'Invited the people of that place to a friendly exchange of food, and slew twenty-three of their unsuspecting victims. When the treacherous Nggarans had gratified their own appetites by pieces of the flesh, cut off and roasted on the spot, the bodies were taken to Vakambua, who was greatly astonished, expressed much regret that such a slaughter should have grown out of his carelessness, and then shared the bodics to be eaten.'

Another case:

Captives are sometimes reserved for special occasions. I have never been able, either by inquiry or observation, to find any truth in the assertion that, in some parts of the group, no bodies are buried, but all eaten.'

One more instance, and our readers will have had enough :

'When the slain are few, and fall into the hands of the victors, it is the rule to eat them. Late in 1851, fifty bodies were cooked at one time on Namena. In such cases of plenty, the head, hands, and intestines are thrown away; but when a large party can get but one or two bodies, as at Natewa in 1845, every part is consumed. Native warriors carry their revenge beyond death, so that bodies slain in battle are often mutilated in a frightful manner, a treatment which is considered neither mean nor brutal.'

We could go on quoting from the volume to an extent which, if the inclination were followed, could be limited only by the quantity of matter which it contains. We have assumed that we could not do better than give the reader as much of its contents as possible, and have, therefore, confined our paper to little more than a series of selections. We can assure him that there is scarcely a page which does not equal in interest the illustrations we have given, and we repeat, that the book is the most complete of its kind that we are acquainted with. In another paper we hope to take up the subject of the second volume-Christianity amongst the Cannibals.

Responsibility for the Moral Condition of others.

A SERMON TO THE CHURCHES.

THE Lord said unto Cain, Where is Abel thy brother? The question manifestly implied, that he was in some sort responsible for his brother's well-being. Cain answers his Maker in the first place by a deliberate lie. I know not, said he, while he knew too well the field in which his brother lay weltering in his blood. Cain, moreover, observed the implication involved in the question, and he took occasion instantly to repudiate it. Am I, said he, my brother's keeper? God condescends neither to argue with the sinner nor to take notice of the insolence of his reply. He reveals at once his knowledge of the murderer's guilt; and pronounces the sentence which it deserved. What hast thou done? The voice of thy brother's blood crieth to me from the ground. And

now thou art cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to receive thy brother's blood from the ground.'

There seems thus to be a question at issue between man and his Maker. God holds us responsible for the effect of our conduct upon others. We declare that we are not responsible. What God affirms we deny. What is the truth in the case? Is God right, and are we wrong; or is God wrong, and are we right? Is the Judge of the whole earth a God of equity, or is mortal man more just than his Maker? This is the question which we are called upon for a few minutes to consider.

What is the truth in this matter, if we examime our relations to each other as men?

You say that you are not responsible for the result of your conversation and example upon others; that every one must take care of himself, and bear his own burden; and that all for which we are accountable is the result of our own actions upon ourselves. But I ask, do you not know that others are affected by your example, and that their moral character will be modified by what they hear you say and see you do? This you do not deny, but still you affirm, that no one can be either good or bad for another; that sin is the act of the individual sinner; that every moral agent is endowed with perfect freedom of will; that no one need be influer.ced by you unless he chooses; and, therefore, you can not be held responsible for the sin of your neighbour. Hence you hold, that though you acted with perfect freedom, and knew what would be the result of your actions-nay, though you deliberately intended to produce this result-you are in no manner morally accountable for the consequences.

Let us apply this to your own experience. Turn your eyes inward, and observe with care what you are at this moment. Examine deliberately your own character, and weigh with accuracy your own intellectual and moral condition, Go back to boyhood, and recall the various changes that have been wrought in you during your passage through life. You can well remember those critical periods when your biases, your objects, your aspirations, the governing principles of your character, underwent the most important modifications. You will recollect, if you care to recollect it, that those changes in character, by which so much of your subsequent destiny was determined, were to a great extent, if not wholly, the result of the associations which were then exerting a predominant influence over you. Some of the men whom you have known took care to summon you to high resolve, to breathe into your soul noble aspirations, and instil into your forming mind the principles of truth and honour, disinterestedness and humanity. Others, by example and precept, filled your imagination with pictures of wickedness; they took pleasure in liberating you from moral restraint; they enticed you into sin; they forged those chains of evil habit by which you are to the present moment held in bondage. How do you look upon these two different classes of your associates? Do you not love, and honour, and venerate the one, and hate and despise the

other? You look upon the former as your dearest friends, and upon the latter as your worst enemies. The thought of the one fills you with gratitude, that softens your heart and makes you better; the thought of the other arouses within you a spirit of hate and revenge, which must be subdued into forgiveness, or it will make you worse. But why this difference, if the good have fulfilled and the wicked have violated no responsibility? If their precept and example have had nothing to do with your present condition, why should you lay your virtue or vice, your success or failure, at their door? Your own conduct, your own moral instincts, your own deliberate judgment, all give the lie to your theory; and you cannot but see that if others are responsible for your present moral condition, you are equally responsible

for theirs.

But we will proceed to other illustrations. We will take the case of a parent. A family is growing up around him, and looking up to him as the model upon which their intellectual and moral character is to be formed. It is right that they should do so, for where else should they look for precept and example? On various occasions, to escape some trifling inconvenience, or to gain some transient advantage, he utters, or he tells them or his servants to utter, what he knows to be false; he makes a promise which he does not intend to fulfil; he speaks a threat which he does not mean to execute; or he terrifies a child by setting forth some danger which he knows to be fabulous. He smiles approbation upon some transaction which displays great skill but little honesty. He has never said so, but his children have imbibed the decided impression that he estimates men by their success, and not by their integrity. He talks to them very gravely about the excellence of virtue and goodness, but the deference which he pays exclusively to wealth and position show very clearly that he is not in earnest. His children imbibe his sentiments, and improve upon his example. He finds as they grow up to be men and women, that they have become adepts in all the arts of duplicity and cunning, and that they are putting in practice towards him the very lessons in which he was their first instructor. He is ashamed to observe, that they care far less than he considers respectable, for the means by which wealth is acquired, so long as the end is attained; and that their associates are men whom he would hardly notice on 'Change. His sons are the companions of sharpers and profligates, and his daughters the wives of adventurers and debauchees. When, and where, and by whom were the germs of all this wickedness and misery nourished?

Take another illustration. Here is a man engaged in extensive business, surrounded by junior partners, clerks, and the various classes of young men employed in a large mercantile establishment. They look upon him as their acknowledged head, whose opinion will determine their position when they enter upon life. They hear him express opinions to a customer quite at variance with those which in confidence he expresses to them. They, not unfrequently, record transactions, which are sadly in violation of the precept, Thou shalt

love thy neighbour as thyself. A neighbour is pressed for money, and a profit is realized out of his necessities, which must not be mentioned out of doors. All this, and much like it, is of course confidential, and is never spoken of elsewhere. Here it seems to terminate and be for ever forgotten. But does it terminate here? Alas, the poison is already at work, corrupting the principles of all those young men. The lesson has been learned by all to whom it has been taught, and the practice commencing where the teacher left it, soon grows into habitual dishonesty. You may trace these men into subsequent life. One becomes wealthy by practices which brand him as a sharper. Another loses all character by a shamefully dishonest failure. One flees his country as a defaulter, and another is convicted of forgery. It is fortunate for the chief if these lessons are not practised on himself, and his account of stock, at the end of the year, does not discover discrepancies hard to be accounted for. Was not this man the keeper of the souls of the young men in his employ? When, and where, and by whom were these seeds planted?

But look at the history of every day of our lives, We are always talking, and men are always hearing us. We are always acting, and men are always seeing us. Every word that we speak, and every act that we perform, is contributing something to form the character of the men around us. They are made either better or worse by their intercourse with us, and we cannot prevent it. The effect which we produce on them they will reproduce in their intercourse with others. Thus the fountain of moral influence which we open will flow on, growing deeper and broader even unto the end. In the broad daylight of the judgment morning, all this complicated network will be completely disentangled, and the part which each man has borne in forming the character of his neighbour will be traced back distinctly to its author.

Here let us pause for a moment, to observe the light which is thus thrown upon the sinfulness of sin. It would seem, from all that we know, that moral evil is in its nature infectious, and by necessity reproduces itself for ever. That a single sin must mar our own moral nature, and create a tendency to sin, which, unless corrected, must for ever gain strength, can be easily shown. That it must from our social nature produce the same effect upon others, is also evident. Thus it is that the sin of our first parents is the cause of all the sin and misery that have cursed our race to the present day. Every one of our own sins partakes of the same character. What must then be the desert of the sins of a lifetime? What mortal man can measure, much less make reparation for, the mischief which he has wrought in the universe of God? Surely, by the deeds of the law can no flesh be justified. Well for us is it, that our help is laid upon One mighty to save. The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin: for he hath magnified the law, and made it honourable. This is the only and allsufficient hope for a sinner.

The bearing of the subject is yet more impressive on those who

profess to be the disciples of Jesus Christ. Let us look at it briefly in this relation.

It is manifest that the children of God are continued on earth, for the express purpose of being keepers of their fellow-men. They were such under the old dispensation. He expected his chosen people to testify for him, and exemplify the superiority of the true religion over every form of idolatry. He looked for the fulfilment of the obligations which they had assumed, when they separated themselves from the heathen, and became his people. Surely, said he, they are my people; children that will not lie, therefore he was their Saviour. When they did not fulfil their obligations, but suffered the lamp of piety to go out in their temple, so that they had shed no light upon the surrounding darkness, but through them his name was blasphemed among the Gentiles, he swept them away from the land which they had polluted, and blotted them out of the catalogue of nations.

The teachings of the New Testament are yet more explicit, frequently repeated, and set before us with every variety of illustration. Our Lord represents the world as going to decay, and his disciples as the salt by which it is preserved from decomposition. The world is a mass of unleavened meal; Christ's disciples are the leaven by which it is excited to universal fermentation. The world is a dark room; they are the lamp by which it is to be lightened. The world is shrouded in starless midnight; they are the city set upon a hill, by which the far off traveller discovers his direction and reaches his home in safety. The meaning of all this cannot be misunderstood. We are here taught that our title to discipleship must rest on something more than mere quiescence, having our religion to ourselves, and doing no harm with it. If this be all our piety, we are salt that has lost its saltness, good for nothing but to be cast out and trodden under foot. We are lamps hidden under a bushel, which are just as good as no lamps at all. Christ teaches us that his disciples must be something better than a mere negation; they must exert a real and positive agency on the world around them. The salt must diffuse its saltness. The city on the hill must scatter light on those near and those afar off. It is by thus doing that we give evidence of our discipleship, and if we do it not, he will say unto us, I never knew you. Christ imposes upon all his disciples the duty of being in this sense the keepers of their fellow men.

The reasonableness of all this is self-evident. In order that the world should be converted unto Christ, it is necessary that every man should be convinced of the truth of his doctrines, and the authority of his mission. An abundant proof of this may be logically made out, on the principles of historical evidence. But this evidence can reach not one in ten thousand of the human family, and among those whom it reaches, prejudice will cavil where the understanding can make no reply. Christ intended the conversion of sinners to be the standing miracle by which it should be proved that he is the messenger from the Father. When men, by belief in him, are transformed from sin,