you to seek for pardon and for peace through the blood of atonement, he will never leave you nor forsake you until he has placed you at his own right hand in those heavenly mansions which he is gone to prepare for you. There he sits your Intercessor, and looks down and watches with more than a mother's interest your struggles, conflicts, woes; and, when all is over, his own right hand, which has upheld you all your journey through, shall lead you to those living fountains of which now you only sip the distant stream, and shall himself feed you on the hidden manna, in that place of rest and peace which remaineth for the people of God, into which no enemy enters, and from which no friend departs. To me there is no passage in the whole of our blessed Saviour's afflicted life more touching or affecting than that in which he replies with so much meekness to the taunting and insidious question of his persecutors, "Art thou the Christ? tell us" (Luke xxii. 67). There is something in his answer which so graphically paints the total want of all fair justice with which he was treated, the capricious cruelty which would force him to speak, when all he could say was vain, and especially his captivity, at the very moment in the hands of those that hated him: "He said unto them, If I tell you, ye will not believe; and, if I also ask you, ye will not answer me, nor let ine go." Nor does the scripture pencilling contain, amidst its boldest lights and shades, a sublimer specimen of that humiliation and glory which were so wondrously united and contrasted in the person of "Emmanuel, God with us," than that which is here presented: "Hereafter," says this helpless prisoner fast bound in misery and iron, "shall the Son of man sit on the right hand of the power of God." It was upon this announcement that all with one voice exclaimed, "Art thou then the Son of God?" It was, I need not say, in no spirit of fair inquiry that these words were spoken. No; it was either that they might find accusation against him, or that they might insult him by a self-answered question, and one which only heaped scorn and ridicule upon his high pretensions. It was such a mode of questioning as that, "Art thou greater than our father Abraham, which is dead" (John viii. 52)? Or that, "Thou art not yet fifty years old, and hast thou seen Abraham" (John v. 57)? But, in whatever spirit these words were then employed, we may not unprofitably occupy a few moments in accommodating them to certain cases, in which we may imagine them to have been spoken. 1. Let us conceive, then, one who had been involved in the clouds of the socinian heresy, and from whose eyes had been intercepted "the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ." Let us, then, conceive the power of truth prevailing, the mists of doubt dispersing, the Sun of righteousness for the first time the tongue to confess "that Jesus Christ is Lord, arising, the soul constrained to acknowledge and to the glory of God the Father." "Art thou then the Son of God?" would then be not so much a question as a mode of speaking which only added emphasis to persuasion; as much as to say, "Can I believe so glorious a truth? Is it possiwith still more expressive point and meaning, the ble that it can be real?" It would be adopting, exclamation of Nathaniel, "Thou art the Son of God: thou art the King of Israel;" the confession of St. Peter, "Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God;" the compellation of St. Thomas, "My Lord and my God." Another connection in which we may suppose these words, is the following: There is in man a strange capacity of entertaining religious truths, "with eyes that see not, ears that hear not, and a heart that will not understand." The scripture verities are not questioned; but they strike like blunted arrows, and cannot pierce the conscience. They are like faultless statues, complete in every part, but cold and motionless, the images at once of life and death. There is a physical sensation produced at times by immersion of the head in water, which much resembles this spiritual torpor: some lodgment in the orifice of the ear, or other effect of bathing, dulls the sense of hearing, and makes us feel altogether in a kind of dreamy state, as if the objects around us were but the shadows of themselves, as if those well known words were nothing but the literal fact: "All the world's a stage, But let And all the men and women merely players." Thus we continue in a half-waking state, till suddenly the bubble within and the bubble around us burst, the spell is loosed, the hallucination ceases, the ear drinks in the reality of clear sounds, and all nature is itself again. In such a manner does faith arouse the slumbering soul. It exhibits nothing but what it had in its dreams already seen. But it now exhibits them to awakened senses. The natural man is as one groping in a dark room. Such an one may range from object to object, he may feel them, and conjecture, sometimes rightly and sometimes wrongly, what they are. the curtains be drawn aside, and the blessed light come in, and then he has a clear apprehension of all that he was imperfectly conversant with before. He then sees the rich and varied ornaments that surrounded him, and the brilliancy of the whole scene. What seemed but a worthless trifle, shines forth as a costly gem. What was to him a mere flat and unmeaning surface upon the wall, now exhibits itself as the triumph of the painter's art, a treasure which none but the favoured few could purchase. So it is that, when the inward vision of the soul is clouded, the realities of eternity, though notionally entertained, are, to every practical purpose, as though they were not. But, when the veil is taken off the heart, the Sun of righteousness shines out, and illuminates the whole horizon; and object after object brightens into spirit and into life. It is in such a transition from darkness to light that we would imagine to ourselves the rapture with which the awakened spirit would exclaim, "Art thou then the Son of God?" With far different emotions might these words have been repeated by that celestial messenger whom we read of in the forty-third verse of this chapter: "And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him." How lately had this exalted being, perhaps, taken his station with the cherubim in their glittering ranks, or with the "bright seraphim in burning row," or with whatever order of the celestial worshippers he might especially appertain to; and there, in prostrate adoration, and with wings outstretched to cover his face, have united with all the company of heaven in crying unto him that sat upon the throne, "Holy, holy, holy !" But how little could even an angelic mind conceive the immensity of this transition! How little could he measure the depths of the abyss of woe into which the King of glory had descended from a throne so far above all heavens! This angel, we will suppose, is summoned to go forth upon some embassy of mercy to this world of sorrow, and rejoices at the thought that he is now about to prop some fainting head, or still some throbbing heart; and lo, he lights upon the spot to which his commission points. And often, perhaps, as he had ministered relief to human suffering and had witnessed scenes of woe, yet an exhibition now meets his eyes to which he had beheld no parallel before: no sorrows that he had seen before were like unto that sorrow; it was of deeper dye and keener anguish than them all. It was the case of one whose "visage was marred more than any man, and his form more than the sons of men." It was the case of one who looked in vain for any to pity him or to comfort him; of one cut off from human sympathies, and an outcast from the divine compassions; of one whom both earth and heaven had renounced, both God and man had forsaken. He finds him in that dark hour, when even his lamb-like patience was driven to confess that "his soul was exceeding sorrowful, even unto death;" when with strong cries and tears he prayed, that if it were possible the cup might pass from him; when he reiterated that cry, and when, "being in an agony, he prayed more earnestly;" and his sweat was, as it were, great drops of blood falling down to the ground. Now, what if this angel did not know, at first, who this mysterious stranger was, what if, "through the veil, that is to say, his suffering flesh," a glory beyond that of men or angels began to emit its light, and to shine more and till full conviction reached this pure celestial mind. We know that there is nothing so touching to every generous feeling as the sight of fallen greatness-as earthly dignity brought down to bear with hardships, poverty, and contempt. How, then, would the heart of an angel beat with emotions too high for utterance at the sight of humbled Deity, at the glory of the eternal Godhead fast bound in misery and trampled in the dust! With what mingled sensations, above our lower nature to conceive, might he have burst into the exclamation, "Art thou then the Son of God?" more, Finally, with what ecstatic bliss will faithful souls repeat these words when they behold him "whom having not seen they loved," now beaming forth in the effulgence of uncreated light, and seated on the throne of the Majesty on high! In him they will recognise that condescending Saviour who did not disdain to visit them with his felt presence, to refresh their spirits, and to revive 66 their hearts; to whom they often fled for sympathy when the world neglected them and passed them by; when "men separated them from their company," and said all manner of evil falsely for the Son of man's sake; in whose converse they sought relief as in that of one who experimentally knew what the human heart can feel; who was himself "a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief;" who bore the proud man's contumely, and hid not his face from shame and spitting. With what rapture will they exclaim, when they see that Saviour seated at the right hand of the Majesty on high, "Art thou then the Son of God?" "Yes," they will say, we believed that glorious truth when passing through the clouds below; but still it was often ours to pray, Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief." The thought was too good news, too great happiness to be true: we mistrusted our senses. At times we feared it was but the offspring of our own heart's desire, the figment of a flattering dream. Then we saw through a glass darkly, but now face to face: then we knew in part, but now we know even as also we are known. Now our fondest hopes are realized, our dearest hopes are true: they are all the sober certainties of waking bliss. Yes, thou art the King of glory, O Christ. Thou art the everlasting Son of the Father. Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honour and power, for thou hast loved us and hast redeemed us to God by thy blood out of every kindred and tongue and people and nation. Blessing and honour and glory and power be unto him that sitteth upon the throne and unto the Lamb, for ever and ever.” SABBATH MEDITATIONS. No. XXXIII. FEBRUARY 9.-QUADRAGESIMA SUNDAY. FIRST Morning Lessons: Gen. xix. 130; Mark ix. MORNING. "And he was transfigured before them."-MARK ix. 2. Meditation.-"His shining dispels all mists and fogs, that taint and annoy us: his grace doth not only cleanse us, but adorn us; not only purify, but beautify the soul (Ezek. xv. 14). This light is the soul's beauty. This transfiguration of our souls by Christ's shining upon us, makes us exceeding glorious; changes us from glory to glory' (2 Cor. iii. 18). The light of Christ's divinity make and measures out the day of eternity. He is not only light in himself, but a light to others; a supernatural light of saving knowledge, to dispel and drive away the mists of ignorance, and the blackness of the darkness of sin; and not only darkness, but blindness; for Christ must not only give us light, but sight; for the clearest light is darkness to a blind man" (Bp. Browning). Prayer.-O Lord, the King of glory, who, in the days of thy flesh, didst empty thyself of the glory which thou hadst with the Father, and take upon thyself the form of a servant, we render thee all thanks and praise, that, condescending to our infirmities, thou didst make manifest thy divine majesty, and reveal thyself in the glories of thy transfiguration. Yea, thou didst cover thyself with light as with a raiment, and thy countenance was as the sun shining in its strength. Yet even then were thy thoughts to usward, and thy con verse with thy glorified saints was of thine own | precious blood-shedding for the sins of the whole world. Raise, we pray, our minds to holy and heavenly things; make us feel that it is good to be where thou art, and to hold sweet communion with thee in thy word and sacraments, thy ordinances of prayer and praise, in thy sanctuary, and where no eye seeth us but thine. Open our hearts by thy Holy Spirit. Speak, Lord, for thy servants hear. Speak, that we may listen to thy voice, O heavenly Father, and receive Christ Jesus as thy well-beloved Son. Him also would we hear; and vouchsafe that our lives and conversation may bear witness that we have been taught of him. We bless thee, O Lord, for this revelation of thy saints in glory: they have passed through much tribulation, but now they are before thy throne; and at the last day, when thou shalt come again in power and great majesty, with ten thousands of thine elect, thou wilt change our vile bodies, that they may be fashioned according to the brightness of thy glorified body. And O, when our spirits within us are overwhelmed by the effulgence of thy divine majesty, then overshadow us, as thou didst thy wondering disciples, with thy wings of mercy, and let us hear thy still, small voice of love: "It is I; be not afraid." EVENING. "God did tempt Abraham."-GEN. xxii. 1. Meditation. "O, God of Abra'm! by whose hand And strength and grace provide. And at thy blest abode on high Our souls shall rest in peace." S. H. Prayer.-O Lord, holy and true, we know that thou dost not willingly grieve or afflict thy children, and that the trial of their faith is precious in thy sight. When thou seest it needful to bring them into the furnace of temptation, thou art with them, and sittest by, even as the refiner of silver; and when thou beholdest thine own blessed image reflected in the glowing ore, thou dost stay thine hand, and sayest, "It is enough." Thus, Lord, didst thou prove, purify, and stablish the faith of Abraham, thy servant. Thus didst thou make his perfect obedience no less an ensample unto us, than the perfectness of his love a type of thine own wonderful love to mankind, in giving thy only and well-beloved Son, Jesus Christ, a sacrifice for the sins of the whole world. In the ready obedience of Isaac to his father's will do we likewise thankfully discern the shadowing forth of the surpassing love of Christ, who laid down his life as a free-will offering for us men, and for our salvation. Like Isaac, thou, O blessed Saviour, didst bear the wood of the cross, on which thou wast to be offered up: thou didst bear it in obedience to thy heavenly Father's will, and therefore didst thou bear it cheerfully. Most merciful God, we beseech thee, help us to crucify every evil affection of our souls, and bring them to the obedience of Christ; even though it be dear to us as a right | eye, give us grace to pluck it out and cast it from us. When thou choosest us to any trial, or wouldest that we take up our cross, leave us not to confer with flesh and blood, nor with Lot to linger amid the entanglements of Sodom; but give us strength at once to rise up and do thy will, and, if need be, hew the wood that is to consume the dearest idol of cur hearts. Implant in us the faith with which thou sustainedst Abraham in his darkest hour. Be "Jehovah jireh" our watchword. Yes, thou wilt provide, though we see not whence or how. We will trust in thee, as did the father of the faithful; believing and knowing that thou wilt give new life to our withered hopes, and not suffer one word of thy covenanted promises to fail. Amen and amen. Poetry. REMORSE AT THE GRAVE. S. H. BY THE AUTHOR OF "SONGS FROM THE (For the Church of England Magazine.) Stern memory then will rend the breast Even more than doth the present corse; And hard the grief to lull to rest Born of affection and remorse! Each patient look, each soft reply, Will live to waken agony. 'Tis nature's justly-chastening rod For violated holy love; Or rather deem 'tis nature's God Still warning from his throne above That vengeance dies not, though it sleep, And he that soweth tears must reap. Then, looking on the loved one now, Forget not that the loved may die : And ever, ere in anger thou With tears bedim affection's eye, Think, think how bitterly thine own Will fall when thou shalt weep-alone. TO A WIFE IN DAYS OF AFFLICTION. (For the Church of England Magazine). "In death they were not divided."-2 SAM. i. 23. ONE fate we share: to us one lot is given. Said'st thou," God only can divide?" Then through the storm our bark may haply ride, Loved pilot, and attain the sheltered haven, That haven where no sorrows scathe, No pleasure cloys, where tempests cease, And all around be joy and peace. Let the soft tones of thy dear voice In suppliant ardour rise. From the bright portals of the skies Scarce has it dawned ere it is closed. May dare to picture fadeless joy, So, when this mortal race is run, Shall pardoning grace sweet welcome give, Soul blend with soul, immortal one, And endless love its finite term outlive! Miscellaneous. S. THE HOMILIES.-In the time of the first reformers, there was no knowledge so needful as that which would instruct men where to begin and where to end, in matters of doctrine. The nature of the circumstances which then arose rendered it very important that there should be certainty in this: there were very few subjects into which Romish error had not more or less crept then, and nothing could be done until the just and scriptural limits of every doctrine were drawn out and stated. To answer this end the book of homilies was compiled. The most material points are there rather copiously entered into; and, though we are not bound to every minor expression, yet we are certainly bound by the articles to their doctrines. On these they are very explicit, and they deserve at the present time to be brought into particular notice. For, like the sun in the morning and in the evening may the gospel be said to be there is twofold twilight. At the twilight of the morning, the homilies came as one of the auxiliary lights for those who awaited the coming beams. And who can tell but that, in the church, the evening twilight has come, and those who lament the departing rays may need the smaller light also to keep them from walking in darkness? If there was need, when men arose to give knowledge to the land, that they should not leave the people without a beacon to guide them, it is equally needful now, when there seems some danger of its being reserved from sight, if not removed from our reach. We should not altogether be left in the dark. It is true there are many writings which now come forth, and leave us little doubt upon the matters in debate; but, although some of them are most valuable, yet none can be said to have the authority of the homilies. Nothing can be clearer than the system which they teach throughout. It is evident that the matters of which they treat were deemed the most essential at the time; and they are so important now, that all the arguments against popular protestantism are arguments against the homilies. A slight review of the book will satisfy any mind as to their doctrinal complexion.-Grahum's Essays. POPERY AT THE REFORMATION.-Never had the Jews, in their utmost blindness, so many pilgrimages unto images, nor used so much kneeling, kissing, and censing of them, as hath been used in our time. Sects and feigned religions were neither the fortieth part so many among the Jews, nor more superstitiously and ungodlily abused, than of late days they have been among us. Which sects and religions had so many hypocritical and feigned works in their state of religion (as they arrogantly named it), that their lamps, as they said, ran always over; able to satisfy, not only for their own sins, but also for all other their benefactors, brothers, and sisters of their religion; as most ungodlily and craftily, they had persuaded the multitude of ignorant people; keeping in divers places, as it were, marts or markets of merits; being full of their holy relics, images, shrines, and works of overflowing abundance, ready to be sold. And all things which they had were called holy: holy cowls, holy girdles, holy pardons, beads, holy shoes, holy Jules, and all full of holiness. And what thing can be more foolish, more superstitious, or ungodly, than that men, women, and children, should wear a friar's coat, to deliver them from agues or pestilence? or, when they die, or when they be buried, cause it to be cast upon them, in hope thereby to be saved? Which superstition, although, thanks be to God, it hath been little used in this realm, yet in divers other realms it hath been and yet is used among many, both learned and unlearned. But, to pass over the innumerable superstitiousness that hath been in strange apparel, in silence, in dormitory, in cloister, in chapter, in choice of meats and drinks, and in such like things, let us consider what enormities and abuses have been in the three chief principal points, which they called the three essentials, or three chief foundatious, of religion, that is to say, obedience, chastity, and wilful poverty. First, under pretence or colour of obedience to their father in religion, which obedience they made themselves, they were made free by their rules and canons from the obedience of their natural father and mother, and from the obedience of emperor and king, and all temporal power, whom of very duty, by God's laws, they were bound to obey. And so the profession of their obedience not due, was profession of chastity was kept, it is more honesty to a forsaking of their due obedience. And how their pass over in silence, and let the world judge of what is well known, than with unchaste words, by expressing of their unchaste life, to offend chaste and godly ears. And as for their wilful poverty, it was such that, when in possessions, jewels, plate, and riches, they were equal or above merchants, gentlemen, barons, earls, and dukes; yet by this subtil, sophistical term, proprium in communi, that is to say, proper in common, they mocked the world; persuading that, notwithstanding all their possessions and riches, yet. they kept their vow, and were in wilful poverty. But, for all their riches, they might neither help father nor mother, nor other that were indeed very needy and poor, without the licence of their father abbot, prior, or warden; and yet they might take of every man ; but they might not give aught to any man, no, not to them whom the laws of God bound them to help..... And the longer prayers they used, by day and by night, under pretence and colour of holiness, to get the favour of widows and other simple folks-that they might sing Trentals and service for their husbands and friends, and admit or receive them into saying of Christ: "Woe be unto you, scribes, and their prayers-the more truly is verified of them the Pharisees, hypocrites! for you devour widows' houses, under colour of long prayers; therefore your damnation shall be the greater."-Homily of Good Works, part 3. London: Published for the Proprietors by EDWARDS and HUGHES. 12, Ave Maria Lane, St. Paul's; J. BURNS, 17, Portman Street: and to be procured, by order, of all Booksellers in Town and Country. PRINTED BY JOSEPH ROGERSON, 24, NORFOLK-STREET, STRAND, LONDON. WARBLINGTON CASTLE. WARBLINGTON castle, about half a mile eastward of Havant, in the county of Southampton, was the abode of a family of the same name, which came into the parish in the reign of king John. According to tradition, the last male possessor of the family had two daughters, co-heiresses, who resided unmarried in the castle, and to whom, as foundresses, the church is referred. The estate being escheated to the crown, it was conferred on Matthew, the son of Herbert. In 1280 it was VOL XVIII. granted to Ralph de Monthermer, who married Joan of Acres, daughter of Edward I. and his queen Eleanor, and widow of Gilbert, earl of Clare. From him it descended to the Montacutes, of whom John, earl of Salisbury, was, with the earl of Surrey, beheaded by the inhabitants of Cirencester, for attempting to assassinate Henry IV., and to restore the deposed monarch, Richard II. Sir Thomas, earl of Salisbury, his son, fell at the siege of Orleans, Nov. 3, 1428; and, according to Camden's "Remains," was the first English gentleman shot by a cannon-ball: I |