circulate in the void', without ever deviating from their path'; animals', moving in their appointed spheres from an interiour impulse'; and man', whose thought', more astonishing still', transcends the limits of time and space', without the accom paniment of the body which it animates'; the two motions of the earth', the one on its axis', the other round the sun'; and they are all radiant with the wonderful impress of the Creator's beneficent intelligence'. One of the earth's compound movements', is inexplicable upon any of the known laws of physicks'. Attraction causes bodies to tend towards a centre', but gives them no impulse of motion'. Who can fail to admire the exact equilibrium of these motions', and the wants of man and nature? The earth', inclining on its axis', presents in turn its two hemispheres to the sun', causing us the grateful alternation of day and night'; while the other motion presents us with the varied aspects and delightful vicissitudes of the seasons'.

с

It is another harmony of the motions of the earth', that while we are carried round with the greatest absolute rapidity', we should have the sensation of being at rest'. The atmosphere', and every relative landmark by which we could measure', and be made to perceive this motion', are carried round with us'; and thus we have a consciousness that we have not changed our place'. We have familiar examples of the deceptive character of this motion'. The fisherman', abandoning himself in his boat to the stream', and borne down by the current', sees the shores apparently ascend', and seems himself at rest'. The spectator on the shore', measures the progress of the boat by the trees', and discovers its true and absolute motion'. To us', the sun and planets seem to advance from the eastern to the western horizon'. A person who could contemplate this motion from a fixed point in the heavens', would see the true and absolute motion to be that of the earth advancing rapidly from west to east'.

One beautiful harmony of the universe', resulting from this illusive appearance of relative motion', compared with absolute rest', must not be overlooked'. While movement' and repose', darkness' and light', the changes of the seasons' and the march of the stars', which diversify the decorations of the world', seem to result from real change of place', they are successive only in appearance', being', in reality', permanent'. The scene which is effaced from our view', is repainted for another people'. It is not the spectator', but the spectacle only', that has Fish'ůr-mân-not,

aSfères. b'ál-ter-na'shun-not, awl'ter na shun. fish'er mun. dAp-parent-lẻ. eProggrés.

changed'. The Author of nature has seen fit to unite the absolute and relative progress of succession', as well as of motion', in his beautiful work of creation'. The one is placed in time', the other', in space'. By the one', the beauties of the universe are perpetual', infinite', always the same'. By the other', they are multiplied', finished', and renewed'. Without the one', there would be no grandeur in creation'. Without the other', it would have been all monotony. In this way', time presents itself to view in a new relation'. The least of its fractions becomes a complete whole'; which comprehends every event', and modifies every change', from the death of an insect to the birth of a world'. Every moment is', in itself', a little eternity. Bring together', then', in thought', the most beautiful accidents of nature'. Suppose you see', at the same moment', all the hours of the day', and all the aspects of the seasons' a morning of spring', and a morning of autumn'a burning noon of summer', and a noon of frost and snows'a night bespangled with stars', and a night of darkness and clouds'-meadows enamelled with flowers', and forests robbed of their foliage by winter and storms'-plains covered with springing corn', and gilded with harvests': you will then have a just idea of the various aspects of the universe as they are presented', at the same moment', to different spectators'.

It is an astonishing fact', that while you admire the sun', sinking under the arches of the west', another observer beholds him springing from the regions of the morning'. By a won derful arrangement of the Creator', this ancient and unwearied luminary that reposes from the heat and dust of the day behind his golden canopy' in the west', is the same youthful planet that awakes', humid with dew', from behind the whitening curtain of the dawn'. At every moment of the day', to some of our fellow-beings the sun is rising', blazing in the zenith', or sinking behind the western wave'. Our senses present us this charming illusion'. To a spectator', beholding from a fixed point in space', there would be neither east', meridian', nor west'; but the sun would blaze motionless from his dome'.

Let us imagine the view of the spectacle', if the laws of nature were abandoned to the slightest change'. The clouds', obeying the laws of gravity', would fall perpendicularly on the earth'; or would ascend beyond condensation into the upper regions of the air'. At one period', the air would become too gross', and at the next', too much rarefied', for the organs of

Prog'grès. Ak'se 'dênts-not, ak'se'dunts. Mo'mênt. Fo'lè 'åjeeåne'tshent-not, ân'shunt. Kân'ò'pě—not, can'e py.

respiration'. The moon', too near', or too distant from us', would be at one time invisible', and at another', would show herself bloody and covered with enormous spots', or filling with her extended orb all the celestial dome'. As if possessed of some wild caprice'," she would either move upon the line of the ecliptick', or', changing her sides', would at length discover to us a face which the earth has not seen'. The stars', smitten with the same uncertainty of motion', would rush together', and become a collection of terrifick conjunctions'. On a sudden', the constellation of summer would be destroyed by that of winter'. Boötes would lead the Pleiades';d and the Lion would roar in Aquarius'. Here', the stars would fly away with the rapidity of lightning'; there', they would hang motionless in the heavens'. Sometimes', crowding into groups', they would form a new Milky-way'. Again', disappearing altogether', and rending the curtain of worlds', they would open to view the abysses of eternity'. Reason as we will upon the inherent laws of nature',' second causes are not sufficient to explain all the phenomena'. There must be a perpetual and omnipotent vigi lance always sustaining these laws in their equilibrium'. God would need no other effort to destroys this great work', than to abandon it to itself'. Our confidence that these laws will never change', must rest upon our conviction of the immortality of his character'.

SECTION VI.

Extract from Essays on Scenes in Italy.—LADY Morgan.

IT struck my imagination much, while standing on the last field fought by Bonaparte, that the battle of Waterloo should have been fought on a Sunday. What a different scene did the Scotch Grays and English Infantry present, from that which, at that very hour, was exhibited by their relatives, when over England and Scotland each church-bell had drawn together its worshippers! While many a mother's heart was sending up a prayer for her son's preservation, perhaps that son was gasping in agony. Yet, even at such a period, the lessons of his early days might give him consolation; and the maternal prayer

Pôz-zêst'. bKå-preĕse'. cBo-o'těz. dPlé'yâ-děz. e In-he'rênt. Nå'tshåre-not, nå'tshår. Dě-stròè'—not, dis trawe'. Egz-hib'it-êd

-not, eg zib'it ed.

It is re

might prepare the heart to support maternal anguish. ligion alone which is of universal application, both as a stimulant and a lenitive, throughout the varied heritage which falls to the lot of man. But we know that many thousands rushed into this fight, even of those who had been instructed in our religious principles, without leisure for one serious thought; and that some officers were killed in their ball dresses. They made the leap into the gulf which divides two worlds-the present from the immutable state, without one parting prayer, or one note of preparation!

As I looked over this field, now green with growing corn, I could mark, with my eye, the spots where the most desperate carnage had been marked out by the verdure of the wheat. The bodies had been heaped together, and scarcely more than covered and so enriched is the soil, that, in these spots, the grain never ripens. It grows rank and green to the end of harvest. This touching memorial, which endures when the thousand groans have expired, and when the stain of human blood has faded from the ground, still seems to cry to Heaven that there is awful guilt somewhere, and a terrifick reckoning for those who caused destruction which the earth could not conceal. These hillocks of superabundant vegetation, as the wind rustled through the corn, seemed the most affecting monuments which nature could devise, and gave a melancholy animation to this plain of death.

When we attempt to measure the mass of suffering which was here inflicted, and to number the individuals that fell, considering each who suffered as our fellow-man, we are overwhelmed with the agonizing calculation, and retire from the field which has been the scene of our reflections, with the simple, concentrated feeling-these armies once lived, breathed, and felt like us, and the time is at hand when we shall be like them.

SECTION VII.

Affection for the Dead.-IRVING.

THE sorrow for the dead', is the only sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced'. Every other wound', we seek to heal'-every other affliction', to forget'; but this wound', we consider it a duty to keep open-this affliction we cherish'..

Le'zhare. Vèr'jàre. From-not, frum.

and brood over in solitude'. Where is the mother who would willingly forget the infant'.. that perished', like a blossom', from her arms', though every recollection is a pâng'? Where is the child that would willingly forget the most tender of parents', though', to remember', be but to lament'? Who', even in the hour of agony', would forget the friend over whom he mourns'? Who', even when the tomb is closing upon the remains of her he most loved'; when he feels his heart', as it were', crushed in the closing of its portals', would accept of consolation that must be bought by forgetfulness'? Nô'; the love which survives the tomb', is one of the noblest attributes of the soul'.

If it has its woes', it has likewise its delights'; and when the overwhelming burst of grief'.. is calmed into the gentle tear of recollection';—when the sudden anguish and the convulsive agony over the present ruins of all that we most loved', is softened away into pensive meditation on all that it was in the days of its loveliness'-who would root out such a sorrow from the heart'? Though it may sometimes throw a passing cloud over the bright hour of gâiety'; or spread a deeper sadness over the hour of glôôm'; yet who would exchange it, even for the song of pleasure, or the burst of revelry'? Nô'; there is a voice from the tomb'.. sweeter than song'. There is a remembrance of the dead to which we turn' . . even from the charms of the living'. Oh, the grave'!—the grave'!—It buries every errour'—covers every defect-extinguishes every resentment!-From its peaceful bosom spring none but fond regrets and tender recollections'. Who can look down upon the grave even of an enemy', and a compunctious throb', that he should ever have warred

not feel a with the poor handful of earth that lies mouldering before him"? But the grave of those we loved'—what a place for meditation'! There it is that we call up in long review the whole history of virtue and gentleness', and the thousand endearments lavished upon us almost unheeded in the daily intercourse of intimacy'; there it is that we dwell upon the tenderness', the solemn', awful tenderness', of the parting scene'-the bed of death', with all its stifled griefs'-its noiseless attendants', its mute', watchful assiduities'-the last testimonies of expiring love'-the feeble', fluttering', thrilling', oh', how thrilling'!... pressure of the hand'-the last fond look of the glazing eye', turning upon us even from the threshold of existence'-the faint', faltering accents', struggling in death to give one more assurance of affection'!

Ay', go to the grave of buried love', and meditate'! There

In'fant-not, in'funt. From-not, frum.