ments, press upon the utmost attention of Parliament. If the march of the nation were retrograde, there would not exist so many corroborative evidences of the contrary.

The great inconvenience which has been felt in all parts of the country by the scarcity of silver coinage, is now in the course of being remedied, by an issue of silver coinage from the Mint, which it is understood will be continued at the rate of £35,000 per week, till the supply appears adequate to the wants of the nation.

DOMESTIC ARTICLES.

Of the general Prices of domestic articles sold in the markets of London, Liverpool, Manchester, Birmingham, and other principal towns, it was our intention to have given a regular statement. But, from the uncertainty in the accounts we have received, it is scarcely possible to give a list that shall be deemed correct. To this, the variations which exist in weights and measures in different towns and districts, in no small degree contribute; and the confusion which arises from the difficulty of reducing all to some common standard, points out the necessity of simplifying these mediums of domestic traffic.

The Poor Rates, like the necessaries of life, are in most places exceedingly high; but the variations are so considerable, that the sums paid in one town or parish, can furnish us with no guide for estimat

A number of weavers at Carlisle, who have been reduced to a state of severe distress by the want of employment, have respectfully come forward with a statement of their condition to the magistrates and gentlemen of the city. Their appeal has not been in vain; but has been met by a zealous promptitude to render them every possible assistance. The example deserves particular notice; and surely it is not too much to expect, that men with their eyes open, however distressed, should perceive, that every riotous and illegal proceeding is strewing thorns in their own path, and marr ing their best interests, by lessening both the inclination and the power to assist them.

Many hands, amongst the weavers both of calico and stockings, and amongst the class of labourers, as well as the lowest description of the workmen in the different arts, are in want of employment, or are not able to earn sufficient for a livelihood; yet it is a well-founded complaint, that workmen capable of undertaking the finer or finishing departments of the mechanical arts, cannot be obtained in sufficient numbers, even at liberal wages. Hence it may be inferred, that the encouragement which the skilful are receiving, will gradually bring forward those of lower qualifications.

of this country, there are few subjects that can be deemed of more importance to all classes of the community, than the means provided by law for the support of the poor. It has already attracted the attention of Parliament; and we have reason to hope that the period is near at hand, when measures will be adopted for equalizing the burden which the community at large must bear. The modes of collecting these rates are not less variable than the sums collected; being founded in most places on local regulations.

The prices of Coals vary considerably in different places; much depending upon situation, the ease or difficulty with which they are procured, and the facilities with which they can be conveyed from place to place. Of the price of Potatoes we can hardly be said to have any fixed standard, any more than we have of the weights and measures by which they are sold. In London the price is 12d. per lb. or 10s. per cwt.; in Liverpool, 2s. 4d. for 84lb.; in Manchester, 9d. for 201b; Birmingham, 3s. for 80lb.; Glasgow, 1s. for 34lb.; Lynn, Norfolk, 4s. 6d. for 192lb.; Portsmouth, 44d. per gallon.

Meat sold in the shambles, bears, in most places, with the exception of London, a price more nearly approaching to uniformity. Beef and Mutton are much alike, varying from 7d. to 9d; while Pork occasionally rises as high as 10d. per pound. In these articles, the markets of the Metropolis may be considered, on an average, as about 2d. per lb. hi than the sums we have above stat

POETRY.

The following Composition is taken from two Pillars which stand in the centre of a Labyrinth, in a Grove, near a Nobleman's Seat, in Surry. On the top of each Pillar is a human Skull, said to belong to a former Lord and his Lady, by whom these Lines were written. The Pillars were erected during their life-time; and by their desire the Skulls were placed on them a certain time after their decease.

LORD'S.

WHY start? the case is yours, or will be soon,
Some years, perhaps; perhaps, another moon.
Life, in its utmost span, is still a breath,
And those who longest dream, must wake in
death.

Like you, I once thought every bliss secure,
And gold, of every ill, the perfect cure;
Till steep'd in sorrows, and besieg'd with pain,
Too late I found all earthly riches vain.
Disease with scorn threw back the sordid fee,
And Death still answer'd-What is gold to me?
Fame, titles, honours, next I vainly sought,
And fools obsequious nurst the childish thought.
Gilded with brib'd applause and purchas'd
praise,

I built on endless grandeur, endless days;
But Death awak'd me from a dream of pride,
And laid a prouder beggar by my side.
Pleasure I courted, and obey'd my taste;
The banquet smil'd, and smil'd the gay repast:
A loathsome carcase was my constant care,
And worlds were ransack'd-hut for me to
share.

Go on,

vain man, in luxury be firm; Yet know I feasted, but to feast a worm. Already sure less terrible I seem,

And you, like me, can own that life's a dream. Whether that dream may boast the longest date

Farewell!-remember-lest you wake too late.

THE COMMON LOT.

ONCE in the flight of ages past,

There lived a Man and who was He! -Mortal! howe'er thy lot be cast, That Man resembled Thee.

Unknown the region of his birth,

The land in which he died unknown:
His name hath perished from the earth,
This truth survives alone :-

That joy and grief, and hope and fear,
Alternate triumph'd in his breast,
His, bliss and woe-a smile, a tear!
-Oblivion hides the rest.

The bounding pulse, the languid limb,

The changing spirits' rise and fall: We know that these were felt by him, For these are felt by all.

He suffer'd-but his pangs are o'er;

Enjoy'd-but his delights are fled;
Had friends-his friends are now no more,
And foes-his foes are dead.

He lov'd, but whom he lov'd, the grave
Hath lost in its unconscious womb:
O she was fair! but nought could save
Her beauty from the tomb.

The rolling seasons, day and night,

Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and main,
Erewhile his portion, life, and light,
To him exist in vain.

He saw whatever thou hast seen,
Encounter'd all that troubles thee;
He was whatever thou hast been;
He is what thou shalt be.

The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye
That once their shades and glory threw;
Have left in yonder silent sky

No vestige where they flew.

The annals of the human race,

Their ruins, since the world began,
Of HIM afford no other trace

Than this,-THERE LIV'D A MAN!
MONTGOMERY.

THOUGHTS ON DEVOTION.

DEVOTION, Considered simply in itself, is an intercourse between the creature and the Creator; between the supreme, self-existent, inconceivable Spirit, who formed and who preserves the universe; and that particular spirit, with which, for awful reasons, he has animated a portion of matter upon earth, to give existence to man. It is an act, in which the soul divests itself of outward things; flies into heaven; acknowledges its guilt; and pours forth all its wants, wishes, hopes, and fears, into the bosom of an almighty friend.

Though this devotion, in its first stages, may be a wearisome or insipid exercise, yet this arises merely from the depravity of our nature, or the influence of our passions. Through divine assistance, a little habit will overcome this reluctance. When we have fairly entered on our journey, "the ways of this wisdom will be ways of pleasantness, and all its paths peace." True devotion, doubtless, requires a considerable degree of abstraction from the world; hence, modern Christians treat it as a vision,-hence, many modern writers have little of its unction. But it glows in the Scriptures; it warms us in the Fathers; it burned in an Austin; and in many other of those persecuted Martyrs, who are now with God. That we hear little of this true devotion, is not wonderful. It makes no noise in the circles of the learned or the elegant. Under a heap of worldly cares, we smother the lovely infant, and No. 2.-VOL. I.

will not let it breathe. Vanity, ambition, pleasure, avarice, quench the celestial fire. And these, alas! are too much the god of mortals. Ever since the world began, writers have been amusing us only with shadows of this piety, instead of giving its soul and substance. Superstition has placed it in opinions, ceremonies, austerities, pilgrimages, persecution, an august temple, or splendid imagery, which have little connection with sentiment or spirit. Enthusiasm has swelled with unnatural conceptions, and obtruded a spurious offspring on the world, instead of this engaging child of Reason and Truth; while the lukewarm have rested in a few outward ceremonies, which have had no vigour, and, as they sprang not from the heart, never entered the temple of the Most High.

Real piety is of a very different, and much more animated nature. It looks up to God; sees, hears, and feels him, in every event, in every vicissitude, in all places, in all seasons, and upon all occasions. It is theory, vivified by experience; it is faith, substantiated by mental enjoyment; it is heaven, transplanted into the human bosom; it is the radiance of the Divinity, warming and encircling man; it is the spiritual sense, gratified by spiritual sensations. Without this, all ceremonies are inefficacious. Books, prayers, sacraments, and meditations, are but a body without a soul; a statue without animation.

That man is capable of such an intercourse with his Maker, there are many living witnesses to prove, without having recourse to the visions of fanatics, or the dreams of enthusiasts. Its source may be as clearly ascertained, as those natural causes may be discovered whence visible effects result; and in both cases, the reasonings which conduct our inquiries to their conclusions, are equally philosophical. God is a spirit; so is the mind: bodies can have intercourse; so can souls. When minds are in an assimilating state of purity, they have union with their Maker.

H

This was the bliss of

Paradise. Sin interrupted it, and holiness must restore it. To a soul thus disposed, the Creator communicates himself, in a manner which is as insensible to the natural eye, as the falling of dew; but not less refreshing to its secret powers, than that is to vegetation. The primitive saints are describing this, when they speak of their transports. David felt it, when he longed for God "as the hart panteth after the water-brooks." St. Paul knew it, when he gloried in his tribulations. It was embodied in him, when he was "carried up into the third heaven, and heard things not lawful to be uttered." St. Stephen was filled with it, when he " saw the heavens opened," and prayed for his murder

ers.

By it martyrs were supported, when they were stoned and sawed asunder. And until we feel it in ourselves, we shall never fully know how gracious the Lord is. If we can acquire this spiritual abstraction, we shall at once have made our fortune for eternity. It will be of little moment what may be our lot on earth, or what the distinguishing vicissitudes of our life. Prosperity or adversity, health or sickness, honour or disgrace, a cottage or a palace, will all be so many instruments of glory. The whole creation will become a temple. Every scene and every object will lead our minds to God; and in his greatness and perfection we shall insensibly lose the littleness, the glare, and tinsel, of all human things.

ALL GOOD, ESSENTIALLY CAPABLE OF

SHINING BY ITS OWN INHERENT PERFECTION. ILLUSTRATED BY AN IN

CIDENT.

It is well known, that in the natural world, physical reverses frequently give a colouring to each other; and it is not less true, that in the moral history of our species, the lustre of virtuous actions is rendered more conspicuous, by the deepness of those shades with which these actions are contrasted. It will be readily admitted, that no satisfactory reason can be drawn from pure abstract principle, why such reverses should thus seem necessary to give distinctness to each other; but the fact is indisputable; and it may be traced without difficulty to the present state of our mental constitution.

There can be no doubt whatever, that every good, whether natural, moral, intellectual, or spiritual, is capable in itself of shining by its own inherent brilliancy. It would be nothing short of a severe reflection on the infinitely wise Creator, to suppose that he has given being to excellencies, which could only be rendered distinctly visible by the physical reverses of themselves. According to such a constitution of things, even natural good would be indebted for the brightest display of its lustre, to natural evil; but how any thing can be considered as a natural evil, which is essentially necessary to the development of natural good, is a problem which cannot solve, without impeaching the source of infinite wisdom.

we

If from natural good and evil, we turn our attention to that which is moral, the atmosphere with which we are encircled becomes still more dense; and we find the clouds of confusion gathering round us in every direction, and presenting us with darkness which we cannot pierce. To say that moral evil is necessary to unfold, in all its beauty, the utmost perfection of moral good, is to destroy the essence of vice, and, in an alembic of mental chemistry, to transmute it into virtue. assert that the existence of vice is necessary to that of virtue, or that the display of the former is necessary to that of the latter, is a solecism in language, and is little less than a contradiction in terms.

To

If natural and moral good were incapable of shining by their own intrinsic lustre, reason would compel us to infer, that each is defective in its own could scarcely draw any conclusion, nature; and from this inference we which would not amount to an impeachment of the Author of both. We can by no means suppose, that glorified spirits in heaven (whether we consider them as natives of the celestial region, or as taken from our terrestrial abode) can stand in need of such an unnatural aid, to make them sensible of the value and importance of felicity. And, if moral evil had not debased the human intellect, and, in its moral consequences, disorganized the system of nature, we have no more reason to suppose, that evil, in any form, would have been either absolutely or relatively necessary to give us the instructions which we are now

compelled to learn from it in our present state, than that it is necessary in heaven. The only rational inference which we can draw from the whole, amounts to this, that in the same proportion as we find the existence of evil, in any form, necessary to make us sensible of the value of good, we behold evidences of our degeneracy, both as to its extent and its degree.

The soul, influenced by divine grace, and raised from a death of sin to a life of righteousness, will be taught to rise above this chequered state of things, to lay hold on the spiritual good of which it is called to partake, and to behold its beauty by its native light. Actuated by this principle, the movements of life will be regulated accordingly; the features of human conduct will coincide with the influence which is imparted to the mental and spiritual powers; and its beneficial effects will be diffused to all around us, in proportion to the extent of our respective spheres of action. The truth of this latter position we shall perceive illustrated by the following incident.—

During a late war in Germany, | when fodder grew scarce, an officer, commanding a detachment of cavalry, was ordered out on a foraging party, to procure fresh supplies. He accordingly put himself at the head of the troop, and immediately proceeded towards the quarter that had been assigned him. In pursuing his route, he passed through a solitary valley, in which he found himself surrounded by woods; but in which, during the early stages of his progress, no human being could be discovered. Continuing his march, he, however, at length perceived a cottage, which appeared to be inhabited; and, on approaching it, knocked at the door. On hearing the sound, and perceiving a stranger at the door, a venerable old man made his appearance. His beard was silvered over with age; but he exhibited on his countenance an aspect of tranquillity, which is but rarely found, to soften the ferocity of war.

The officer, struck with his appearance, accosted him in the following manner." Father, I want your assistance to direct me to some field, in which I may set my troops a-foraging." The old man, after pausing for a few moments, replied, I cannot well give you directions; but I will accompany you to a suitable spot." He ac

66

cordingly left his cottage, and soon conducted the troop out of the valley. Having continued their march upwards of an hour, the officer discovered a fine field of barley, and instantly exclaimed, " This is the very thing we want.' ." The old man, however, instead of being pleased at the remark, desired him to have a little patience, and he would conduct them to a spot, where he hoped they would be satisfied. They then continued their march nearly a mile farther, when they arrived at another field of barley, which, on halting, the soldiers immediately began to cut down; and having trussed up as much as they could conveniently carry away, they prepared to return. The officer, on parting from his venerable conductor, informed him, that "he thought he had given both to them and himself unnecessary trouble, since the field of barley which they had just been reaping was not so good as that which they had left behind."

Very true, Sir,” replied the old man, "but that field was not mine." It is but justice to add, that this amiable patriarch belonged to a society of the Moravians.

The religion of Jesus teaches its disciples, not only to love the Lord their God with all their hearts, but also directs them, to love their neighbours as themselves. Where is the commentator, who has ever written so striking an illustration of this precept, as we have here displayed before us in living characters? The reader who can peruse this incident, without being forcibly struck with the bright example of moral virtue which it teaches, has yet to learn a refinement both in taste and sentiment, which idle theory is unable to impart.

The exalted virtue which shines in this disinterested action, is rendered so luminous by its native lustre, that we behold its beauty, without once attempting to heighten its dignity, by placing it in contrast with the ravages of war; with an instance of which, it was evidently coexistent. If such an incident had occurred in the more elevated eircles of polished society, the ingenuity of infidelity might have ascribed it to a refinement, derived from highly cultivated talents; in which the individual proudly abandoned his interests, to embrace an opportunity of giving a keen, but delicate reproof, to the commander of a rapacious troop