had already attained,” is the utterance, not merely of the renewed spiritual nature—it is the voice of man's restless spirit in all the varied phases and conditions of humanity. It is exemplified in everyday life. Without the consciousness of advancement we have not a perfect idea of happiness. Who does not feel, for example, a ceaseless and ever-increasing aspiration after more knowledge? This is all the more remarkable, too, in the case of those who have made the largest acquisitions in human learning.* The range of their acquirements, instead of satisfying, seems rather to whet their appetite for more; so that the noblest and most gifted of the human species,-our Lockes, and Bacons, and Newtons,-are those who are alike most conscious of the limited range of present knowledge, and most ardently desirous of adding to their intellectual wealth.

Transfer this to Heaven. There there will be a onstant aspiration after increased knowledge, and holiness, and love, and resemblance to God. All our present mental capacities will doubtless be indefinitely expanded on our entrance into glory; but this will be only a fresh starting-point for loftier acquisitions. The soul and its glorified aspirations will be like the sun "coming forth from his chambers, and rejoicing like a strong man to run his ever climbing the firmament, yet never reaching the meridian; coming nearer and nearer "the excellent glory," and yet still speaking of it as light inaccessible !"

race;

We have some pledge or foretaste given us of this advancement, even in our present spiritual | state. The renewed man goes "from strength to strength;" he advances in the divine life; he becomes more and more "meet," by the transforming power of the Holy Spirit, for the heavenly inheritance. May we not warrantably infer from analogy that this advancement will not be arrested, but rather increased and carried on in a mightier ratio? "If grace," says the author of the "Saint's Rest," "makes a Christian differ so much from what he was, as to say, 'I am not the man I was;' how much more will glory make us differ! Doubtless as God advanceth our senses and enlargeth our capacity, so will He advance the happiness of those senses, and fill up with Himself all that capacity."

are subject to a continual and progressive change, but it is a downward and progressive deterioration; with the sainted spirit it will be entirely amelioration. While the others are sinking deeper and deeper in the abyss of woe, or retreating into wider and more eccentric orbits from the great central Sun of all light and happiness, the redeemed will ever be narrowing their orbits, coming nearer and nearer the great central throne.

Reader, you are lisping here only the alphabet of knowledge; you know nothing as you are yet to know. Heaven will be, in a nobler sense than ever was realised on earth, a student life. The angels, we read, "desire to look into " the mysteries of salvation. They stoop over" (as the word literally means) this vast volume in the archives of eternity. You will then unite with these principalities and powers in tasking your immortal intellect with fresh discoveries of "the manifold wisdom of God." We know that those saints on earth who have attained most knowledge of God, are those who have longed with greatest ardour to know more of Him. Though Moses had seen more of His glory than others, his prayer is, "I beseech thee, shew me thy glory," (Exodus xxxiii. 18.) David, whose thirst had been quenched more than most at the fountain of infinite love and excellence, is heard exclaiming, "My soul thirsteth for God," (Ps. xlii. 2.) Paul, who had soared to the third heaven, and who "counted all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ,” (Phil. iii. 8,) still prays, like a lisping learner, "that I may know Him,” (Phil. iii. 10.)

Nor will it be one theme only that will engross and engage the saint's glorified powers and activities. We must not think of Heaven as some startling and violent revolution of present tastes, and studies, and occupations; as if we shall then be no longer the beings we once were, and be able to find no traces of personal identity. Our feelings, our tastes, our studies, may possibly and will possibly continue the same as they were, only glorified, and sanctified, and purified from the dross of sin! May we not there possibly delight still to unravel the mysteries of science, the laws which govern a renovated creation; or to ponder the story of Providence past,-this, too, not confined to one atomworld, but as unfolded in God's works and ways in other provinces of His empire? feelings and affections, too, of our present nature (the best, at least, and noblest of them) will not be quenched or annihilated; they will, on the contrary, have vaster objects and loftier spheres for their exercise. Take, for example, apparently the most airy and visionary of all our present emotions, HOPE. Hope will not perish with the present pre

The very

God is alone of all beings unchangeable. He is as incapable of any addition to His essential glory and happiness, as these are incapable of detraction. -"He is without variableness or the least shadow of turning," (James i. 17.) The devils in a lost state See Whately's "Revelations on a Future State."

her, under a beautiful impersonation, as "relighting. her torch at nature's funeral pile." It is, in one sense indeed, true, that Hope will then be changed into fruition; all distracting fears and misgivings will cease-the hope of eternal life, the hope full of immortality, the hope of being with God and His Christ, which in our moments of depression and faithlessness was clouded here, that hope will be "swallowed up" in complete fulfilment. But many of the present joyous elements of hope will still remain,-the hope of reaching higher degrees

of perfection, the hope of acquiring deeper and yet deeper views of the character and glory of Him who is past finding out; the hope of becoming more and more assimilated to His holy image, climbing higher and higher the altitudes of bliss, and obtaining a wider and still wider sweep of the moral landscape that grows upon our view with the widening horizon.

I love that beautiful description of Heaven, as the "rest" of God's people; when the clarion of battle is hushed, every storm-cloud passed, every weary night-watch at an end, the spirit cradled in perfect peace-the Sabbath of eternity! But more elevating and glorious still seems the description of heaven as a place of endless and ceaseless progression; the spirit making giant advances in all that is pure, and lovely, and godlike; ever adding to the domain of knowledge; having new and more wondrous revelations of the Divine character and attributes;-comprehending more and more the mysteries and secrets of redeeming love, and yet these mysteries growing with every fresh discovery; still speaking of its heights and depths," its "lengths and breadths," and these as "passing understanding!"

PROTESTANTISM IN FRANCE.

(Continued from page 29.)

We pass naturally from these remarks as to the French Protestant clergy, to glance at the theological institutions at which they are educated. There are three of these. Montauban, Strasburg, and Geneva. Montauban and Geneva are for the students of the National Reformed Church. Strasburg is mainly for the students belonging to the Lutheran branch of French Protestantism. In Montauban there are seven professors, five of whom are pronounced by M. Grandpierre to be decidedly orthodox. The average number of students is about sixty. The faculty at Strasburg reckons eight, and about eighty students; thirty of whom, however, are only in the preparatory stage of their training. There are some distinguished names in the professoriate, such as Matter and Charles Waddington, the successor of Christian Barthol

mess.

In the faculty of Geneva there are five professors, and, in 1856, there were sixty-three students. The tone of the teaching here-the home of the old orthodoxy-is by no means so favourably spoken of by M. Grandpierre. It is by special authority that the theological faculty of Geneva is entitled to prepare students for the ministry in the Protestant Church of France. The origin of this arrangement dates from the time of the extreme persecution of French Protestantism, when it was impossible to obtain education for the clergy in France.

In addition to these regular theological institutions, there are two preparatory schools of theology, one at Nismes, and the other at Paris; the first founded by the clergy of Nismes, and the other maintained by the Central Protestant Society of Evangelisation. There may be thirty pupils at the first, and about fifteen or so at the second;

that of Nismes is more latitudinarian; that of Paris more orthodox.

Dissenting or Independent Churches are chiefly educated at Geneva, at the separate school of theology founded and maintained there by the evangelical society of that city, and which is adorned by the names of Merle d'Aubigné and Gaussen. The number of students is about twenty-five, and the tone of the teaching, as may be inferred from the names mentioned, is highly evangelical.

After these higher scholastic institutions, the normal schools claim next our consideration. While the former train the clergy, the latter train the schoolmasters of French Protestantism. There are five Protestant normal schools in France for training male teachers, and three for training female. Among the former may be mentioned that of Courbevoie, founded and maintained by the Society for the Encouragement of Primary Instruction among the Protestants of France, which is, perhaps, the first normal school of France, both for the perfection of its educational machinery, and the living Christian spirit which animates it; and also the normal school of the Evangelical Society of France at Paris. M. Pastor Gaubley is at the head of the one, and M. Pastor Valliet at the head of the other. Each of these contain about thirty pupils.

Besides these schools there are numerous educational boarding-houses (pensionnats) for boys and girls, no fewer than twenty of the one kind and thirty of the other, in or about Paris. These boarding-houses, presided over by active Protestant superintendents, male and female, are deemed of great service in preserving the Protestant youth from the proselytising exertions of the Romish clergy.

Passing now to the literature of French Protestantism, it must be confessed that it is not very rich in great works. The Church has scarcely had repose as yet, for the cultivation of an original and influential theology. Its militant position, and the practical necessities of vigilance and defence, have claimed too much the employment of its talents and energies. The spirit of independent theological inquiry, however, has revived vigorously of late; and Matter's extended work on Gnosticism, Reuss' "History of Christian Theology in the Apostolic Age," Cellerier's "Critical Works on the Old and New Testaments," and De Pressense's " History of the Apostolic Age," with its comprehensive and valuable introduction, are among the most notable facts of this reviving spirit. The historical labours of Bonnet, (his life of Olympia Morata, and his editions of the letters of Calvin,) and the works of Bartholmess and Waddington, in the department of Christian philosophy,+ are also eminently deserving of notice. Bungener, Felice, Bonnechose, Weiss, and Merle D'Aubigné, are names still better known in this country, all more or less distinguished in the department of popular history; to which may be added the less known, but no less eminent name of Paaux, who has just published the first volume of an extended history of the French reformation.

* Matter and Reuss are both professors in Strasburg, Cellerier in Geneva; De Pressense is the ablest of the

dissenting clergy in Paris.

Bartholmess' "Historie Critique des Religieuse Opinion de la Philosophie Modern," and Waddington's mouc

anxiously watched, was frequently not so very deep or so very serious as many careless onlookers, captious critics, and not overly wise friends imagined. I do not at present attempt to account for the origin, measure the mean depth, or minister to the cure of this scepticism. It may begin in love of independence, love of truth, or love of singularity; is often kept up by clever books, or clever companions; and often, too, by stupid books and stupid people. Its best cure, on the whole, I think, is not so much books or lectures, but rather genuine Christian friendship without a grain of cant in it, but with thorough conviction of the truth, and actuated by the mighty love that "seeketh not her own;"-and, let me add, not to be argued with or teased by well-intentioned but not very wise ". good people," who, though right themselves in the thing, yet not unfrequently misunderstand both the man and his argument. Now, with reference to many young men who are called "infidels," I believe they are a class from whom, unless they have become wicked in their habits, I would expect a fair hearing. I have found among them open, frank, candid, inquiring men, with sincere desires after truth, with the mental capacity for understanding an argument, and who, if they only felt assured that their advisers were sincere and wished them well, and did not presume to sneer at their opinions, despise themselves as if they were worthless blackguards, or attempt to bully them as if they could be frightened into Christianity, were far more will. ing than most people to listen quietly and patiently to what one had had to say.

Believe me, pious reader, I am here describing from life as I have observed it, and instead, therefore, of despairing of such men, or blaming them, as if, forsooth, "there was no use talking to them, I have often had more cause to blame the inconsistencies, follies, and stupidities of professing Christians in general, and of injudicious friends in particular, and rather to hope more from such young men as I have spoken of than from many a correct, cold, but practically unconvinced formalist, who believed only because others believed and because he had been "brought up to it."

There is another class, generally put down by good people as "hopeless;" I mean those who, without professing any infidel doubts, have yet had, from their mental temperament, early upbringing, and other causes, a great dislike to that sort of thing;" but who, so far from having any wish to be thought religious or pious, would protest vehemently against any such annoying accusation. The class to which I allude contains manly, bold, dashing men-shining in "honour bright," who would sooner die than lie or do anything mean and sneaking, but are wholly wanting in serious thoughtfulness. If ever "religion" accidentally becomes the subject of conversation round the fireside, they put it off, or try to pass it with such phrases as these,-"I don't pretend to be better than my neighbours "—or, "I am no saint, Heaven knows" or, "I dislike all Methodism and every kind of Pharisaical cant," &c., &c. Yet such young men are by no means so impenetrable, "hardened," or indifferent, as they are too generally assumed to be by seriousminded persons. In a quieter hour they will have

no difficulty in confessing that they "have great respect for a good man;”—that they "really love that old Mrs So-and-so, whom they believe as good a Christian woman as ever lived; "--that they "knew one Christian, if ever there was one on earth, a parson, too, of a parish where they lived for some years, who used to tell them," &c. ;—that, "in fact, they envy any one who can be really sincere Christians, for they themselves have seen such;" and then they look sad, as they recall some scene of family sorrow and loss! Ah! sick and dying ones, how your pale faces, and earnest eyes, and quiet words, and loving, unselfish ways, will come up in after-years, drawing the hearts of others after you to God! These, doubtless, remembered you. But alas! with all these admissions, there are still serious drawbacks on the part of our supposed listener -"he does not like to be bored with people advising him continually," he "would rather be let alone," or "he will take his chance, for it is really impossible for a young man to do this and that," &c., and, "after all, is it not his own look-out?" I like to get a quiet talk with a man of this stamp, in spite of his professed dislike to religious conversation. I do not at all despair of getting a hearing from him, even though he is addressed through the comparatively dry and cold medium of print.

There is, however, a far more difficult cast of character to deal with than this, with which, however, I would not be at all afraid of coming into contact, in the hope of finding a kindly hearing,—I mean the man who has been leading, not what is called a "reckless" life, or a "wild" life; yet one certainly "without God in the world,"-a life of selfwill, in which every desire has been indulged with little control, except such as was imposed by a mere selfishness that made him have some regard for his health, his purse, and his reputation; or by checks of a more worthy kind, from love of home and of friends. Yet, within such limits as these, how wide is the scope for utter godlessness! When temptation comes, this man is no more influenced to do what is right by God's commands, or by any sense of gratitude or responsibility towards his Maker; nor by any fear of the consequences of sin, or of desire of future happiness, than if atheism were his creed, or the Christian revelation a dream! The person I speak of possesses, possibly, many points of great attraction. He may have refined manners and tastes, and be fond of reading the current light literature of the day; is probably a good sportsman, and sufficiently well informed to be an agreeable companion in general society. Nor is he necessarily openly gross or offensive in word or life, and is capable, moreover, of warm attachments and loyal friendships. Yet there is wanting in him all depth or force of character. He is impulsive, selfwilled, and readily yields to the influences which surround him, if they harmonise at all with his bent. He has no idea of an attempt even at vigorous selfcontrol, but makes a soft, easy self-pleasing the end of his existence, with as little annoyance to others as possible. He dislikes church; though he may go occasionally "to please his mother" or 66 'aunts," but prefers a long sleep and a long walk; is always late for family prayers, when there are any; takes everything easy, and "likes a quiet life." Yet

such a man has his moments of reflection, when questionings are put to him by conscience, that disturb his peace, and make him uneasy; and times of great depression of spirits; with a keen sense of the nothingness of things which he would be glad some one would explain to him, and help him to remove,-hours of sober thought, when even a parson might gain a kindly hearing from him. There are various shades of this kind of man. He is "too good," as the phrase is, "to be wicked;" but, alas! he is also too wicked to be good; yet he may not scorn friendly counsel; and may become what he ought to be.

But there is a class common to all ranks, from those in the most vulgar Manchester or Glasgow workshop, to the members of the most fashionable London or Paris club, from whom I would expect no hearing, could I ever address them. The men I speak of are young in years, but old in sin; cold, cunning, selfish; gross in their passions, and debauched in their habits; without feeling and without remorse-who "glory in their shame,' laugh away all virtue, ridicule every noble sentiment, scoff at religion, and invent oaths-who care neither for God nor man, nor any creature but themselves, and out of whom everything pure and lofty seems almost to have departed! These, as low-bred artisans, are the rude, riotous, and drunken | in mobs or "pleasure excursions." As clerks and shopmen, they are seen by their companions in their true colours, after ten at night on the streets, or in taverns. As rich men's sons, they are the leaders on the fashionable promenades of ultrapuppyism, the boasters of all vileness in private, the free and easy in billiard rooms, the loungers in the saloons of theatres, the tempters of the weak, and the despisers of the good. Among them are the men whose highest ambition is to be thought knowing on the turf, to be of authority in sporting matters, familiarly acquainted with Tom This the famous jockey, or Jack That the wellknown huntsman or whipper-in; and who covet greatly to be well up in their information about all wickedness in general, but to be profoundly ignorant of everything thoughtful and serious as unworthy of a "fast man!" If the reader understands my hero, I think he will agree with me in the opinion that, could I address such an one with all the arguments which might be supposed capable of stirring the heart of man, and of gaining the soul to God, it would be with as much chance of success, humanly speaking, as if they were addressed to the swine, or to the devils that entered into them! Yet, after all, why should I say so? The love of God can cleanse and sanctify any heart! Certain it is, that if they are living in evil, it is from no other reason than this, that they do not choose the fear of the Lord, and "prefer darkness to light."

But if I can hope to be heard by all the others I have hinted at, how much more by the many thoughtful, sincere, and moral, who have greater knowledge of religion, truer convictions, more serious aims, higher aspirations, but who, to their own pain, are uneasy and restless in their, minds, irresolute of purpose, weak in practice, not knowing whither they are going, yet wishful to go along the path of duty; not miserable, yet not happy; not

OLD JENNY OF GLEN IMMERN.

THE Highland hills, before sheep grazed on them, were pastured by cattle only; and, to save the time and trouble of bringing those down from the high hills to be milked every morning and evening, the people to whom they belonged used. to build huts and small dairies in some sheltered nook among the hills, and live there during summer, making cheese for the winter. These summer cottages, or shielings, were generally situated beside some little stream, where the grass was greenest and the best shelter was afforded. If you ever walk among the Highland hills, and notice little knolls, green as emerald, with blooming heather like a band of rubies surrounding them, and hear a little stream singing all alone, with here and there a small heap of stones, you are pretty sure that in this spot was once the shieling where happy families lived long ago, where they milked the cattle when the summer sun at morning and evening was shining on those bare precipices, or gleaming on the far-off sea; and boys and girls laughed and sang, and played many a merry hour where now all is silent as the grave!

When the sheep were sent to the hills, the shielings were no longer of any use, and so they fell into ruins. But for many a year one hut remained far up in Glen Immern, inhabited by old Jenny Maclean. How she came to live there we never heard. Perhaps she had been there while a child with her father and mother, and with others who had passed from her sight, but not from the eye of her heart: and so she would see forms among the hills that others saw not, and hear voices of the old time whispering in her ear, or echoing among the knolls, that others heard not. Thus in the lonely glen Jenny was not alone. And I think she knew One who was more real to her than all those dreams of her heart, One who was her Father in heaven, and ever present with her. It is certain, however, that Jenny was singularly respected and beloved. In the Highlands, in the olden time, rich and poor mingled much more than in any country we have ever known or read of. It is a great mistake to suppose that the chiefs or proprietors were proud and haughty to the people. The very reverse was the case. High and low knew all about one another, and took a deep and tender interest in one another's joys and sorrows. In no district