celestial whisperings stole upon the sacred silence of Gethsemane! Those shining ones were the almoners of heaven's sympathy and succour to the forlorn and forsaken Jesus.

Look, once again, across the joyous city; behold a spot beyond the shadows of the western wall of Acra-bleak and blasted as by the whirlwind-a territory assigned to death, and which, on a nearer view, is seen to be strewed with the bones and other relics of the victims of capital punishment. This scene of execution was known to the Jews as "The Place of Skulls." It is exactly seven weeks this very hour* since they led him forth from the tribunal of injustice, along the "Dolorous Way," and through yonder gate, to the place where the traitor, the abject slave, and the blood-stained assassin are wont to expiate their crimes. The remembrances of that day of crime are yet keen and strong within us.

We see the dense masses of furious men moving towards Calvary; we hear the war of fiendish passions—the muttered curses, the awful blasphemies, the scornful execrations, the impatient clamour for the blood of purity and goodness, ascending above the vacated city, alternately sinking to murmurs and rising into tempest. When the frenzy for a moment abated, a band of men, wearing the white attire of the priesthood, are seen rushing amid the throng, scattering widely the fuel of scorn, and hurling on the inflammable hearts of the multitude the fire of hate. Too well they succeeded. The deed was done. The wailings of the faithful few, and the feeble sorrows of piety, which broke forth when the soldiery reared the sacred form of Jesus upon the tree of torture, were unheeded amid the shouts of malicious triumph that arose, and the uproar of voices that derisively chanted, in accents of furious exultation, the requiem of the "Man of Sorrows."

Hours rolled on. The blood-thirstiness of the myriads was sated the fever of their frenzy began to cool—the consciences of the least corrupted among them were becoming sensible of compunctious visitings-when, to the amazement of all, a mysterious darkness crept suddenly across earth and sky, which deepened with a fearful rapidity into the appalling blackness of midnight. And yet it was not like the partial obscurity of night. The vast vault of heaven was clothed, as it were, in * It was seven weeks from the crucifixion to the day of Pentecost.

sackcloth. The waxing moon of the Pentecost was no where visible. Not a star had power to pierce through the gloom. The disc of the burning sun alone hung awfully in the zenith, red as gore, and to the affrighted eyes of thousands, seemed to pour down showers of blood upon the holy city and that field of crime. The hot air of mid-summer grew sickly and suffocating, filling the veins and brains of all with fever. Then, upon the solemn stillness, the breathless hush, that succeeded the former turbulence and riot, there came a blaze of vivid fire, sweeping the whole verge of the horizon, and burning upwards towards the central sky, attended by a tremendous crash, which sounded as though the heavens were dashed to atoms, and whose thunders roared long and appallingly among the Judean mountains. At the same moment the firm foundations of the earth were moved, the ground shook, the city reeled upon its three eminences, the sanctuary rocked to its mighty basement, the rocks were cleft into a thousand falling fragments, the caverned tombs yawned and revealed their hidden recesses, the bulwarks that had withstood the ravages of war for centuries were hurled down, and many of the superb structures of the nobles were mutilated and despoiled. An universal panic seized the compressed multitude. The sternness of their rage was past. Some wept profusely from the violent reaction of excessive passions ; some smote their breasts as if to still the rising woe; some gasped convulsively for breath; others rushed wildly towards the Holy City for refuge from the menaced retribution of heaven; others, frozen and petrified by terror, clung to the spot like statues; and more sank upon their knees, and offered hurried prayers; whilst from the bloodless lips of myriads there sprang such agonized shrieks and despairing cries as rose fearfully at intervals in concert with the howling gales, the pealing thunders, the crashing buildings, and the wild dissonance of affrighted cattle in the neighbouring pastures. The prodigies attendant on that day of ingratitude and crime will never be forgotten!

That day of desperate wickedness at length declined, the supernatural phenomena have passed away, the ravages of the earthquake have been partially repaired, the music of a festive host again dances merrily through the air, and the tide of life has resumed its accustomed flow; but a curse has been branded

on the hearts of the people, and fearful accessions have been made to the boundless stores of wrath treasured up against a coming day of retribution. But years of richer mercy and surprising grace stand, angel like, between them and their utter ruin. * * * Our hearts forebode strange incidents in the guilty city ere the "feast of weeks" has closed. Hark! the first trumpet announces that the morning sacrifice is about to be offered. And see there is a brisker stir among the sprightly tenants of the valley, and the denser throngs around the gates! Let us descend.

QUITO.

THE CHURCH CATECHISM.

To the Editor of the "Independent Magazine.

Sir-I take the liberty of sending you the following catechism, as a kind of sequel to the valuable paper by your correspondent "S," commencing page 7, in your number for January last. It was lately addressed to a public body, as reasons why they should eject the catechism of the Church of England from their library. If you think it worthy of a place in your periodical, as confirmatory of the facts stated by "S," it is quite at your service.

The substance of the paper was as follows: "Do you believe that godfathers and godmothers' can promise for a child, and vow such things as the following in its name, either honestly or honourably, namely, that they should renounce the devil and all his works, the pomps and vanities of this evil world, and all the sinful lusts of the flesh-that he should believe all the articles of the christian faith—that he should keep God's holy will and commandments, and walk in the same all the days of his life? Whatsoever you may think of these promises and vows, the poor child must repeat them, and say, he is bound to believe and do as they have promised for him. He is then to thank God for calling him to this state of salvation.

“The child is then required to tell the number of God's commandments, and he must answer 'ten.' Ten! what only ten? After repeating the prescribed number, it is demanded, what he chiefly learns by THEM? And he is obliged (among other things) to say that he learns his duty towards his neigh

bour is to love him as himself. Yet there is not one word about love in the whole ten! Again, to honour and obey the king and all that are put in authority under him. Here, be it observed, there is not only nothing about a king in the decalogue, but when it was delivered to the Jews from Sinai, they had no king. Another thing he must say that he learns from them is, to order himself lowly and reverently to all his betters! Still, should we search the whole ten for such words as lowly, reverently, or betters, our search would be in vain! What think ye, gentlemen, of a catechism whereby children are taught to utter such palpable falsities by wholesale—to commence religion with untruths? Is such a book worthy of a place in your repository? Unless you can decidedly say, 'Yes, it is, for it is the quintessence of wisdom,' I pray you individually to hold up both hand and voice against it whenever you have an opportunity-banish it from your library-get rid of such an opprobrium from your shelves, whatever may be the consequence."

Although, sir, these incongruities are plain enough upon the very surface, yet as this grand catechism was the great gun by which so recently a certain baronet covertly endeavoured to depress dissenters and to undermine their Sunday schools, perhaps it may be prudent to unmask it, and expose its deformities to public gaze, that its value (?) may be more clearly noticed this would be done very extensively, sir, should you conclude to place the above in your Magazine. Wishing you and your cause every success, I am, Mr. Editor,

Your's very respectfully,

Feb. 9, 1844.

AN INDEPENDENT.

CONFIRMATION IN THE COUNTRY.

Successively over every bowed head those sacred hands are extended, which are to communicate a subtle but divine influence; and how solemn is the effect of that one grave and deliberate yet earnest voice, which, in the absence of the organ tones, in the hushed and heart-generated stillness of the place, is alone heard pronouncing the words of awful import to every youthful recipient of the rite. 'Tis done-again the tide of

music rolls over us, fraught with tenfold kindling of that spirit which has seized upon us; and amid its celestial exultings, that band of youthful ones has withdrawn, and another has taken its place. Thus it goes on till the whole have been confirmed in the faith in which their sponsors vowed to nurture them, and which they have now vowed to maintain for ever. The bishop delivers his parting exhortation, and solemnly charges them to return home in a manner becoming the sacredness of the occasion and of their present act. Filled with the glow of purest feelings, breathing the very warmest atmosphere of poetry and religious exaltation, we rise up with our neighbours, and depart. We depart—and the first breath of common air dissipates the beautiful delusion in which we have been, for a short space, entranced. We feel the rite to be beautiful while we cease to think; but the moment we come to penetrate into the mind which lies beneath, it becomes an empty dream. We feel that did our after consciousness permit us to believe that he who administered this rite was filled with its sanctity, and relied implicitly on its efficacy-that the youthful tribe of neophytes were rightly prepared by the ministry of their respective pastors, and possessed the simple credence of past ages to give vitality to the office then, indeed, might it be in fact, what it can now only appear for an instant. We feel, moreover, taking yet lower ground than this, that were the clergy a body filled with the zeal of their calling, they possess in this ceremony a means of powerful influence. But I have hitherto spoken only of its poetical and picturesque effect, and that effect endures not a step beyond the church doors. At that point the habitual apathy of the clergy converts this rite into one of the most awful and hideous of mockeries. The bishop charges the recipients to return home in soberness and decorum; but he should charge their respective clergymen to conduct them thither. But where are the clergy? They are gone to dine with the bishop, or their clerical brethren: and what are the morals of the youth to good dinners? They have turned the children over to the clerks. And where are the clerks? They have some matters of trade to transact—some spades, or cart-saddles, or groceries to buy-and what is the health of the children's souls to spades, and cart-saddles, and groceries? They have turned the lambs of the flock over to the schoolmasters. And where