gelical views, the masses of the people seem, as yet, little affected by it. The countries comprehended in Mr. Kuntze's sketch, though almost entirely Protestant, are, to a frightful extent, regions of spiritual death. The average attendance at the churches was from twenty-five to thirty persons. Whole classes of people had in many places totally deserted them. Open atheism, drunkenness, profanity, profligacy, degrading vices of every kind prevail to an awful extent. The few who yet have some sympathy for the Church, and desire moral reform, expect everything from the police or government. Nevertheless, there were appearing some hopeful signs of improvement. Prayer meetings had been introduced in some parts. The Inner Mission was actively at work, and the missions to the heathens and Jews were the means of rekindling the religious life in some hearts at home. Surely such a state of things justifies our Church in sending missionaries to Germany, and who must not acknowledge that Methodism is the very agency which the Church in Germany needs?

The closing scene, the farewell addresses, the epilogue of Dr. Krummacher, the last prayer, the sublime music, the great multitude absorbed in devotion, as it was perhaps never seen in Germany, the interest which the king and queen took in it, all this was of thrilling interest, but we have no space for details. We will only add, that when the conference, at 8 P. M. adjourned sine die, those who were able, hastened from the Garrison Church to the other end of the city, where, in the Church of the Moravians about two hundred ministers of the Gospel-Lutherans, Calvinists, Episcopalians, Methodists, Baptists, and other denominations-sat down together at the table of their common Lord and Saviour.

We close with one retrospective remark. Dr. Krummacher was, a few months ago, accused of having changed his sentiments respecting the Evangelical Alliance. This report is essentially incorrect. It originated from some remarks which he made in a private meeting of the Berlin Committee of the Alliance. The question was proposed By what means can the prejudices which many evangelical men in Germany still entertain against the Alliance be best removed? In answer to this question the doctor reviewed the objections made by orthodox men. They were threefold. One party, he said, fears, notwithstanding our protest, that we intend to make a fusion of Churches; they say our nine articles are a new confession of faith. Another party complains of the nine articles, because they contain only a part of those truths which they hold equally dear, and they wish not to assume the appearance of attributing less importance to the truths which are not contained in

the nine articles. The third party objects, that the nine articles. contain too much of doctrinal confession. The alliance professed to manifest the communion of saints in the most comprehensive manner, but her nine articles exclude true children of God, such as the "Friends" and others.

These different objections had led him to think whether the German branch of the alliance would not accomplish more, if, like their French brethren, instead of insisting upon the acceptance of the nine articles as the condition of membership in the alliance, they would offer the hand of brotherly fellowship to all who believe in the triune God, and who promise to love the Lord Jesus Christ by keeping his commandments and loving one another.

These remarks of Dr. Krummacher are very suggestive of further reflections in more than one point of view. But we must leave the subject with the reader.

ART. IV.-DRUGS AS AN INDULGENCE.

1. The Lands of the Saracen. By BAYARD TAYLOR.

2. The Hasheesh Eater; being Passages from the Life of a Pythagorean. Harpers. 1857.

3. Missionary Travels and Researches in South Africa. By DAVID LIVINGSTONE, LL.D., D.C.L. Harpers. 1858.

4. Confessions of an Opium Eater. By THOMAS DE QUINCEY.
5. The Scientific Basis of Prohibition. By PROFESSOR YEOMANS.

LIFE is action, and man naturally loves that which rouses him, and creates pleasurable motion and emotion. From the cradle to the grave he has something before him which he would like to do, or be, or possess, something for which he works, or about which he dreams. We all move, with less or more rapidity, steadiness, wisdom, or folly, and the motive power varies in a thousand ways. Some catch the breath of heaven in lofty sky-sails, and speed on to the ports of eternal peace. Others, heavy laden with earthly projects, push on under the influence of motives that are best kept out of sight, propellers that become powerless unless sunk beneath the surface. Few stop to ask themselves the question, “For what do I live?" and fewer still seek till they find the true answer. Ideas and emotions, hopes and fears, set the world going, and each man feels their power, and moves under their impulse. This motive power varies in its nature with age, physical state, and mental and moral character. Look at the incessant activity of the child. Its little

fect patter about from morning till night: its eager eyes dart, and its restless hands are laid upon everything within its reach, while its chattering tongue shows that the mind is as active as the muscles. The little child moves under the impulse of two forces, one mental, the other physical. The mind is constantly excited by the presence of new objects, and new properties discovered in those objects. As he draws the toy-wagon over the carpet, as he erects and then knocks down his castle of blocks, and then runs to the mirror to contemplate his own merry face, the child is not merely amusing himself. He is, in fact, carrying on a series of philosophical experiments; he is investigating the laws of matter, and making discoveries, without a knowledge of which he would be utterly unfit for the ordinary duties of life. But there is another reason for the industrious habits of children. He who made the light for the eye, made the human frame for action. Every muscle in the little form seems to contain a steel spring, wound up to its highest tension. To keep it still is impossible. And, indeed, among young and old, a person of vigorous health and energetic mind will love motion, nor can he be deprived of it without creating a restless, uneasy feeling, which is nature's remonstrance against wrong.

The amount of effort of which a man is capable depends primarily upon his physical organization, and this, in turn, depends upon race, family, climate, food, habit, and other hereditary or incidental circumstances, many of which are exceedingly difficult of explanation. If we call attention to the fact that one Englishman or American will do as much as a score of Hindoos in any kind of mental or physical labor, we are told that in energy and power the men of temperate climates have always been superior to the tropical But how are we to account for the differences which we see in the forces of men outwardly equal?

races.

Take, for example, a long and exciting session of our General Conference. At its close perhaps a third of its members will be worn down, wearied out, while another third will be apparently as fresh as at the beginning, and yet they could not have been singled out and classified at the beginning. The apparently strong man often breaks down the soonest, and the seemingly feeble one wears the best, and Cassius, with his "lean and hungry look," is found as capable of unremitting labor as the "fat, sleek-headed men, that sleep o' nights."

But besides this matter of endurance, there is another curious subject, which is of great importance, especially to those whose labor is mental: I refer to mental and physical excitability. We are susceptible of being roused, stimulated, excited, so that every

power, both of body and of mind, is strangely augmented, and things otherwise impossible, are done with ease. See the soldier engaged in battle. This morning, when the drum beat at break of day, he awoke weak, languid, unnerved. At the word of command he fell into the ranks, and marched on with listless mechanical motions. But the heavy boom of a cannon is heard in the distance, and a horseman dashes over the plain, and reports that the enemy is in sight. Soon a long line, glittering with arms, is seen, and the carnage begins. Look now at our soldier. His form is erect, every muscle seems clothed with tenfold its ordinary strength, and with a face fiery with fierce excitement, he plunges recklessly into the fray. Take another example of the same thing. An important case is before the court. Weary days have been spent in the examination of witnesses, and now the crisis has come, and the contest must be terminated on the field of argument. The crowds gather, and as a wellknown form arises, every eye is fixed upon him, and every ear is open to the tide of words. But the advocate is worn down by days of intense labor, and nights spent, not in sleep, but in preparation for the hour which has now come. His face is pale, his eye dull, and he holds his papers with an unsteady hand. As he begins his argument his voice is calm, his enunciation slow and even hesitating, and his whole manner indicates a leaden condition, both of body and mind. But as he advances he warms, and his thoughts, like the arrow of old Acestes, take fire as they fly. His eyes flash, his face glows, his voice becomes full and strong, his gestures grow free and impassioned, and the whole man is transfigured by the intensity of his mental action and the fervor of his emotions.

This is the excitement which puts a man in full possession of his powers, and then, if capable of great things, he performs them. Thus the minister delivers his message with most force and effect. Thus the hearer perceives most clearly, and feels most deeply what he hears. Thus the student recites his lesson, or declaims his speech, or tells his comrades an anecdote with fluency and effect. Thus in company the young lady at the piano, and the young man entertaining his circle, will perform their part with best success. Thus the mechanic driving his saw, and the farmer swinging his scythe, will, in a given time, do the most work with the least fatigue. Thus the poet shuts out his friends, and writes while what he calls his inspiration lasts; and thus the historian plies his rapid pen, and wonders at the ready flow of his thoughts, and the facility with which he expresses them. These are the times when the beating of the heart is rapid and strong, and the blood runs in a full channel. When the whole being is thus excited, we are moved most easily,

whether to love or hate, anger or laughter, and most easily changed from pity to wrath, and from merriment to tears.

This excitement we all naturally seek. We love to feel every nerve strong, and every muscle full of bounding blood. We love to be conscious of the rapid flashes of thought, the sudden gush of emotion, and to know that in mind and body we are prepared to do our best at feats of strength, or feats of reasoning.

Susceptibility of excitement is an important element of efficiency in moving others. Whether written or spoken, the ideas which are forged at a white heat, are the ideas which stir and thrill. The "inspiration" of the public speaker has been described briefly; that of the writer is substantially the same. The author sits down to write in his solitary chamber. Darkness covers the earth without, and, save the irregular scratches of the pen, the house is silent within. He writes alone, yet he is talking with his fellows. He imagines an audience. His study becomes populous, and myriads of eager faces and beaming eyes fill the shadowy spaces around him. He deals with thoughts and feels emotions which he would fain transfer to other souls, and he yearns for winged words and burning sentences to bear them. He grows earnest as he writes; his heart beats more quickly and powerfully; his face flushes; the drops of sweat bedew his forehead, and the veins swell, and ever and anon he starts up and paces the room impetuously. He fancies that he sees the effect of each sentence, and rising upon the current of his own mental and emotional excitement, he revels in enjoyment. An author soon learns the secret of his own moods. While the tide is up he writes, and when it begins to ebb he ceases, knowing that whatever is written after the mind flags, is inferior both in thought and expression. For this reason, a noted English author never writes more than three hours a day, inasmuch as he is constitutionally incapable of maintaining his flight at the proper altitude beyond that time.

Mental and physical excitability has a curious connection with the "power" and also the length of public addresses. A speaker of experience will notice considerable variations in his own efforts. He sees that he cannot always command his usual flow of thought and power of expression, and sometimes both seem strangely increased. When everything went uncommonly well with them, the old preachers used to say that they "had liberty," or "had an open time," and when the case was reversed, they "had deadness of spirit," or "had no liberty." We believe that these things had something to do with the flesh as well as the spirit; and that the effect of a sermon would often be greater, if the preacher understood