these times—from being merely followers of men, and believing human theories, which have no power to save, in the place of believing the great truth, that Christ died for our sins, according to the Scriptures—that he was buried, and that he rose from the dead? Is it impossible to interest the public mind with the things of God—with the revelation from God to man, with the religion of Christ itself? Is the love of God gone from the world? Has the Holy Spirit of God abandoned the church? Is the human race mad, insane and ruined, so that all pleadings and entreaties to turn to God must fail? Must the holy religion of Christ be set aside for the silly disputes of these times? Shall that holy religion that saved such vast multitudes in the days of the apostles, fired the hearts of the missionaries of the cross and supported the holy martyrs in passing through all the cruel scourgings, tortures and privations for the name of the Lord, be contemned, despised and rejected by the people of our day? O, that God would enable us to _arouse_ the people of this generation from the awful stupor and deep slumbers of carnal security to prepare to meet God! A MOTHER’S GRAVE. Earth has some sacred spots where we feel like looseing the shoes from our feet, and treading with holy reverence; where common words of social converse seem rude, and the smile of pleasure unfitting; places where friendship’s hands have lingered in each other’s; where vows have been plighted, prayers offered, and tears of parting shed. Oh, how the thoughts hover around such places, and travel back through unmeasured space to visit them. But, of all the spots on this green earth, none is so sacred as that where rest, waiting the resurrection, those we once cherished and loved—our brothers, our sisters, or our children. Hence, in all ages, the better part of mankind have chosen and loved spots for the burial of their dead; and on these spots they have loved to wander at eventide, to meditate and weep. But, of all places, even among the charnel-houses of the dead, none is so sacred as a mother’s grave. There sleeps the nurse of our infancy—the guide of our youth—the counselor of our riper years—our friend, when others deserted us—she, whose heart was a stranger to every other feeling but love, and who could always find excuses for us when we could find none for ourselves. There she sleeps, and we love the very earth for her sake. With sentiments like these, I turned aside from the gayeties of life, to the narrow habitations of the dead. I wandered among those who had commenced life with me in hope. Here distinctions were forgotten; at least, by the quiet slumberers around me. I saw the rich and the great, who scorned the poor, and shunned them as infected with the plague, quietly sleeping by their side. TENDENCY OF UNIVERSALISM.