tant object of a Christian; for no where else could he purchase so much calmness, so much resignation, and so much of that peace and repose of spirit in which consists the chief happiness of this otherwise dark and stormy being. But to prayer, besides the inducement of momentary gratification, the very self-love implanted in our bosoms would lead us to resort, as the chief good, for our Lord hath said, "Ask, and it shall be given to thee; knock, and it shall be opened to thee;" and not a supplication made in the true spirit of faith and humility, but shall be answered; not a request which is urged with unfeigned submission and lowliness of spirit, but shall be granted, if it be consistent with our happiness, either temporal or eternal. Of this happiness, however, the Lord God is the only judge; but this we do know, that whether our requests be granted, or whether they be refused, all is working together for our ultimate benefit.

When I say, that such of our requests and solicitations, as are urged in the true spirit of meekness, humility, and submission, will indubitably be answered, I would wish to draw a line between supplications so urged, and those violent and vehement declamations which, under the name of prayers, are sometimes heard to proceed from the lips of men professing to worship God in the spirit of meekness and truth. Surely I need not impress on any reasonable mind, how directly contrary these inflamed and bombastic harangues are to every precept of Christianity, and every idea of the deference due from a poor worm, like man, to the omnipotent and all great

God. Can we hesitate a moment as to which is more acceptable in his sight-the diffident, the lowly, the retiring, and yet solemn and impressive form of worship of our excellent church; and the wild and laboured exclamations, the authoritative and dictatory clamours of men, who, forgetting the immense distance at which they stand from the awful Being whom they address, boldly, and with unblushing front, speak to their God, as to an equal, and almost dare to prescribe to his infinite wisdom the steps it shall pursue? How often has the silent, yet eloquent eye of misery, wrung from the reluctant hand of charity that relief which has been denied to the loud and importunate beggar? And is Heaven to be taken by storm? Are we to wrest the Almighty from his purposes by vociferation and importunity? God forbid! It is a fair and a reasonable, though a melancholy inference, that the Lord shuts his ears against prayers like these, and leaves the deluded supplicants to follow the impulse of their own headstrong passions, without a guide, and destitute of every ray of his pure and holy light.

Those mock apostles, who thus disgrace the worship of the true God by their extravagance, are very fond of appearing to imitate the conduct of our Saviour, during his mortal peregrination; but how contrary were his habits to those of these deluded men! Did he teach his disciples to insult the ear of Heaven with noise and clamour? Were his precepts those of fanaticism and passion? Did he inflame the minds of his hearers with vehement and declamatory harangues? Did he pray with all this confidence-this arrogance this assurance? How different was his con

duct? He divested wisdom of all its pomp and parade, in order to suit it to the capacities of the meanest of its auditors. He spake to them in the lowly language of parable and similitude; and when he prayed, did he instruct his hearers to attend to him with a loud chorus of Amens? Did he (participating as he did in the Godhead), did he assume the tone of sufficiency, and the language of assurance? Far from it! he prayed, and he instructed his disciples to pray, in lowliness and meekness of spirit; he instructed them to approach the throne of Grace with fear and trembling, silently, and with the deepest awe and veneration; and he evinced by his condemnation of the prayer of the self-sufficient Pharisee, opposed to that of the diffident publican, the light in which those were considered in the eyes of the Lord, who, setting the terrors of his Godhead at defiance, and boldly building on their own worthiness, approached him with confidence and pride.

KIRKE WHITE.

ON PRIDE.

WEALTH, rank, and genius are rich gifts, often ungratefully perverted into stimulants to pride. What, however, can be less secure? Riches make themselves wings, and flee away-the crowns of princes are torn from their brows-reason often totters on her throne-and the majesty of intellect lies prostrate in the dust. But supposing them to be less fluctuating and evanescent, and that they serve to throw a certain degree of splendour round a child of dust; his dependance

and feebleness must still be felt and betrayed. Is he not a being of yesterday? whose "breath is in his nostrils"-whose days on earth are but a shadow-the sport of accident, the victim of disease, the prey of death. And is not pride in such a being, with faculties thus limited, with powers thus feeble, most absurd and preposterous?

Contemplating man then, simply as a rational, not as an immortal creature, we must conclude this vice to be highly offensive to Almighty God, who formed him from the dust, and to whom he Owes life, and breath, and all things;" for every proud man robs God of the homage due to Him alone" erects new altars to strange deities

and by the wildest of all idolatry, burns incense to himself."

In our intercourse with the world, pride is productive of a thousand miseries and inconveniences. It places us in an attitude of hostility with our fellow creatures, and yet renders us vulnerable at every pore. It gives us an exquisite sense of our own claims, and deadens our perception of the claims of others. It is in close alliance with anger, hatred, envy, and revenge, with all those vices which may be termed antisocial. It is no less mischievous with respect to ourselves; it bribes the judgment-silences the checks of conscience-vitiates the motives to action-throws a false and delusive light over our virtues and vices, diminishing the one and magnifying the other; thus opposing a formidable barrier to improvement, by effectually concealing the necessity of repentance.

ANONYMOUS.

UTILITY TO MAN OF THE POWER

OF HABIT.

WHATEVER action, either good or bad, has been once done, is done a second time with more ease, and with a better liking; and a frequent repetition heightens the ease and pleasure of the performance without limit. By virtue of this property of the mind, the having done any thing once becomes a motive to the doing of it again; the having done it twice is a double motive; and so many times the act is repeated, so many times the motive to the doing of it once more is multiplied. To this principle habit owes its wonderful force, of which it is usual to hear men complain, as of something external that enslaves the will. But the complaint in this, as in every instance in which man presumes to arraign the ways of Providence, is rash and unreasonable. The fault is in man himself, if a principle implanted in him for his good, becomes, by negligence and mismanagement, the instrument of his ruin. It is owing to this principle that every faculty of the understanding, and every sentiment of the heart, is capable of being improved by exercise. It is the leading principle in the whole system of the human constitution, modifying both the physical qualities of the body, and the moral and intellectual endowments of the mind. We experience the use of it in every calling and condition of life. By this the sinews of the labourer are hardened for toil; by this the hand of the mechanic acquires its dexterity; to this we owe the