soarings of some of our modern writers, and especially the assertion of a celebrated philo-mechanic doctor, a short time since, in a lecture at a public institution, has given me an intolerable disgust to "science," falsely so called. He stated (if I am not greatly mistaken) that "the light of philosophy, and inventions of science, would by and by annihilate the curse, and restore man to his pristine state of dignity and happiness, by superseding manual labour altogether." The chief agent to accomplish this was "the power of the air" "not (jeeringly) the prince of the power of the air." In this state, man, erect, and beautifully nerved and proportioned, would have nothing to do but to strut about this lower paradise, and feast upon its dainty productions.

From these visionary theories, I now beg

1102

Oriental obeisance, and as often did he express his thanks by a murmuring noise. When a bough obstructed the houdah, he twisted his trunk around it, and though of considerable magnitude, broke it off with ease, and often gathered a leafy branch, either to keep off the flies, or as a fan to agitate the air around him, by waving it with his trunk; he generally paid a visit to the tentdoor during breakfast, to procure sugarcandy or fruit, and to be cheered by the encomiums and caresses he deservedly met with; no spaniel could be more innocently playful, or fonder of those who noticed him, than this docile animal, which on particular occasions appeared conscious of his exalta. tion above the brute creation.-Forbes' Oriental Memoirs.

fact.

One of my hens having accidentally swallowed a bean-stalk so far down her throat as to leave but a small part protruding at her mouth, set up instantly a most piteous cackling, and ran, bill open, to her nearest female companion for aid, but she tried in vain to extract it. She then rapidly applied to the others in turn, but although each compassionately endeavoured to relieve her, all failed, either for want of strength or skill. At last she darted away to the cock, which, after an apparent consideration, and three long and hearty pulls, performed the operation, to the joy of the animals, and admiration of the spectators. RICHARD GOOD.

DOCILITY OF ELEPHANTS.

ELEPHANTS in peace and war know their duty, and are more obedient to the word of command than many rational beings. It is said they can travel, on an emergency, two hundred miles in forty-eight hours; but will hold out for a month at the rate of forty or fifty miles a day, with cheerfulness and alacrity. I performed many long journeys upon an elephant, given by Ragobah to Colonel Keating; nothing could exceed the sagacity, docility, and affection of this noble quadruped: if I stopped to enjoy a prospect, he remained immoveable until my sketch was finished; if I wished for ripe mangoes growing out of the common reach, he selected the most fruitful branch, and breaking it off with his trunk, offered it to the driver for the company in the houdah, accepting of any part given to himself with a respectful salem, by raising his trunk three times above his head, in the manner of the

AN OLD BOOK.

In

"In the year 1272, the pay of a labouring man was three-halfpence per day. 1274, the price of a Bible, with a commentary, fairly written, was thirty pounds. That precious volume, which may now be obtained, by many labourers, for one day's pay, would then have cost them thirteen years' labour to produce.

"It is further worthy of remark, that in the year 1240, the building of two arches of London bridge cost twenty-five pounds; five pounds less than the value of a Bible! How great are the privileges of British

Christians.

1103

Tho' war with its terrific train,
Has rear'd awhile its hydra head,
Tho' it has long imbued the plain
With slaughter'd ruins of the dead;
Yet shall that ruling hand on high,
That guides the planets as they roll
Through yonder vast ethereal sky,
The varied ills of earth control.

The Christian with untroubled breast,
Altho' assail'd by numerous foes,
Can on the Rock of ages rest,
And on his excellence repose.
For, lo, the coming season brings
All that our labouring souls can need;
Th' incarnate God, the King of kings,
His flock with ceaseless care shall feed.
With him in pastures green they rove,
Where springs a fountain ever clear;
There the sweet fulness of his love
And grace, in union bright appear.
The soul that drinks these waters pure,
That in delightsome torrents flow,
Henceforth eternally secure

By the rich draught, no thirst shall know.
The soul that seeks this pasture green,
And will its fragrant verdure taste,
No more shall hunger or complain,
But have an endless rich repast.

Poetry.

REFLECTIONS ON MORTALITY. (For the End of the Year 1829.) TIME glides along with viewless feet, Its nimble steps I cannot hear; Though few improve it, all I meet Lament, aghast, its swift career. I have no wrinkles on my face, I have not yet a snowy head; Yet in my short life's evil race,

What great ones from this vale have fled !

The mighty, too, are pass'd away,
Some lofty trees have felt the gust:
The narrow, lonely" house of clay,"
Hath heard the dirge-word "dust to dust."

Who flew to preach atoning grace,
In palmy vale or piny wood,
And toil'd to save the pagan race,
And "quench the brands in Jesu's blood;"
Have left their dust in hope to rest
Beneath the arch of other skies,
Where weeping slaves in islands west,
Embalm the turf that o'er them lies.
Nor these alone, the pious dead;
But mighty spirits of the day,
The sceptred hand, the laurel'd head,
Are quiet in their home of clay.
Who made the skies a promenade :
Who told the stars with nicest care;
Who when the forked lightning play'd,
Could guide it harmless through the air;
Who charm'd the senate, rul'd the war,
Or ploughed the wide and faithless wave,
The eloquent at bench and bar,

The gay,

the lovely, and the grave;

The painter's easel, poet's lyre,
The gloomy depths of Byron's mind;
A Handel's skill or Chatham's fire,
Have only left a name behind.
Who figur'd in the vale of strife,
The busy, learned, witty, brave,
Expunged from the page of life,
Find their asylum in the grave.

Yes, they have passed the dark barrier
The vulture's eye hath never seen;
And every hope and every fear

Are now as though they ne'er had been.

Still gliding on, the tide of time
Hath roll'd them to the "vasty deep,"
And shall we on the wave sublime
That sweeps along, securely sleep?
The fleeting year hath swiftly fled,
The tide I rolling onward see;
And he who writ, or rul'd, or bled,
Hath pass'd into eternity.

And what am I who linger here,
A worm, a bubble, shadow, leaf;
Till Christ my morning-star appear,
I pass my pilgrimage of grief!

In every month a scorpion stings,
An archer shoots from every sign,*
Death rides each passing moment's wings,
And life is but a spider's line.

Oh! be it all my study, care!
To fill with" odorous oil" my lamp,
To spend my time in faith and prayer,
And serve my Lord without the camp.
Then when I reach life's furthest strand,
Maugre the coffin and the bier,
I'll fly to my Immanuel's land,
Where joy has an eternal year.
Northampton.

1104

JOSHUA MARSDEN.

Alluding to the gloomy months of November and December, when the sun is in Scorpio and Sagittarius.

AN ANECDOTE VERSIFIED. "An Hindoo, after spending some years in seclusion, and in endeavouring to obtain the mastery of his passions, came to a mission station where he thus accosted the missionary. I have a flower, a precious flower, to present as an offering; but as yet I have found no one worthy to receive it. Hearing of the love of Christ, he said, 'I will offer my flower to Christ, for he is worthy to receive it.' This flower was his heart. Jesus accepted it, and, after a short time, transplanted it to bloom in the bowers of Eden."

I HAVE been seeking one to whom,
I might present a flower in bloom;
An humble, yet perennial flower,
Growing within an earthly bower.
But none have I found worthy yet,
To have my precious floweret.
Where shall I take it? who will rear
This humble flower with tender care?
Jesus, receive my offering;

This precious flower to thee I bring,
But for thy love this flower had died;
Accept it, plant it by thy side.
O take it to thyself, and may

It bloom thro' an eternal day.

This flower, oh dearest youth, attend To what a virgin muse has pen'd, Is thy immortal, better part, Then give to Christ thy all-thy heart. Northampton, M. A. S. M.

"AN ENEMY HATH DONE THIS." (Matt. xiii. 28.)

Is it not true, this world's a soil
In which mankind are deeply rooted,
And where existence is with toil
Commenced, as also prosecuted?
Men are as plants, attests the word
By heavenly inspiration written,
And earth, the garden of the Lord
Once was, but now is blasted, smitten.
He was the planter-beauty, grace,
And loveliness throughout abounded;
Good 'twas pronounced, but now the place
Is on all sides with ill surrounded.

1105

Peace then did flourish, all was bliss,
And light celestial beamed throughout it,
Delightful that, enchanting this,
Perfection reigned within, without it.

Twas there, in innocence upreared,
Each tree with lovely fragrance scented,
That Deity himself appear'd,
He oft the sweet abode frequented.

But now a dingy hue prevails,
And all the once fair landscape tinges,
The thistle oft the eye assails,
The thorn upon the rose impinges.

Behold! how many strew the ground,
Its surface seems the grave of treasure,
No sweet nor balm in them is found,
Disgust appears in all we measure.

So man once typified his God,
Uprightness marked his faith ;-now, on it
His strong antipathy to good,

Proves that an enemy hath done it.

SYMPATHY.

(Suggested by reading Pope's Ode on Solitude which thus concludes,

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,
Thus unlamented let me die,

Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.")

And wouldst thou live, unseen, unknown,
And wouldst thou unlamented die;
Nor cheer'd by friendship's kindly tone,
Nor wept by fond affection's eye?

When sorrow rends thy bleeding heart,
Wouldst thou the healing balm forego
Of sympathy, that shares each smart,
And e'en in sharing soothes thy woe?

It lends a brighter ray to joy,

It gleams still sweet in pensive hours;
Unshared, life's pleasures soon but cloy,
And droop like leaves from withering flowers.

O Friendship! may thy kindly tone
Still cheer me on life's wearying way!
And some lov'd mourner raise a stone,
To tell where rests this suffering clay.

1106

LINES FROM THE "APOCALYPSE."
(An unpublished Poem.)

HARK! a great voice, loud as the trumpet's blast
That in the last great day shall rouse the dead,
Bursts on his ears in thunder-tones sublime:
"I am the first ;-the last; alpha and omega,
The glorious visions which thou shalt behold
Write thou, and seal those lines within a book."-
The prophet turns him, and upon his sight
Visions sublime, seraphical, in glory burst;
Seven golden lamps burning with em'rald blaze,
And in the midst a vision of the Lamb-
Him who was slain ere the foundations
Before the everlasting hills were laid:
Him who had left the shining world above,
And bled and died for love of sinful man.
Now godlike and majestic he appears,
Girt with a golden girdle-brighter far
Than all the mines of Ophir or Peru.

of the world.

White were his clustering locks as driven snow,
(On Alpine mountains, tow'ring to the skies,
Upon whose spiky glacier'd tops enthroned
For ever there eternal winter sits.)
His eyes flashed forth a flame of living fire,
Brighter than all the sun's meridian rays,
Revealing all the heavenly deity.

His feet like unto pillars of eternal brass,
Burning as if within a furnace fire,

His voice was louder than the cat'ract's rush,
Or when the foaming billows sounding dash
Upon the rocky islands' cavern'd shore;
Louder than when ten thousand thunders crash,
And shake creation to its utmost bound.

In his right hand seven shining stars he held,
Each brighter than the diamond's blazing rays,
Whilst from his mouth went forth a sharpened
sword

Two-edged, "ethereal temper"-severing
Whate'er opposed its sharpen'd edge.

His face glowed with immortal radiance,
Brighter far than shining gold, emerald,
Or ruby's glaring blaze.-But like the sun,
High in meridian strength he shone,
Transcendently the sun of the most high.
Whilst at his feet the prophet falls as dead-
The glorious visions stretch'd forth his right hand,
Exclaiming, in a milder heavenly tone,

"I am the Saviour of mankind, the First, the Last,
Who died for sinful man, then rose to life.
Behold! I am alive for evermore,

And hold the keys that brake the gates
Of hell and everlasting death!"
March, 1829.

A FRAGMENT.

On! man feels much of sorrow-much of joy !—
Of sorrow-that the spring flits by so fast,
With all her buds, and flowers, and fragrant breath:
That summer comes so soon, so soon departs;
And autumn, with her varied hues, no longer stays
Than just to tell us it is time for man
To gather in her fruits-then disappears.
Of sorrow-that the tide of life flows on,
And, ere we look about us, old age comes,
And death too surely aims his feather'd dart.
Of sorrow-that the valley's green sod lies
Upon the breasts of parents, children, friends,
And foul corruption in that dark abode

Are they who once were loveliness and life,—
Of joy-that, when the wintry winds are o'er,
Spring will her reign resume, and all her flowers
Be sweeter far, her blossoms varied more,
Her lengthening days afford us more delight
And summer's glorious sun, and autumn's fruits,
And all her mellow'd tints, be ours again.
Of joy that, though death comes, he only fits
Us to bebold our heavenly Father's throne,
Where, raised in incorruption, we shall see,
And ever see, and ne'er be separate from

Those parents, children, friends, whom now we

1107

E'en in the closing scene,

When age looks dimly o'er

Life's troubled waves, securely past,

While some have buffeted their last,

And sunk to rise no more;

A pilgrim lone,

He mourns unknown,

REVIEW.-Popular Lectures on Biblical Criticism and Interpretation. By William Carpenter. 8vo. pp. 446.

Tegg. London. 1829.

MR. CARPENTER observes in his preface, that these "Lectures are not intended for the biblical scholar, or the advanced student, but for the unlearned Christian, whose wish it is to study the Bible to advantage, and to derive immediately from the fount of inspiration those rich and

yard stone.

Does each successive scene

Of fev'rish life disclose,

The vanity, vexation, care,

That man, by birthright's doom'd to share,

Till death shall interpose;

His joys are riv'n,

By trials giv'n,

and mercy which gladden the creation of God." With this declaration respecting the volume before us, we proceed briefly to analyze its contents.

After an introductory lecture, which touches on general topics, and introduces much miscellaneous, but not irrelevant matter, Mr. Carpenter enters on the great subjects of his book. These he ranges under two general heads, namely, "Biblical Criticism," and "Biblical Interpretation." To the former he devotes five lectures, and to the latter twelve. Each lecture has a syllabus of its own contents, expressing in perspicuous terms the various subjects which will be brought under dis

cussion.

In his introductory lecture, the author observes,

"Biblical learning is usually divided into two

on heav'n.

terpretation;' the one relating to the letter, the other to its meaning. The former treats of the laws by which the genuineness or purity of the text is decided, and restored when affected; the latter, of the rules by which its real sense is to be educed and exhibited. The one, it will be perceived, is intimately connected with the other, and some knowledge of both is requisite to constitute a good interpreter."-p. 11.

"It will probably be thought by some persons, that in adopting such a course as the one now proposed, I improperly assume the divine origin and supreme authority of the Bible, which are points requiring to be settled, as a preliminary step in the business. But this view of the matter, although exceedingly common, I apprehend to be founded in mistake. In the order of biblical studies, the criticism and interpretation of the scriptures do of necessity precede the discussion and determination of their divine origin. We must be sure that we possess a correct text, and that we properly understand its meaning, before we can judge of its pretensions to be a divine revelation. But these are the objects of criticism and interpretation."-p. 12.