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Memoir of Monsieur Chabert.

this gentleman before this morning, and I did not know but that he might be bold enough to venture to take this quantity of poison. I was determined not to let him lose his life by his foolish wager, and therefore I did bring an antidote in my pocket, which would have prevented him from suffering any harm. Le voila! Ah, ah! My good sir, you pay your £50 to see me take the phosphorus. Now you shall take three or four grains yourself. I will give you von little wine glass out of this bottle, and you shall be as well in a few minutes as you are now. Do, sir, oblige me by taking a few grains.

Mr. Smith begged to be excused. His object was answered in seeing 20 grains of genuine phosphorus actually swallowed. He had conceived it impossible, as three grains were quite sufficient to destroy life.

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before the Duke of Norfolk, he took a teaspoonful of prussic acid; but that experiment he says he will never repeat again; for it is a poison, which not only requires the antidote to be taken first, but is also so rapid in its operation, that it may destroy life before the antidote can produce its effect. He said that he should never forget the feelings which came over him as soon as he had swallowed it. Every vein in his head appeared to swell, and "each particular hair," he said, stood erect, "like quills upon the porcupine."

Immediately after Mr. Smith had declined to take the phosphorus, several gentlemen surrounded him, desiring to know why he had inserted such advertisements as he had done in the public papers, if he had no intention to perform the feats to which he had dared the Fire-King. To this he replied, that his object had been to ascertain beyond all doubt, whether it was pos

The Fire King then addressed the gentleman who had meted out the phosphorus "Perhaps you, sir, will have the good-sible for any person to take such a mass ness to swallow a little bit, to amuse me. I pledge you £1000, I pledge you my life, that if you take a little of this bottle, it will not do you any harm."

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The Fire King.-Ah, Mr. Smith, you are very good to me. You bring me the very good phosphorus. I am much obliged to you, sir. Now give me a torch, and a fork.

They were given to him accordingly. He took a small piece of the burning torch on his fork, put it into his mouth, and swallowed it. "And now, gentlemen, I have done with the poison for to-day." Having said this, he withdrew into another room for the professed purpose of putting on his usual dress for entering the oven, but in all probability for the real purpose of getting the phosphorus, by some antidote, from his stomach. Zinc is the usual antidote for phosphorus; but he says that it is not the antidote which he uses, and declines to mention what is.

On one occasion, when he was exhibiting

of poison and live-that he should not have risked such a sum of money of his own on such a challenge as that which he had given-but that he was acting as the representative of a number of scientific gentlemen, who had subscribed such a sum, as would enable him, if his challenge were accepted, to insist upon furnishing the poison himself, and upon seeing every step taken by the Fire-King before and while he swallowed it. He stated that he was now perfectly convinced that the phosphorus was actually swallowed. He likewise protested that there had been no collusion between him and the Fire-King. This protestation was subsequently repeated by the Fire-King himself, who added, in confirmation of it, that he could have no interest in drawing a large concourse of people to his room. He was paid a certain sum per week by Mr. Welsh, and whether there was one person in the room, or whether there were 20,000, was to him, as far as his own emolument was concerned, perfectly immaterial. We think it only justice to M. Chabert to state, that if there should be any collusion in this challenge, he appears to be without any motive for being a party to it. How far that may be the case with his employer, is a question on which we give no opinion. M. Chabert stated, that after the pledge which Mr. Smith had given the public in his advertisement, he fully expected to have been put to a fair trial of his powers in the course of the day, and that he had in consequence made preparations and alterations in his course of action, which one way or another would cost him upwards of 201.

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In conclusion we have only to remark, that Monsieur Chabert still continues to exhibit at the Argyll Rooms, and that he intends very shortly to submit to the public a series of experiments entirely novel, and still more surprising than any which have preceded them.

REFLECTIONS ON TIME.

TIME receives entity as a period in eternity; for it does not exist independent of eternity. It is that portion of eternity in which the beings or things to which it relates exist:-its commencement must, therefore, be dated from their commencement, and its end from their end. In fact, time, as it passes away, is known by the changes of things which note its progress, and mete out portions in it, rather than in itself for what is time but day and night, summer and winter, year and year, as meted out by the motions of the spheres which compose a system? In the begining, when God created the heaven and the earth, the evening and the morning were the first day.

At what period in eternity time began, who can inform us? It began to man, with the solar system, nearly six thousand years ago; for then this system was created, and then the revolutions of the spheres therein began their periodical notations. But time, I conceive, began in other parts of space, by the creation of, and revolutions included in, other systems, at a much earlier period; for when Jehovah laid the foundations of this earth, "the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy," Job xxxviii. 7. The music of other spheres existed and was in exercise ere our spheres commenced their mystic dance, and, faithful to Him who created them, they united metaphorically in the joy of a

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When the Creator revealed to His faithful servant, Moses, the modes of creation, and told him when and for what purpose He made the sun in the centre of our system, Gen. i. 16. because this sun was similar to the stars, He informed him that all these exalted luminaries were also created by Him; but when He created them, is no where revealed to us. The most sanguine conjectures respecting the periods in eternity, when the stars were created, cannot possibly avail; the fact eludes the grasp of the most exalted genius; and unless the Infinite discloses it❘ to man, this will be one of the many things which the disembodied spirit will

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have to learn when launched into eternity: no incarnated spirit can lift up this veil.

We behold the stars decorating the heavens, high aloft, on every side, and although numbers are now beneath our feet, when the revolutions of our sphere present us with the reversed face of the blue concave, we behold them in all their lustrous grandeur-the innumerable hosts of heaven, speaking forth the praises of the Illustrious Self-existent. "The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth His handy work. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowledge. There is no speech nor language where their voice is not heard. Their line is gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world," Psalm xix.

If these stars, or suns as we may presume they are, were severally created at distinct periods in eternity, what a rush of immensity whelms itself upon us-these periods carry us up into eternity to such a dazzling height, that eternity itself seems unveiled before us. What, if each of these stars is a sun; what, if each is the centre of revolving worlds, and these, by their unceasing revolutions, note out time; what, if all these, as it seems highly probable, were created before our system was called into existence; what, I say, must be the age of time? For time must have been born with the creation of the first system, and must continue until the end of the last. What ideas are launched upon us by these views; and how awfully and sublimely does all this burst forth in the vision of Daniel, vii. "I beheld till the thrones were cast down, and the Ancient of Days did sit, whose garment was white as snow, and the hair of His head like the pure wool: His throne was like the fiery flame, and His wheels as burning fire. A fiery stream issued and came forth from before Him: thousand thousands ministered unto Him, and ten thousand times ten thousand stood before Him: the judgment was set, and the books were opened." We here behold One who is designated the "Ancient of Days"-Older than time, even that time which began with the first star; and this Being, surviving them all, presides over and awards to all beings rewards and punishments at a general judgment. Sublimely true, therefore, is the aspiration of the apostle, Hebrews i. 10-12. Lord, in the beginning hast laid the foundation of the earth; and the heavens are the works of Thine hands: they shall perish; but Thou remainest and they all

"Thou,

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shall wax old as doth a garment; and as a vesture shalt Thou fold them up, and they shall be changed: but Thou art the same, and Thy years shall not fail."

We speak of a year as a portion of time great in magnitude, and in so doing we do well; for the lives of multitudes include only a few years, and the longest life does not include many, while the life of every man hangs upon the mere fragment of a year-for in a moment we may be launched into eternity, and we know not what a day may bring forth. Yet, what is a year? It is a mere point in the vastness of time, and in eternity it is lost in immensity. Well do we "number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom."

The contemplation of a distinct period is of essential worth to so frail a being as man. Standing upon a single point, the end or the beginning of a year, for instance, he looks backward to the past, forward to the future, inward to the present, and, thus concentrated in himself, beholds his errors, arranges plans for the future, founded on past experience, and, acquainted with himself, sets out anew to run the race appointed to him. For wide as the range of creation is, long as is its duration, and multitudinous as are its parts, a vast Providence, equal to the work, superintends the whole; and beneath His sway, who created all, every thing has its appointment, and every being his appointed time upon earth. "In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths."

King Square, London. W. COLDWELI..

ON READIN G.-NO. IL

(Continued from col. 40.) THAT books constructed for the purpose of administering food to the baser passions of mankind should find such rapid sale, while it is deeply to be lamented, is a natural consequence of the degeneracy of human nature; and many of the leading geniuses who publish these works, are aware that popularity and profit are most easily and most largely attained in this way, and, therefore, with a depravity of soul approaching to the demon tribe, write upon and publish subjects which minister in the highest degree to the lusts of their fellowcreatures, for the very purpose of securing to themselves fame and reward. Money thus earned, and fame thus acquired, ought to have their costs counted up by the sober part of the community; if for no other purpose, to warn others from this satannic path. How shall these men sum up the

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reckoning themselves? The profit and the glory, from every purse and every tongue of depravity, is theirs in possession. The voice of Jehovah or of his saints, whom they hold up to perpetual derision, is not heard; they cannot now be listened to by these too lofty for rebuke, they brave the pious, and despise their pens. But let others reflect, before they earn and pocket the reward of such depravity, with what countenance they will meet the souls of the many their writings may cheat and beguile; by turning them from the path of life, and involving them in irremediable ruin.

As all men die, and die to live again, the probability is, that all these parties may meet each other in eternity; and it is within the reach of possibility, that, amidst the retributive justice of an eternal state, one infliction may be, the vengeance of the injured upon the injurer. But apart from individual vengeance, the Judge is at the door-the Omnipotent, who will reward every man according to his works, whether they be good, or whether they be evil; and the blood of these slain will He require at their hands. Yet we must cry, Alas! that accountable beings, who live in the presence of the Omniscient, should privily, as it respects their fellow-men, (for no secrecy exists in respect of Deity, every action, mental as well as corporeal, being completely open to His all-seeing eye,) indulge in a train of reading which depraves yet more their already depraved souls? In despite of their better judgment, they commit the act, for secrecy would not be resorted to, did not conscience proclaim, "The deed is rank!" Therefore, if the writer is guilty of throwing the temptation before the eyes of mankind, the reader is guilty also; he and she fall into the snare that is laid before them, and manifest their knowledge of their participation in the crime, by hiding the act from the view of the world.

Equal to the libidinous, rolls the drunkard in the debauch of reading. His poetry is a motley mixture of obscenity and riot; his mixed reading, double entendres, couching palpable filthiness under the specious form of delicate sentiment; these he denominates toasts. His anecdotes specify acts of matchless prowess, in swallowing and carrying off immense quantities of strong liquors, or toping adventures; where all the company, slain with wine, wallowed in the filth of drunkenness, incapable of intelligent exertion. His histories treat of the heroes of wine and redoubtable debauchery;-women of the basest stamp, and liquors of the most potent spirit, must

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wanton in imagery thro' every page, or slain beneath ennui, down falls the book from his hands, and down he sinks into the listless slumber of vacuity.

Alas! that printing, that noble, that use ful invention, should minister to the sink of corruption, such a bosom as this contains! Yet, how many may date their boasted feats in wine, from the hour when the fiend of drunkenness stole into their souls, in the secret wish which arose to become equal to the heroes of debauchery, while reading a panegyric on their achievements! "Ŏ my soul, come not thou into their secret; unto their assembly, mine honour, be not thou united!" A more fatal vice cleaves not to human nature, than the vice of drunkenness; how few, once rooted in this alarming sin, are cured! Death, the sure follower of this crime, and consequence of it also, (for drunkards are frequently suicides, actually perishing by the effects of the liquors they swallow,) death alone terminates the crimes of the drunkard. Yet, bacchanalian songs and revelries, poetic effusions, and ranting rhapsodies, abound in every language, charged with fulsome praises of the sweet delirium of intoxication; ridiculing, and holding up as pusillanimous cowards, all sober men.

The force of ridicule, even upon sober minds, urged home by the flashy wit of the bacchanalian scribe, too often blunts the edge of sober resolution, and inclines the persons reading, to taste the joys thus ardently sung. Once tasted, alas for the simple votary! Promises to meet again, resolutions mutually pledged to persevere, sarcasms upon sober resolutions, and peals of laughter at the monster Care, engage the mind to repeat the debauch; and to mind, matter urges on: for the debauch of yesterday induces, by exhaustion, an aching void in the clay tenement, which longs, yea pants for repletion, and which stays not, until ardent spirits, anew and anew, exhilarate the diseased frame. If this is the case in the first instance, so is it more and more pressing upon the debauchee, as he repeats the debauch: for in proportion as he blunts vital feeling by the use of ardent spirits, similar in proportion must he swallow stronger spirits, in order to induce a sensation, and produce that favourite delirium of the human frame, which is the delight of the sot; until, sunk in sottishness and brutality, (for these two are twinbrethren and inseparable,) he becomes a pest to civil society, and a curse to all his kindred: a kind of itinerant hell, belching out oaths and blasphemy, from the liquid fire raging with feverish heat within, which, fierce and foaming, is ready to fall upon

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and devour all who approach-friend or foe.

Detestable in the eyes of wisdom's sons are those books which paint actions and things as they are not: they proceed from men who, looking upon the delights of the passing moment with complacency, colour them up, in order to induce cooperation in works of darkness, and form a fellowship which, hand in hand, moves onward, from bad to worse, to consummate and irretrievable ruin. Of all detestable writers, the choice spirits, as they are denominated by the sottish tribe, who write for their fraternity, fascinate with the most permanent delusion, and the most awful consequences. The mass of human misery, accumulated by drunkenness among fathers, mothers, children, relatives, and dependants, cannot be measured by the powers of science: the capacity and weight of this mountain of misery, can only be known by Him who knoweth all things.

(To be continued.)

DUELLING.

The detestable practice of duelling, to which the pride of the human heart has attached an idea of artificial honour, is one of the Molochs of Britain, which regularly demands its annual sacrifices. Another victim has lately been presented at its shrine, in the person of Mr. Clayton, whose mortal remains are but just stiffened in the embraces of death; and not long since an attempt was made to offer on the same altar a nationally valuable libation of ennobled blood.

The advocates for this vengeful and barbarous practice tell us, that it cannot be prevented. It will be readily granted, that in the present state of society, while men act under false notions of courage, greatness, and revenge, this view is correct; but looking on the subject in the abstract, nothing can be more demonstrably false; and all the pretended reasonings from which it derives a sanction, is a tissue of the most arrant sophistry.

Let national authority, on all occasions, when death ensues, consign the victim to the dissecting knife, and the survivor to infamy or the gallows, and distinguish with some indelible mark of disgrace, every one who makes an attempt at this species of delinquency, and the vicious custom would soon be associated with assassination, both in turpitude and dishonour. Under these impressions we beg to introduce from Dr. Paley, the following chapter on duelling.—Editor.

DUELLING as a punishment is absurd; because it is an equal chance, whether the

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punishment fall upon the offender, or the person offended. Nor is it much better as a reparation; it being difficult to explain in what the satisfaction consists, or how it tends to undo the injury, or to afford a compensation for the damage already sustained.

The truth is, it is not considered as either. A law of honour having annexed the imputation of cowardice to patience under an affront, challenges are given and accepted with no other design than to prevent or wipe off this suspicion; without malice against the adversary, generally without a wish to destroy him, or any other concern than to preserve the duellist's own reputation and reception in the world.

The unreasonableness of this rule of manners is one consideration; the duty and conduct of individuals, while such a rule exists, is another.

As to which, the proper and single question is this; Whether a regard for our own reputation is, or is not, sufficient to justify the taking away the life of another?

Murder is forbidden; and wherever human life is deliberately taken away, other wise than by public authority, there is murder. The value and security of human life make this rule necessary; for I do not see what other idea or definition of murder can be admitted, which will not let in so much private violence, as to render society a scene of peril and bloodshed.

If unauthorized laws of honour be allowed to create exceptions to divine prohibitions, there is an end of all morality, as founded in the will of the Deity; and the obligation of every duty may, at one time or other, be discharged by the caprice and fluctuations of fashion.

"But a sense of shame is so much torture; and no relief presents itself otherwise than by an attempt upon the life of our adversary." What then? The distress which men suffer by the want of money is oftentimes extreme, and no resource can be discovered but that of removing a life which stands between the distressed person and his inheritance. The motive in this case is as urgent, and the means much the same, as in the former: yet this case finds no advocate.

Take away the circumstance of the duellist exposing his own life, and it becomes assassination; add this circumstance, and what difference does it make? None but this, that fewer perhaps will imitate the example, and human life will be somewhat more safe, when it cannot be attacked without equal danger to the aggressor's own. Experience, however, proves that there is fortitude enough in most men to undertake

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this hazard; and were it otherwise, the defence, at best, would be only that which a highwayman or housebreaker might plead, whose attempt had been so daring and desperate, that few were likely to repeat the same.

In expostulating with the duellist, I all along suppose his adversary to fall. Which supposition I am at liberty to make, because, if he have no right to kill his adversary, he has none to attempt it.

In return, I forbear from applying to the case of duelling the christian principle of the forgiveness of injuries; because it is possible to suppose the injury to be forgiven, and the duellist to act entirely from a concern for his own reputation: where this is not the case, the guilt of duelling is manifest, and is greater.

In this view it seems unnecessary to distinguish between him who gives, and him who accepts, a challenge: for, on the one hand, they incur an equal hazard of destroying life; and on the other, both act upon the same persuasion, that what they do is necessary, in order to recover or preserve the good opinion of the world.

Public opinion is not easily controlled by civil institutions; for which reason I question whether any regulations can be contrived, of sufficient force to suppress or change the rule of honour, which stigmatizes all scruples about duelling with the reproach of cowardice.

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The insufficiency of the redress which the law of the land affords, for those injuries which chiefly affect a man in his sensibility and reputation, tempts many to redress themselves. Prosecutions for such offences, by the trifling damages that are recovered, serve only to make the sufferer more ridiculous.-This ought to be remedied.

For the army, where the point of honour is cultivated with exquisite attention and refinement, I would establish a Court of Honour, with a power of awarding those submissions and acknowledgements, which it is generally the purpose of a challenge to obtain; and it might grow into a fashion, with persons of rank of all professions, to refer their quarrels to this tribunal.

Duelling, as the law now stands, can seldom be overtaken by legal punishment. The challenge, appointment, and other previous circumstances, which indicate the intention with which the combatants met; being suppressed, nothing appears to a court of justice but the actual rencounter ; and if a person be slain when actually fighting with his adversary, the law deems his death nothing more than manslaughter. - Moral & Polit. Philos. chap. ix.

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