tinctly maintain that all baptised persons are born of the Spirit, are, as a general rule, the most corrupt churches in the world. Those bodies of Christians, on the other hand, which deny the inseparable connection of baptism and the new birth, are precisely those bodies which are most pure in faith and practice, and do most for the extension of the gospel in the world. This is a great fact, which ought not to be forgotten."

We cannot close without expressing our sympathy with the excellent author under a deep affliction, arising from family bereavement. May the consolations which he has been permitted to minister to so many others return abundantly upon himself. May he soon resume his work, now more than ever qualified to "comfort" others by the "comfort wherewith" he himself" has been comforted of God!"

"A Life for a Life," &c. Hurst and Blackett, London, 1860.— This is the title of a novel, by the author of John Halifax, which possesses considerable power and interest. It is well written and original, although the principal incident is far from new. The hero, Max Urquhart, has in early life been the slayer of a man who turns out to have been a brother of the heroine, Theodora Johnston. This fact is patent to the reader from the very beginning; and the interest of the story consists in its progress towards the anticipated discovery, and in the results. So that its principal characteristic, as Coleridge said of Shakespeare's plays, is "Expectation rather than Surprise." author makes her hero to take an absurdly morbid view of his offence, and of his position in consequence of it; and the title indicates his original purpose of giving, in two senses, his life for the life he has taken. He proposes first to devote his life to the one purpose of saving lives, and then to surrender his life, as he supposes it to be due, to the laws of his country, by submitting himself to the punishment of a murderer. Taking the incidents and the conversations of the tale together, we can hardly doubt that the principle intended to be advocated is that real regret for an offence, evidenced by a subsequent life devoted to good, is of itself a sufficient expiation in the sight of God, without reference to the Christian sacrifice, as well as a sufficient atonement to man, morally entitling the offender to exemption from human punish

ment.

If we had entertained any doubt that the general tenor of the book was such as we have described, we should have been satisfied of the intent of the writer by the passage which we now proceed to extract and discuss. Theodora, the heroine, records a conversation between Urquhart and herself on the subject of a sermon which he had heard, and in which the preacher had alluded to the subject of capital punishments. She proceeds :

"I took an opportunity of asking Dr. Urquhart what the sermon really had been about. I can often speak to him of things which I should never dream of discussing with my sisters, or even papa. For whatever the subject is, he will always listen, answer, explain; either laughing away my follies, or talking to me seriously and kindly.

"This time, though, he was not so patient; asked me abruptly, 'Why I wanted to know ?'

"I said I did not quite understand him. It was the subject of the sermon Whether he who takes life forfeits his own. The law of Moses enacted this. The avenger of blood finding him' (the slayer) might slay him.' He continued, 'Do you think, with the minister of this morning, that, except in very rare cases, wewe Christians have no right to exact a life for a life? or do you believe, on religious as well as national grounds, that every manslayer should be inevitably hanged ?'”

A discussion of this question at some length ensues, and ends in the lady's enouncing the following opinion, an opinion which is repeated and earnestly recurred to in the course of the story, and evidently forms a very leading point in the writer's intention. Theodora says:

"It appears to me, so far as I can judge and read here,'-my Bible was still in my hands,that throughout the New, and in many parts of the Old Testament, runs one clear doctrine, namely, that any sin, however great, being repented of and forsaken, is by God, and ought to be by man, altogether pardoned, blotted out and done away."

This is the proposition, evidently a favorite with the author, and made much of in the story, which we propose to discuss at some length. Upon the first reading of the passage, it is perceived at once that its terms want defining, and that if the author had given herself the trouble of a little consideration, she would have discovered, at least in part, the fallacy into which she has fallen. What does she mean by "any sin?" The subject out of which the plot is formed, is that of the punishment of homicide—and it is the intimate connexion of this topic with the leading event of the story which imparts so much of significance to the passage; leading the hero to adopt it with strong sense of self application, and to recur to it with deep interest in a subsequent part of the tale. Does then the expression "any sin" here mean merely any crime, or overt sinful act? We think from the context that such was the intention of the writer; and with reference to the connexion of the sentiment with the story, the expression seems incapable of any other interpretation. For of what is it that Max has "repented?" Only, as far as appears, of that offence of his youth, the slaying of Johnson, to expiate which is the purpose and business of his life-" A life for a life." And what is his "repentance ?" It consists merely of deep regret for, and the design personally to expiate, this one offence. It is true, indeed, and it is part of the evidence of the fallacious misconception which we object to, that to such an interpretation of the words "any sin," the further word "forsaken" is wholly inapplicable. We may repent of, that is, regret and abhor, and strive to compensate for, a sinful act, but we cannot forsake it. It is not to an act, but only to a habit or course of conduct or feeling, that the word "forsake" can be properly applied. The distinction will appear, as we proceed, to be of vital importance not only to the writer's object, but to questions of infinitely higher moment. We infer, then, that these words, any sin," are used by the author as synonymous with "any sinful act;" and yet that this meaning was not clearly apprehended by her, as appears by her predicating concerning "any sin," that it may be not only repented of, but forsaken.

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But the fallacy produced by this equivocal use of the words "any sin" does not merely deprive the sentiment of its local fitness and relation to the story. The writer must have intended it to bear a much wider application. The proposition is aimed at the punishment of crime

in general, and at death punishment in particular. But if we employ, in each member of the sentence, the expression which alone suits it, the argument is gone. For evidently it amounts only to this-" God forgives any sin, if repented of and forsaken; therefore man ought to forgive any crime if"—what ?—" if forsaken ?" this is nonsense-but “if repented?" Is then man a judge of true repentance?

But there lies beneath all this a yet deeper mistake. It is the assumption that the infliction of punishment under the laws of a community is a breach of the divine law, which requires individual man to forgive those who offend against him. Let it be granted, that not only to the penitent offender, but to every offender, unqualified forgiveness is due from the Christian. Does it therefore follow, that society is to be deprived of the safeguard which it derives from the punishment of crime? An individual parent even, who not merely forgives, but loves and yearns over his offending child, is yet bound sometimes to inflict on that child the stripes which he would far rather bear in his own flesh. So far is punishment from unforgiveness. And the individual prosecutor, whom public duty requires to set the laws in motion against an offender, may, and often does, quite consistently with the discharge of this duty, feel the most entire absence of personal resentment or unkindness, nay, the keenest sense of regret and compassion.

The punishments of human law are not inflicted, nor are they usually invoked, for revenge, or hatred, or malice; their object is the preservation of society, the security of life and property. And further, even if repentance were (which we deny) the necessary antecedent of human forgiveness, and if men could (which we deny) individually form an unerring or even an approximate judgment as to the reality of such repentance, yet it is hardly conceivable that such a principle could by possibility be introduced into the administration of public law.

But a still deeper and a far more important error than those already noticed is involved in the short sentence upon which we are commenting.

It is the grand theological error of assuming an inseparable relation between such a repentance as is therein contemplated, and the Divine forgiveness. Not that we doubt-God forbid !—that divine forgiveness is inseparably connected with a true and evangelical repentance; that repentance which Christ is exalted a Prince and a Saviour to bestow, which has immediate relation to His person and work. This alone is the repentance" whereby we forsake sin." It is far beyond mere regret for "any sin," that is to say, for an individual sinful act, or even for a particular sinful propensity or habit. It is that by which we renounce, for Christ's sake, "sin" as a principle, all sin, not "any sin" (that is, some sin). And even as to such repentance, we deny that it is the meritorious cause of that forgiveness which nevertheless is, as we have said, inseparable from it. But we are aware of, and we are anxious to take the opportunity of protesting and giving warning against, a school of theology existing among us, whose views on this subject the expressions now under discussion appear to us to favour and adopt. Baxter, in his Saint's Rest, remarks upon an error which he says is "very common," namely, "of those who only mention the sinner's turning from sin to God, without mentioning any receiving of Christ by faith."

But a modern school of theologians goes far beyond the error thus

defined; they assume to know so much of the Divine character, as to declare that it is impossible but that he should accept and grant forgiveness upon repentance; and thus they not merely omit and ignore, but virtually they deny, the need of any atonement for sin, except the offender's regrets for, and renunciation of it, and so make nugatory the sacrifice, and by implication reject the divine nature, of our Lord. Now we think it not doubtful that this form of Socinianism is substantially advocated in the passage upon which we have been observing. The assertion is, that "any sin, repented of and forsaken, is forgiven of God." And if it appear by the context, as we have shewn first, that "any sin" here means any sinful act only, and secondly, that the words "repented of and forsaken" here mean only regretted and attempted to be expiated, as illustrated in Max Urquhart's character and conduct; then we say that to associate inseparably the Divine forgiveness with such a repentance-a repentance having relation to an outward offence only, and having no reference to the Christian's hope, is a denial of the Gospel of God, and a substitution for it of another gospel which is identical with the Socinian heresy.

It may be said that we attach too much importance to a sentiment in a novel. We reply, that fiction is a very generally adopted channel for the conveyance of opinions upon all sorts of subjects; even, as in this case, the highest; and though this were not so, the opportunity was not to be neglected of controverting dangerous error, when presented in the insidious and captivating form of a novel so popular as "A Life for a Life."

PUBLIC AFFAIRS.

Ir is one of the consequences of a perfidious action, that its author never gains credit afterwards for upright conduct. This is the case at present with the emperor Napoleon. He has deceived the Italians once, and Europe concludes that he is now tampering with Germany. The annexation of Savoy and Nice, after professions of disinterested friendship to Victor Emmanuel, leads naturally to the conjecture that the annexation of the Rhenish German provinces may be the consequence of similar professions to the prince regent of Prussia. We can judge of the future only by the past; and it has happened hitherto that the friendship of Napoleon has seldom proved itself to be of the most disinterested character. Yet, after all, Europe may be too suspicious, and the emperor of France may for once have no sinister object in view. All that is known with certainty is, that he has sought and obtained an interview with the prince regent at Baden; that three German kings and seven reigning dukes, some of them with their duchesses, were present; and that courteous professions of peace and good feeling were exchanged. The German princes came uninvited by the emperor. But whether their presence implies great apprehension on their part, or whether their visit was one of mere respect, is matter of conjecture. The emperor's visit to Baden was meant, we are told by the authorized exponents of his policy to reassure Europe, and to convince Germany of his pacific intentions.

It has produced the contrary effect. The presence of so many German sovereigns is regarded as an evidence of their misgivings, and the protestations of the emperor are treated with indifference. The feeling of general insecurity is deeper since the congress of crowned heads at Baden-Baden; and we learn once more the great moral lesson, that honesty is the best policy, and that no man will possess the confidence of others who has once shewn that he is unworthy of it.

Retribution has come at last upon the king of Naples. Garibaldi has triumphed, and Sicily is wrested from the tyrant. We know of no principles, human or divine, which can lead us for a moment to regret his downfall. A letter has been published in the newspapers, bearing the signature of a clergyman, well known and entirely trustworthy, who in 1848 gained admission into the torture chamber in the palace at Palermo. The horrible sights he witnessed will be read and talked of as we read and talk of the atrocities of Nero, that is, as long as tyranny shall be abhorred by men, or tales of horror devoured by children. The present king has shewn himself worthy of his race. His last atrocious act has been the bombardment of Palermo, and with it the massacre of inoffensive men, women, and infants, inhabitants of a city which he has not yet ceased to call his own. And yet we must recal our words; this was not his last act. Seeing himself powerless and his army beaten, he has applied, with a meanness unequalled except by his own perfidy, to the great powers of Europe to restore Sicily to his grasp, and support his tottering throne. His envoy proceeded no further than Paris; the tone of our prime minister in parliament, to say nothing of other speakers less hampered with the responsibilities of office, told him that his mission was hopeless; and he returned to tell his master that even in this world repentance may possibly come too late. The insurrection has probably by this time extended to the Peninsula, and the king of Naples may have already ceased to reign. Without sanguine anticipations for the future, we are not anxious to conceal our satisfaction at the past. We regard the downfall of this man as an illustration of the divine judgments; and further, too, as an indication of the approaching downfall of that stupendous spiritual tyranny by which this petty despotism of Naples has been cherished and upheld.

Sir J. Trelawney's bill for the extinction of church rates has perished in the house of Lords, and the ministerial reform bill has been withdrawn from the house of Commons. We are glad that our church rates are safe at present; and yet we can but feebly echo the notes of triumph with which the defeat of the bill is greeted. While the greatest towns in England are left without a rate, or the means of obtaining one, we cannot consider the question as by any means settled, or the suspense as satisfactory. True there is a much better feeling towards the church rate than for some years. Violence has outwitted itself, and led to a recoil. The evidence of candid men of different parties and various denominations before the committee of the house of Lords, shews that a strong, and, we believe, a very general, feeling prevails in favour of the ancient system of church rates; and that in many parishes, perhaps in most, our old parish churches, left without it, would fall into decay, or else be sustained for the advantage of the many, by a tax, burdensome, though self-imposed, upon the few. But we regret to see that with success moderation disappears. The archbishop of Canterbury spoke