of their patron saint, carved out of fine marble, and placed in a convenient niche within the church, would not excite the same good thoughts and good remembrances in their minds, that the picture did, the colours of which would, in time, fade much, and wear away; and hearing nothing to the contrary, he set it up, and was commended for his zeal and benefaction by them. And great gazing there was at it; none of them making any exception to an image, which they could not make to a picture; both seemed alike innocent, alike useful, and alike proper to excite good thoughts and devout affections in the minds of those who looked on them.

It was not long after, that a man of quality and great wealth ordered the statuary to make the finest image he could of Christ our Lord, and fix it on a cross with all the marks of sorrow, and most painful agonies that could be possibly expressed in such a work, and place it in the eastern light, towards which he saw the people generally turn in their acts of worship. This was accordingly done, and the people were very fond of this new help to their devotions. Here was the King of saints himself, they said; here they were hourly put in mind of their sins, which cost the Saviour all the bitter pains he underwent upon the cross, for their redemption, which were so lively expressed in this good image, that they could never view it well, without compunction of heart within, and knocking of their breasts without, and other tokens of repentance. The gentleman's wife, and eldest son, besought him, out of pure devotion, that our Lord might not be worse attended in the Church, than he was upon Mount Calvary; and hereupon there was another image made to represent his most afflicted mother, and placed on his right side; and another on his left, namely, his most beloved disciple John, for so it was found to be in the Gospel; and thus the church was furnished with books for the laity to read and meditate upon; and it was not long before they bowed their heads, incensed them, and kneeled down and said their prayers before them. Under the statue of the patron Saint was his tomb of black marble, in which the precious reliques of this holy martyr were deposited, i. e., the bones that were not burnt to ashes, together with some ashes of his body that had been consumed by fire. At this tomb the people chose to say their prayers, rather than in any other part of the church, because they had heard that the saint himself had kneeled in the place where his tomb stood, when he offered up his life to God. This tomb the people prayed at constantly for whatever they wanted at God's hands. One prayed for a sick child, another for a dying husband, and another for the cure of a disease under which she had long laboured. And it so pleased God that their prayers were heard and granted in their several kinds; and then it came into their heads, that their prayers were the rather heard for their being put up at the tomb of this good saint; and that more people had been heard in what they asked at this tomb, than in any other place or part of the church and when they reasoned among themselves how or why this should be, they were told that God might intend thereby to glorify his saints, and to shew how precious their death was in his sight. And there were some who doubted not to affirm, that the saint himself did certainly intercede with God in their behalf. For who (said they) can think that the saints in heaven should sit and do nothing? And can they do any thing better and more befitting them, than pray for those who live on earth, and want all manner of comfort and assistance? And can any prayers be more acceptable to God, than such as the church triumphant puts up for their fellow-members of the church militant? And can any prayers be sooner heard, than what his favourite saints, who died for the truth, put up? And when it was made so clear, by these deductions, that the saints did undoubtedly intercede with God, for their fellow-Christians on the earth, it was very easy then for the people to ask of God that he would grant them their requests, at and for the intercession, more especially of these saints, his faithful servants, whose merits might prevail for what their own unworthiness had made them neither dare to ask, nor fit to receive. And when these people had, at any time, received at God's hands what they had asked through the intercession of the saints, it was very natural for ignorant unthinking heads to conclude that God had truly granted what they had asked, for the sake of that saint's intercession; which yet is no consequence at all, since God might grant it for his own mercy's sake, and through the intercession of his ever blessed Son; but this the

people did not mind. The saint's intercession was the means they used last; and having found, as they thought, the effects of it, they looked no farther. But things did not long stand here; the people were not content to pray to God, to grant him what they wanted, for the merit's sake, and at the intercession, of the saints, but they prayed to those very saints themselves, that they would intercede with God to grant them what they wanted. This was a wide step indeed, and a great change. The passage from the one practice to the other was not easy, natural, or consequential; but superstition got over it quickly, and fancied there was but a little difference betwixt people's praying to God to hear the saints praying for them, and the praying to the saints that they would pray to God for them; whereas there is the widest difference in the world betwixt these two prayers; the one is directed to God, the sole proper object, omnipresent and omnipotent; the other to creatures only present in one place, and of themselves able to do nothing. But these were scruples that never troubled those good people; they had a faith that swallowed everything, and seemed not to value consequences at all. To the tomb they came, and prayed the saint to pray to God for whatever good things they wanted; and when this practice came to be contested a little, it was justified, as done out of pure humility, because they were unworthy to approach to God by prayer themselves in person, and therefore did it by the mediation of saints their intercessors. Well, in some reasonable time, instead of praying the saint to pray to God to give them this or that, they came to praying the saint directly and downright to bestow this or that blessing on them himself: they thought it was too much round about, to say, O Appollonia, pray to God to cure me of the tooth-ache; and they said directly, O Appollonia, cure me, I beseech thee, of the tooth-ache. But being hard put to it to defend this practice, they said they meant no more but to entreat her to pray to God for them; and all the good writers of that corrupt church, who have any sense or virtue left, desire to have all the prayers that are put up to the saints, to be understood to mean no more than a bare "Ora pro nobis," or "Pray for us," which is indeed impossible to be done by people that can read and understand.

But my design was not to dispute about anything, but to shew how one practice draws on another, not near so innocent as the first, till at length they come to things ridiculous, absurd, and never to be justified. And therefore that a stand is to be made at first against all manner of innovations in the public wor ship, that are not authorised by the governors of the church, who have the power of ordering our behaviour there, let them be never so reasonable, so decent, or convenient. The curate of the parish is no more to judge what is reasonable, decent, or convenient in the public worship, than the clerk, or any lay-man of the parish is; and there is not a lay-man in the parish, who has not as much right to oppose, as the curate has to impose, any new rite, ceremony, or posture in the public worship; and whenever he shews you his commission so to do, I will undertake to shew him yours, to withstand him. But you are afraid of being singular. Where is the singularity of doing as you always used to do, and as the rest of the congregation used to do, before these new lights came amongst you? Why is your parish singular in doing what the rest of the parishes, both in the city and suburbs, do not?

But what is the harm of standing up? none at all. And what is the harm of sitting as you used to do? Why did the curate make the people change that posture? There is indeed no harm in either posture, nor any great good; but there is harm in yielding to the imposing spirit of any private man, in the public worship. And whosoever reads, with any observation, will find it was, at first, the single opinion or single practice of some private man, (and perhaps a very good man too) that laid the foundation of all the superstitious practices that prevail amongst the corrupt part of Christians now in the world. They were at first innocent enough, and for a while they continued tolerable; but by degrees, and adding one thing to another, they came at last to the pass we now see them in; and who can tell at what time the impositions of private fancies are to be withstood, if not at first? And can any one tell where they will stop, if private men may not withstand them? Who can tell us, why this curate should not in time exhort the gentlemen of Holborn, to do as the gentlemen of Poland do; that is, draw out their swords when they repeat the creed, to shew how ready they are to defend the faith of Christ against all opposers?

This is a very significant ceremony, and makes a fine show; and I will undertake that he has as much reason and as much authority to exhort them to the one, as he has to tell them they must stand up when the psalms are singing; since it is neither the custom of other churches so to do, nor yet enjoined by competent authority.

Since you know me well, I need not tell you, that I have very little concern either for this posture, or against the other. I use them both as it happens, either for my ease or convenience; and I lay no stress on either. But I am very zealous against the pride of singularity, private fancies, and innovations, in matters relating to the public worship of God; and I would have you so too; and the more so, because there is a bold, daring, innovating spirit, got of late among the young, unlearned, injudicious part of the clergy, which, if not timely repressed, and checked, will give disturbance both to the Church and State, and therefore I would have them receive no manner of countenance or encouragement, from any one's submission, imitation, or example. Let us obey God, without reserve; the king, according to law; and our ecclesiastical governors, as far as we can with a good conscience do. But when a private man shall bid us do what neither God, nor the king, nor the bishop, requires of us, it will be very civil if we only tell him he is impertinent.

THE CARNAL AND SPIRITUAL MIND.
For the Christian Observer.

As the deep transparent lake is in itself colourless, and derives its hue and character from the landscape which environs it, and from the peculiar aspect of the heavens which it reflects; so the human mind, in itself a colourless blank, can be seen but through the medium of the objects which it voluntarily contemplates and reflects, from these derives its character and denomination, and is what it contemplates.

Waving all metaphysical subtleties, and speaking practically, the predominating objects of thought and affection are the moulds in which the soul is cast, and which impress upon it its character, and determine its destiny. The mind whose predominating taste leads it to the frequent contemplation of trifling or vicious objects, is hence denominated, and in reality is, a trifling or a vicious mind: while, on the other hand, the mind which often turns with complacency to the contemplation of grave and serious objects, or of whatever things are pure, and lovely, and honest, and of good report, hence receives the testimony of society, and of the truth, to its character of grave and serious, amiable and virtuous.

But there is a light which beams from eternity, let in by revelation upon the soul, and which the Spirit of God gives it faculties to discern, before which all these lesser fires fade, and which confounds all these minor distinctions of man's invention. This light exhibits the mind that soars to nature's material bounds to measure the distance and span the magnitude of a system of worlds, but which there stops, and can soar no higher: which speculates with delight upon the heavens, but never dreams of proceeding thither: which, with the intensest interest and most scrupulous accuracy, measures their distance, but never dreams of traversing it: this light, I say, exhibits such a mind but in the attitude and under the character of a more solemn trifler. It is a light which detects the spots of his corruption in the self-righ teous moralist, the world's man of honour. Passing over the comparatively unimportant shades of individual character, it divides the mind into two great classes essentially distinguished,-the spiritual and the carnal: that, on the one hand, which contemplates the things of eternity, and therefore is eternal: which feeds upon the fruits of the Spirit, and of the tree of life which never withers, and therefore now lives, and is immortal: which knows the true God and Jesus

Christ, and therefore possesses life eternal: and this, on the other hand, which feeds upon the vanities of time and sense, and therefore must perish with them: whose objects of contemplation are all enclosed within the confines of the material world, and which therefore cannot survive the wreck of matter and the crush of worlds: which knows not God, and is therefore spiritually dead, destitute of the only principle, and cut off from the only fountain, of spiritual and immortal life.

This grand division of mankind into those which have the Spirit of Christ, and are therefore His, and those which have not the Spirit of Christ, and are therefore none of His, the marks declaring it, the fruits accompanying it, and the consequences resulting from it, seem to fill the comprehensive mind of St. Paul throughout his Epistle to the Romans. This one thought forms the subject matter of the eighth chapter, and is pressed with all the variety of expression, and all the earnestness of appeal, of one who was anxiously endeavouring to impart to the mind of another, ideas, thoughts, and feelings, which filled and overflowed his own bosom, but which he felt or feared that the other was unprepared to receive, or incapable of apprehending. The sixth verse, “To be carnally minded is death, but to be spiritually minded is life and peace," serves as the text of the chapter. Into its small compass he has condensed Christianity in its nature, its principle, and its effects, which throughout the chapter he dilates, and clothes in a variety of appropriate and familiar expression. In it he asserts that mystery of Christianity which spiritually to see is to be a Christian, that religion does not address itself to the bodies but to the souls of men, to the actions but to the wills: that the pure and free spirit of Christianity acknowledges no compulsory duties, no extorted obedience, no penal sanctions; that the blood of Christ purges the conscience from dead works to serve the living God that the Spirit of Christ provides for this service by putting the law into his inward parts, and writing it upon his heart; by conforming the will of man to the will of God; and by creating in man a new nature, whose instinct is obedience, whose appetite is holiness, whose hell is sin, whose heaven is the love of God: that thus it freely offers to man spiritual life: that to reject it is eternal death.

And few indeed are they who choose that good part which shall not be taken away from them. For what are the lives of most professing Christians? I do not mean of the dead mass, but of those concerning whom, in the judgment of charity, we would hope better things, and things that accompany salvation. What are they but a perpetual conflict between the convictions of conscience which would drive them from the world to God, and the drawings of the heart which would seduce them to the world from God. God is master of their consciences, the world of their hearts. And therefore whatever they may fancy, or strive to believe, God can but present Himself to the minds of such as if clothed in the snakes, and scorpious, and all the terrors, of an idol deity; the tyrant of their liberties, the blight of their happiness, the terror of their souls. And if they worship him by the reluctant sacrifice of their carnal appetites, if they immolate to Him their worldly enjoyments, and the instinctive desires of their hearts, they thus, as it were, embrace that God who is love, the beauty of holiness, and the fountain of happiness, from the same low and slavish principle, with the same sinking of spirit, and