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Scripture declared, "Wide is the gate,
and broad is the way, that leadeth to
destruction, and many there be which go
in thereat; because strait is the gate, and
narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life,
and few there be that find it,” Matt. vii.
13, 14.
One walks on in the broad road
of vice and gross wickedness; another
loves his money better than his God; a
third seeks for himself a name and a
place among men; and another is a
prey to sloth and self-indulgence. In all
these ways pride will dwell in the unre-
newed heart, but some are pre-eminently
the ways of pride. Few who live in the
observance of outward morality, ever
consider that pride is of all sins the most
hateful to God; and that they as much
displease God when they cherish it, as if
they disgraced themselves by drunken-
ness, or laid their hands on the property
of their neighbour. We may recognise
between crime and sin, the crime which
violates the laws of man, is sin too in the
eyes of God; but many sins which God
detests, are approved by man; and so
far from being reckoned as crime, are
cultivated and indulged as if they were
virtues, and lauded as proper spirit, or
are passed over as little defects in cha-
racter. But pride has been the cause of
all sin past, and will be of all sin to
come; it is, as the poet has described it,
"The fountain head, the eldest son of
evil." From it has flowed rebellion
against God, and hate of man to man,
and malice and revenge and every ill.
And yet we hear of a "proper pride."
If by this is meant an indignation against
wrong or injustice, or that sense of pro-
priety which preserves in a man the
habits of respectability, oh, call it by
some juster name than pride; for never
yet did pride originate even the shadow
of a virtue, and never can pride be fit for
a mortal man, the creature of a day-the
fallen, sinful being, who cannot find
strength in himself to resist even the
smallest temptation to sin, but needs to
be hourly upheld by the God who made
him. It is a lowliness of heart, of which
God has said that it is of great price;
and this is the aim of the true Christian,
who often laments deeply, how slowly
he attains this chief, this loveliest grace,
while combating with the temptations of
the world without, and a sinful heart
within.

William, as he gradually advanced in his position, felt the desire stronger within him of being of some importance; and

he at length assumed a style of living far beyond his present means and pre-. vious habits.

"Whatever shape or form

His actions took; whatever phrase he threw
About his thoughts, or mantle o'er his life,
To be the highest was the inward cause
Of all; the purpose of his heart to be
Set up, admired, obeyed:

and in the folly of his pride and extravagance, he wasted his good income, and became embarrassed by debts. He had married an amiable young woman, who, at this time, with scarcely any warning, was suddenly called into an eternal world. William had been lately deeply depressed by his pecuniary difficulties, and this sudden bereavement, occurring at a time when he seemed already overwhelmed by sorrow, preyed deeply on his health and spirits. He was left to solitude, and his mind turned inwards. He felt now that he had lived in the neglect of all religion, and became deeply conscious of his guilt. Had he opened the New Testament, he would have found many passages breathing such sentiments as the following: "If any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous," 1 John ii. 1; and would have read that Christ came into the world to save the chief of sinners, 1 Tim. i. 15. But William saw only his guilt, and knew nothing of the blood which cleanses from all sin. He sat and thought of all these sad circumstances till his mind was tortured; and oh! what a capacity for anguish has the mind of mortal man!

Reason at length gave way, and the various causes of his wretchedness became the subjects of the ravings of his delirium. An interval returned when the mind regained its powers, and he then eagerly entreated that they would send for the lady mentioned at the commencement of this narrative, the pious friend of his mother. "Send for heroh! send for her!" he eagerly repeated; "if, indeed, she will see me; " for the remembrance of his own scornful treatment came now with a bitter regret. This friend arrived, and came to his bedside. "Ah! my dear friend," said the distressed invalid, "can you pardon me? How did I scoff at you, when you offered me the best of counsels! How did I then despise you; and now I cannot believe either that you or God will forgive me. His friend assured him of her perfect forgiveness of all that was past, and begged him to forget it. She told

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him that Christ had died for our sins, that the debt had been paid for sinful man, and that God required no other sacrifice; that the Saviour was, in Scripture, described as "the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world," John i. 29. He heard her with earnestness and deep feeling, but persisted in saying, that he had so sinned against God that he could not be pardoned. In vain she read to him the certain promises of Scripture; he could not trust them. Yet the God who had, by his Holy Spirit, wakened this young man to a sense of guilt, did not forsake him till that Spirit, having first convinced of sin, came to his heart as the Great Comforter.

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to see him. It pleased God, however, to allay all mental malady, though a deep sense of his guilt in having lived so long without God, never left his mind, yet he was gradually enabled to accept the offers of mercy which the gospel contains; and soon it might be said of him, as of the young man in the gospel, he was found sitting at the feet of Jesus, and in his right mind. And now appeared the great and manifest change in his characterso great, that he seemed, indeed, like Saul of Tarsus, so that all wondered at it. He was, indeed, a new man, and his very countenance had an altered expression. From being actuated by the most marked selfishness, he seemed now filled with a spirit of benevolence; and even his friends, who were not disposed to admit the beneficial influence of religion on the character, were compelled to say, that he was indeed an altered man. The salary of his office had been continued to him during his illness, and now his first care was to pay his debts. He lessened all his expenses, and, retaining no more than was absolutely necessary for his maintenance in the most simple and humble manner, he, after having

The friend who was now with William was unable to remain long with him. She left him still under considerable mental suffering; and, as those around him knew not how to offer any consolation, she requested a Christian friend, who was slightly acquainted with him, to go immediately and visit him. But his distress of mind had again produced delirium; and as the gentleman went up the stairs, he heard the voice of the invalid in loud and rapid tones. When his name was announced, it was immediately recog-placed himself in the position to owe no nised by William. He looked down, however, and said, "Give me watergive me water." They offered him some water which stood by his bed; but he said, "No, not that water-pure water; oh! give me pure water." Ah," said his friend, "you want the living water." He looked at the speaker with the deepest earnestness, and calmly said, "Yes, that is what I want." His friend then reminded him of the words of our blessed Saviour, when describing himself as the living water, he says, "Whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst,' John iv. 14. The poor young man gradually became perfectly calm and reasonable; he listened with earnest attention to all that was said, and uttered a fervent amen to the prayer which his friend offered, from his bed-side, to the God of all mercy, who "healeth all our diseases," both of body and mind.

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Notwithstanding that William was evidently soothed by the religious consolation addressed to him by both the friends who visited him, yet, those who nursed him, thinking that religion was the cause of his distress, resolved to keep the subject from his thoughts as much as possible, and would not, in future, allow any friend

man anything, distributed to others all that remained of his income. The proud look and the haughty word had passed away, and his mind seemed clothed with humility. No office which could serve others was too lowly for him to perform: the remainder of his short life was spent in doing good, and, with the simple faith of a little child, he received and loved the word of God. His heart seemed raised above the world, and he often wondered that Christians could spend so much time, and money, and thought on the things of this life, and live so little on the unseen things of faith. He was surprised that all who were blessed with the gift of God's grace, did not say, with the apostle, "Having food and raiment, let us be therewith content," 1 Tim. vi. 8. But William was destined to an early death, and his mind seemed rapidly matured and fitted for the glory which should

succeed it.

It was about a year and a half after this change of character took place, that William died. He never entirely recovered from his former illness; and the last three months of his life were watched by his friends, with sorrow for themselves, but with sure hope for him. He had gone to reside with a family whose

affection he engaged by the sweetness of his disposition, and his holy principles of action; and they carefully and tenderly nursed him in his illness. On the last night of his life he awoke from a short sleep, and said to one who was sitting by him, "Where's your mother?" This lady was called; she softly approached his bed-side, and, lifting towards her his dying eyes, William faintly said, "Jesus is waiting for me!"-and expired.

A. P.

THE BLIND AND THE DEAF.

AN erroneous opinion prevails that blindness is a greater affliction than deafness. This would unquestionably be true, if privation of sight precluded the acquisition of language, which it does not; nor, as ample experience shows, does it oppose any very serious obstacle to the full development of the mental powers. We are all familiar with many well-authenticated instances of blind persons having attained to a distinguished position both in literature and science. The celebrated Saunderson, who filled the chair of Newton in the University of Cambridge, lost his very eye-balls by the small-pox when only twelve months old; yet, before he was thirty, we find him giving public lectures on optics, explaining clearly the theory of vision, and discoursing admirably on the phenomena of light and colours-thus furnishing, by his own extensive acquirements, a convincing proof of the extraordinary powers of language, and of the full efficiency of the ear as an avenue to the mind. The darkness of the blind, as such instances as this sufficiently show, is but a physical darkness; they still possess a ready channel through which the brightest beams of intellectual light may be freely poured; but the darkness of the deaf-mute is a mental and a moral darkness; and though he can gaze abroad upon creation, yet it is little more than mere animal gratification that he feels; he looks not "through nature up to nature's God," nor does he participate in that high communion which, through the sublimity of her visible language, she holds with the soul of an enlightened being.

The reason why the blind usually receive from us a deeper sympathy than the deaf, is, perhaps, because the amount of privation borne by the former can be more accurately estimated. We have

only to close our eyes, to shut out for a while the glorious light of heaven, in order to conceive how great that privation must be. But we can never, for a moment, occupy the place of the uneducated deaf and dumb; we cannot shut out our moral and intellectual light; we cannot dispossess our minds of all that language has conveyed there, nor realize, by any effort of imagination, the melancholy condition of a being grown up in the midst of society, yet deprived of all power of social intercourse, whose mind has never been elevated by a single act of devotion, nor soothed and comforted by a single impulse of religious feeling. Man naturally "looketh on the outward appearance;" and when we see the bright eye, and the contented and even joyous aspect of the deaf-mute, we forget that we may witness all this in "the brutes that perish.'

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It may probably be thought by some, that in thus depicting the mental and moral condition of the deaf and dumb, we are drawing upon imagination, and magnifying their affliction, and that we altogether overlook the value of signs, the peculiar language of the deaf-mute, as a medium of communication. But it is not so. Of the importance of signs we are fully sensible, and readily admit their immense advantage, in the absence of a more perfect channel, in imparting to the deaf a knowledge of written language; yet, as used by the uneducated deaf and dumb, gesticulations, as every teacher knows, is of extremely limited scope, barely sufficing to make known his mere physical wants and animal emotions, and to describe, though with much vagueness and ambiguity, events, or rather actions, which may have passed before his own eyes, or in which he may himself have engaged.

Now, it is important to bear in mind that all this melancholy amount of privation arises, not from want of hearing, but from the want of ordinary language— a want which no system of mere gesticulations can ever supply; and therefore that, in estimating the condition of the deaf, we must not overlook the fact, that those who come under this designation divide themselves into two distinct classes, separated from one another by a wide and essential difference-a difference which may, indeed, be narrowed by artificial aid and human contrivance, but which, in ordinary circumstances, can never be wholly obliterated.-North British Review.

NEW MODE OF WRITING AND PRINTING.

THOUGH numerous and most important improvements have taken place in almost every department of literature and science, one main feature appears to have been altogether overlooked. The most casual observer cannot fail to have noticed the incorrectness and deficiency of our present orthographic system. Every child, as it rises into life, finds a difficulty in it, and every foreigner who has paid any attention to the language of this country can tell of the inconsistencies he encountered, and it will appear to all who examine the question that the words of the German student were literally correct, that the rules for writing English are all exceptions.

Professor Rapp says: 66 Although the French is become the common language, in a diplomatic and social sense, it has never acquired a firm footing in extensive regions beyond Europe. The English, on the other hand, may pass for the universal language out of Europe, and, by its bold fusion, and consequent decomposition of the forms of its Gothic and Roman elements, this idiom has acquired an incomparable fluency, and appears especially destined by nature, more than any one of the living, to undertake that part." This is high praise to the English tongue, coming, as it does, from a foreigner, to whom scarcely any written language, either living or dead, is unknown. But," he adds, 66 were not the impediment of an antiquated, absurd orthography in the way, the universality would be still more apparent, and it may, perhaps, be said to be fortunate for us other Europeans that the Englishman has not yet made the discovery.'

But it is not necessary to proceed far for illustrations, it will be sufficient if the reader calls to mind the period in which he learned to read and to spell. How many days, weeks, and even months of continued labour did these accomplishments cost, how wearisome and monotonous was the employment to himself, and equally tedious and unsatisfactory must it have been to his teacher. Were it not, indeed, for the prodigious advantages afforded by the power of reading when obtained, few would have sufficient courage to commence the task, and fewer still to carry it on till it was consummated. If, however, we wish to see its difficulty to a man in the prime of bodily and intellectual vigour, we need only

refer him to the foreigner in his study of the language, for he then possesses every advantage which can be enjoyed. He is thwarted at every step; he is supplied with a rule at one moment, and as soon as he attempts to see its application, he finds it is incorrect. He discovers, at one period, that words which are written in a similar manner are accented differ ently, as, - pre'sent, present'; re'fuse,. refuse'; absent, absent'; com/pound, compound'; wind, and wind; wound, (an injury,) and wound, (part of the verb to wind.) Then, on the other hand, he finds words spelt differently and pronounced in the same manner, as: no, know; threw, through; right, rite, wright, write; mete, meat, meet; bear, bare; signet, cygnet; hock, hough; sew, so, sow; e'er, heir, ere, air, and eyre. The dictionaries will furnish numberless other examples; in some cases the words being derived from the same origin, others barely traceable to obscure analogies, and others apparently derived from different roots. These are difficulties which we encountered, though they may now be forgotten, and yet it was only after years off practice that we obtained the proficiency we enjoy. Still the labour was only proportioned to the task, for when it is recollected that out of the fifty thousand words of the language, only about fifty, or one in a thousand, are written as they are pronounced, the magnitude of the work is apparent. But can we safely say, after all our advantages, that we are always perfectly correct? If a trial were made of our capacity, perhaps it would not be as great as we imagine it to be. Let a scientific work be examined, containing many new words, derived from different sources, and when they are Englished after the present fashion, their originators would hardly recognise them. But thus it is with many words in common life. What mere landsman guesses that boatswain is pronounced "bosun," coxswain, COCsun," studding-sail, "stunsel." These may be considered as extreme cases, but this is only because our particular avocations have not led us to their use, or to hearing them uttered. But it must be remembered, the foreigner and the child are in the same predicament with respect to all the words in the English language. The following fact will show the actual difficulty. A child at Ipswich came, in the course of reading, to the word cause, and not being able to pronounce it, he commenced spelling it, thinking, no doubt,

66

like many others, that the spelling would lead him to the sound, and on pronouncing the letters c, a, u, s, e, immediately said, “Say you see!" which was in accordance with the spelling. On being told that the au should be sounded awe, he said, "Then it must be saucy." His mother smiled, and said, "No, my dear, it is not called saucy,-the first c should be pronounced like k," on which he called it kausee. Still wrong and bewildered, his instructor was then obliged to tell him that the letter s should be pronounced like z, on which he immediately said, "It must be kauzy." The mother then was obliged to tell him the whole truth, namely, that the first letter c should be sounded like k, the letters au like awe, the letter s like 2, and the letter e not at all, and that the letters c, a, u, s, e, which really gave the sound say you see, was pronounced cause. Here are difficulties for a child to overcome! The spelling, in fact, is no guide to the sound, nor the sound to the spelling. Let but any one read a few lines, and pronounce every letter as it is placed, and he will recognise but little resemblance to his mother tongue. Mr. J. Pitman mentioned at a lecture, that during four years he had had opportunities of examining the spelling of several hundreds of names of persons, and had only found three whose spelling agreed with the sound,these were Mr. Bolt, Mr. Ford, and Mr. Peto. When the word h, o, w, has an s prefixed to it, the pronunciation is altered to show, and a foreigner, when learning the language, would naturally expect that it would retain the same sound of sho, wherever it occurred, but he finds that if the letters er are added, it undergoes another change, adds another burden to his memory, thus-shower. On being told that d, e, a, r, is pronounced dear, he would naturally think that b, e, a, r should be pronounced similarly, beer. Pig is spelt p, i, g,-add the letters e, o, n, and the letter g is changed, as, pigeon. 'T, o, m is Tom-by adding the letter b, thus, tomb, the sound of the o is changed, and the added letter is silent.

Suppose a student of the language, unacquainted with the customary mode of spelling, wished to spell the word softly. He would perhaps say, "There are six sounds in this word,-s, awe, f, t, l, e. From the word psalm I shall take ps, as the representative of the sounds; I shall indicate the second sound awe by ough, because I find this combination used for the

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same purpose in the word sought. The third sound f I shall express by ph, because I find this combination used for the sound in phonography. To represent the sound t, I shall take the letters th, because in the word Thomas the same sound is thus expressed. The fifth sound, I shall express by this letter; and the last sound e by eigh, because I find these letters used to express the same sounds in the words Leigh, Hadleigh." Putting these letters together, we have Psoughphthleigh to represent the word softly. This is scarcely worse than writing the pronunciation we give in the words cough, through, and phthisic. We usually suppose that the twenty-six letters of the alphabet are sufficient to represent the true number of simple sounds in our language. But when they are examined, it is found that out of this small number three are useless. Q is represented by ku, so that it is, in fact, a compound sound, instead of having a simple primitive signification; x is fully represented by the letters k and s, and the two powers of c are found in s or k, for which of the two it may stand. When c is pronounced as a letter, it has a sharper sound than the s; but when compounded with other letters, as it always is, the distinction is imperceptible. The twenty-three letters that remain are altogether unable to perform the work required, as will be apparent on consideration, for the different forms used to distinguish them are almost innumerable. The letter a, instead of being uniform in its meaning, is differently pronounced in the following words: many, paring, want, father, fat, fall, dollar; besides which the a is expressed by different letters, as-ah, psalm, aunt, clerk, heart, and guard. Z has nine different representations, as is apparent in the words sacrifice, sacrificing, as, ease, scissors, Xenophon, zeal, and freeze. Nor are these letters more abused than the generality of the others, for we find that e is found in fifteen different forms, u in twenty, o in seventeen, i in sixteen, and t in twelve. The total number of forms in which the sounds indicated by the letters of the alphabet are expressed by using different compounds, is 379!*

If the word "scissors " be taken, or, as it is sounded, "sizurz," the methods of spelling will be found to be almost innumerable. S may be expressed in nine different ways, i in eighteen, ≈ in nine, u

For copious illustrations of this, see, "A Plea for Phonotypy," by Mr. A. J. Ellis.

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