marked hour has come, and the steamer has not made her appearance. Many a wistful look is cast along the line of approach, but as not a speck is seen in the distant horizon, many lingering minutes must heavily pass before she can possibly reach her station. With the naturalist, however, who has the wonders of the seashore as a resource, the winged moments pass not heavily. But our patience, it may be said, is often as much tried, where there are neither steamers to disappoint, nor sea-shores to amuse us. There is not a place on the surface of the globe, nay, nor under its surface, which is devoid of objects of interest to him who has pleasure in seeking out the works of the Lord. Even an old quarry-hole is to the naturalist quite a museum, in which a perishing fragment of time may be the reverse of lost, and in which, did not duty call, he might be disposed delightedly to linger. Is he a geologist? The rocks themselves, and the inclination of the strata, will tell him that it was not a fortuitous combination of atoms, nor a lucky jumble of blind chance, that produced what he beholds, but that the finger of God controlled the whole, and that the foresight, and wisdom, and power of the Most High have converted the very ruins of his works into rich supplies for man, and have stored them up in the very way which renders them most accessible when skill and industry unite in the search. If the rocks, as is often the case, contain organic remains, his thoughts are carried back to a period when time was young, when other monsters wantoned in the deep, and when trees of strangest form and foliage waved in the primeval forests. Is he a botanist? The old quarry is often rich in cryptogamic plants, so that a harvest of beautiful mosses may probably be reaped on the moist rocks, or under the cool shade of the quarry's pendent brow, while Conferva, and other aquatics, may be the recompense of a search among the floating weeds of the subjacent pool. Is he a conchologist? Even in the quarry he may find shells well deserving of a place in his cabinet; for while he may detect specimens of Helix, and Pupa, and Bulimus, and Clausilia, &c., among the loose stones, he may also find various species of Limnea, Physa, Planorbis, Paludina, &c., in the stagnant water. Does he take an interest in the infusory animalcules? Countless are the indescribable forms in which these "minims of nature" will present themselves in almost every cupful of water he can take up; and if he is a zoophytologist, he will find in the Zoophytes that may come under his notice another order of "minims" still more deserving of his regard. But what is a Zoophyte ? some may say. When our great lexicographer, Johnson, in his most valuable work defined Zoophytes in the following terms, "certain vegetables, or substances which partake of the nature both of vegetables and animals," he gives us at least a good idea of the vague and erroneous notions which were generally entertained respecting Zoophytes then, and which lurk in the minds of many even in the present day. The period is not very distant when some naturalists contended that Zoophytes were stones which had assumed the form of plants by the motion of the waves, by crystallization, by deposition and gradual incrustation, or by some strange vegetable power, while by far the greater number of naturalists, without any misgiving, ranked them among such plants as mosses and algæ. Peyssonel, Reaumur, Jussieu, and Trembley had all before this time published treatises containing correct views of the animal nature of Zoophytes; and Ellis had written his celebrated essay on British Corallines or Zoophytes in the very year in which Johnson's Dictionary was published; but where incorrect views have long prevailed, they keep their hold of the public mind long after the truth is generally known among men of science. Even after the publication of Ellis's admirable work there were a few that clung to the old opinions; but truth at last prevailed, and the animal nature of Zoophytes is now universally agreed on among naturalists, in Britain the term Zoopbyte being employed to denote those living creatures which, in their form and leading characters, bear a resemblance to vegetables. We must bear in mind, then, that they are not, as the Greek name literally signifies, animated plants, but that they are, in truth, plant-like animals. Though they are not the most minute of living creatures, they have been placed at the bottom of the scale of animated nature; for taking a single polype, a being of simpler organization is not known, and indeed can scarcely be conceived. They can exist only in a liquid element; but while some of them are found in fresh water, by far the greater number of them are inhabitants of the briny deep. To attempt any thing like a scientific account of British Zoophytes, would carry us far beyond the limits we have prescribed to ourselves in these slight sketches. Without the aid of plates, all we can venture to attempt, is the description of a few of those that have come under our notice, chicdy with the view of directing the attention of the young to a department of natural science which, as yet, bas not been generally studied, though some of the inte resting objects which it comprehends are within the reach of all, and are remarkably fitted to show forth the masterly touches, if we may so speak, of the won der-working finger of the Omnipotent. We shall begin with the fresh water Hydra Polype, (Hydra Viridis) a creature now well known, but whose wonderful properties, when first made known by M. Trembley, nearly a century ago, formed the all-engrossing topic of conversation and correspondence sinong the naturalists of the whole of Europe. It is so com mon in Ayrshire, that you have only to take a handful of duckweed, or any other plant that grows in stag nant water, and to place it in a tumbler of pure water, and you are almost sure of having a green Hydra Polype imprisoned for observation. When newly caught it is not easily detected, for it is then in the form of a small hemispherical mass of green jelly. But when left undisturbed, it soon shoots out, and assumes the appearance of a cylindrical tube, with one end attached to a plant or to the glass, while from the other, which is called the mouth, about ten or twelve linear tentacula or feelers proceed, fringing it in the form of a star. These feelers are extended, and move about in search of food. Their favourite food consists of very minute red worms, generally found in water, and so deadly is the grasp of the tentacula, that no worm ever sur vives it. The way in which the Hydra is propagated is by buds or gems. A little tubercle is at first observed on some part of the body of the Polype. It soon increases in length, and sends forth tentacula from its mouth, with which it begins to catch food; and when it is nearly the size of the parent Polype, it drops off, and becomes an independent animal. Though the organization of the Hydra Polype is so exceedingly simple, it is remarkably tenacious of life; for it not only lives, but can be artificially increased under a manipulation which would be destructive of animals of a higher grade. It was the discovery of this property that rendered the Hydra Polype an object not only of curiosity and interest, but even of wonder among naturalists. If you slit it up from end to end, "the wound, like the wounded wave, soon heals." If you cut it into a dozen pieces, each piece becomes a separate animal, as large as the original one of which it had been a section. If you turn it inside out, it matters not to Polype; it lives, and eats, and thrives as well as ever. It seems to suffer little pain from what might seem cruel experiments; for if it is cut in two, that part which is furnished with the mouth catches food as greedily as ever, a few minutes after it has been dis- | The outer and larger horse shoe is spread out like a sected. lady's ivory fan. The inner range is unfolded in the same manner, but it is of smaller dimensions. There is something remarkably elegant in this form of the Polype; and, though it is the more usual aspect, it is not the only one. There is another of still greater elegance, which seemed to be a favourite one, and which we have seen assumed by above a hundred of the Polypes at once. In this case, the outer range, consisting of twenty-six tentacula, was spread out in the graceful manner we have mentioned." The inner range, however, was made to resemble an elegant pavilion, the opposite tentacula meeting together at the top in the form of a Gothic arch. Taking a survey of the whole, however, it had the appearance of a tented field, where a miniature army lay encamped; or, as there was so much more grace and elegance than soldiers' tents exhibit, you were led to think of some splendid tournay, where the princes and nobles of the land had in all their pomp assembled, vieing with each other in the magnificence of their pavilions, with which the plain far and wide was studded. The Hydra Viridis of which we have been treating, while it presents the Zoophyte in its simplest aspect, helps us also to form an idea of the structure of those that are less simple. It is naked; but let us suppose that it were covered with a crest-that gems proceeding from different parts of its body were to become Zoophytes of the same kind as that on which they grow -that the calcareous or horny covering prevented them from dropping off and that they, in like manner, in their turn gave origin to other Zoophytes, springing from their bodies, and continuing to adhere to them, we would then have either a compound animal, with many heads, or a number of animals, each inhabiting an apartment of a connected domicile. The greater part of Zoophytes are of this compound character; and while the single animal is called a Polype, and the portion which it inhabits is called its cell, the whole habitation is called a polypidom, or the house of the Polypes. Not only have Zoophytes been subdivided into genera and species; but, as the animals themselves materially differ in structure, they have been divided into four great classes. On those divisions and subdivisions we mean not at present to dwell—our object being to give some idea of the nature of Zoophytes in general; though, in order to do so, we must single out a few individual Zoophytes for more particular description. And gay as it was, it was a field of warfare. The Polypes were not the only inhabitants of the watery plain, it was inhabited also by Infusories; many of which, green, and white, and grey, could be scen with the naked eye wantoning in all the joy of active life. It was to trepan these little thoughtless "Minims of Nature that the tentacula of the Plumatella were thus artfully spread out. Elegant as the arched pavilion might appear, it was to them the chamber of death. Means unseen were employed to lure the little sportive animalcules into the well-laid snare. Every one of the feelers was fringed with numerous cilia, too minute to be seen without the aid of a powerful microscope; and which were constantly in motion, to produce currents that might insensibly draw the little infusories into the inner or outer enclosure, like Scylla and Charybdis, prepared for their destruction. Let them but touch, in their heedless gambols, one of the extended feelers, and, with the suddenness of the lightning's flash, the whole were closed, and withdrawn into the cell; and, by the very act of withdrawal, the cell was shut, and escape rendered utterly impossible! As we shall not at present touch on the marine Zoophytes, what has been said respecting the beautiful Plumatella may serve to "point a moral," and to teach us some lessons of wisdom. The next we shall fix on, though of a different class, is also from fresh water; and, in so far as beauty is regarded, is greatly superior to the Green Hydra. It is called Plumatella repens: Plumatella, as a diminutive of the Latin word which means plumed; and repens, because it is generally found creeping along the under surface of stones or leaves, to which it closely adheres. We are not aware of its having been found more than once before in Scotland; for, though it is described by two distinguished zoophytologists in their valuable works, (Professor Fleming of King's College, Aberdeen, and Dr George Johnston of Berwick-uponTweed-both of whom I have the honour of calling my friends and kind instructors,) the habitat mentioned by Dr Johnston is in England. As we found it twice, however, of late in different situations in this parish, it is probably less rare than is supposed. When taken out of the water, it has no beauty to attract the eye; but when replaced in the water in such a position as that it can be contemplated with the aid of a lens, what is beheld is both beautiful and wonderful. When re- We blame not the Plumatella for catching its prey, garded with the naked eye, all that at first is seen, is it is guided by instinct in doing so; and even though the appearance of horny, leafless branches proceeding it had been guided by reason, it would have been as from a centre, and setting out at short intervals along little reprehensible as the wild Indian, who subsists by the branches, and generally in pairs, what seem like his skill in fishing, and in the chase: and yet, it may leaf-buds. In a little, however, there is the appearance remind us of those who are deeply culpable, and have a of life, and what was a naked leafless branch assumes fearful responsibility. In looking at the beautiful pavi a downy appearance. The cause of this, by narrow in- lion-like display made by the Plumatella, though the spection, can be ascertained even with the naked eye. natural feeling is that of admiration, we may, by no By the aid of a lens, however, the nature of the change is very unnatural process, be led to think of the tents of much more evident. You then see that the branches are sin,-of the palaces of pollution,-of the gin palaces, tubes inhabited by living creatures; that every bud is a reared by those who make merchandise of souls; who, cell, the dwelling-place of a Polype; that there may be for "filthy lucre," ply every wile suited to the corrupt above a hundred of these clustered together; and that, propensities of the human heart. In looking at the as one stone may have several distinct villages planted little infusories, on the verge of destruction, I could upon it, the whole population of a district of six square not help thinking with pity on the multitudes of infainches may be upwards of a thousand. The first symp- tuated mortals who "go as oxen to the slaughter, as tom of life that the observer perceives, is the Polype birds to the snare, and know not that it is for their which had shrunk out of sight on being disturbed, push-life." In such, also, we might regard as verified the ing forward to the mouth of the cell, as if to recon- ancient fable of warriors, by partaking of Circe's cup, noitre. If all is quiet, you soon see the Polype in the changed into swine: and when the fable tells how the form of a little white rod, protruded from the cell in a veteran chief was preserved from falling under the horizontal direction. This rod is composed of a bundle power of the enchantress, by an herb given him by a of tentacula, amounting to about fifty. The next change friendly deity, O should we forget, that even to those that takes place, is the unfolding of the tentacula; not whom the cup of sinful pleasure has degraded, and sunk in the star-like form assumed by the Hydra, but in the below the level of the most polluted of the brutes, form of two horse shoes, the one enclosing the other. there is offered free access to the tree of life, the leaves of which are for the healing of the nations,"-of | reared to man's estate. But yet, it seems, war must have its glory and its shouts of triumph!miserable glory, with its laurels dabbled in blood! been slain." THE NECESSITY OF HOLINESS TO PEACE ON EARTH A DISCOURSE. BY THE REV. NATHANIEL PATERSON, D. D., Minister of St Andrew's Parish, Glasgow. "Follow peace with all men, and holiness, without melancholy shouts, mingled with the groans of the dying, and the wailing of widows and orphans, seeking their husbands and fathers amidst the heaps of the slain! And O! if such deep woes defile the honours which victory has won, what must the condition of the vanquished be, returning to their desolate homes and trampled vines, with a broken spirit and the chains of bondage? Yet is it in the very sight, and under the suffering of such miseries, that dying chieftains have left their revenge as a legacy to their offspring, and aged warriors have taken their sons bound upon oath never to listen to the terms of peace. What then do we behold? On the one hand, this text enjoining peace; on the other, men serving diverse lusts and pleasures, living in malice and envy, hateful, and hating one another: but we see in this contrast, that the things of man's guilty choice are doomed, in the course of providence, to prove so many fountains of bitterness, out of which, whilst they draw and drink, the proud and perishing are constrained to admire the beauty and excellency of the precept, "Follow peace with all men." But, suppose there be no national war, there of dispeace ;-as in the case of personal quarrels, may yet, in the same community, be an abundance which no man shall see the Lord."-HEB. xii. 14. family feuds, religious animosity, and political IT affords a high satisfaction to the mind, in view-strife. Now, it is not the question, whether these ing many of the sublime truths and momentous precepts of our holy religion, to find that the same things, though less clearly, are yet certainly written in the very constitution of nature and the course of providence. And thus, whether devoutly regarding or failing to observe the Word of God, man's faith may be strengthened, or his folly reproved, by what he is compelled to witness in the work of God. The world, indeed, maintains a universal opposition to the precept of our text: "There is no fear of God before their eyes their feet are swift to shed blood-and the way of peace have they not known;" but this opposition is followed all the way by the reproach of a blood-stained history-by the testimony of a conscience, that things ought not so to be-by the experience of deep and self-inflicted miseries, and by a thorough conviction of reason, that infinitely better it were for the well-being of the world, if the precepts of our text had a universal acceptance, and a universal efficiency, in the hearts of our species. War, to say the least of it, is a shocking outrage upon all that is delicate and beautiful in the mechanism of the human frame-upon all that is benevolent and blissful in the social affections, which the Almighty has implanted. In the fierce encounter, the spear destroys the image of Godlays waste that which he hath "fearfully and wonderfully made." In this way millions perish in their prime, and are lost to all the ends, in time, for which they were tenderly nursed and dutifully things be agreeable to the corruptness of man's nature? whether they serve to gratify those pas sions by which they are excited and fomented?but the question is, whether there be not a law to discountenance and condemn them ?-a law written with clearness on the conscience, and constantly carried into effect by a series of penal inflictions in the providence of God. Whatever the gratifications of malice may be, in sowing the seeds of discord and watching their mischievous growth, yet is the heart, in so doing, all the while the victim of its own devices; it has no quiet, no comfort, no self-approbation, no favour of God. It is marked out by all the good as an object to be detested and shunned; it is left amidst the dark sea of its own troubles, and it descries in the distance no haven of rest. How strongly, then, do the dictates of conscience and the laws of providence illustrate and commend the benignant precepts of the Word: "Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil-speaking, be put away from you, with all malice; and be ye kind one to another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake, hath forgiven you: Follow peace with all men, and holiness, without which no man shall see the Lord." And as we have said of national war and of domestic strife-both equally the opposite of peace -so say we now of sin, the opposite of holiness. Sin hardens the heart; and left to itself, running to excess of riot, it grows, by the unperceived and irresistible force of habit, to an inveterate and ab solute dominion. But then the consequence is, that such a sinner is not more a pest to society, than he is his own most relentless and destroying foe. He carries in his own heart a witness against himself. He can bear no reasoning about righteousness, temperance, and judgment to come. In the fear that hath torment he would fain have it, that there is no God and no hereafter; but conscience all the while bears testimony to both; and that voice, which he cannot bribe to silence, he seeks to drown by drinking iniquity with greediness: but the effect of this foolish endeavour is at once to increase the terrors, and to accelerate the approach of death; and that voice, once unheeded as a whisper, will shake the soul with its thunder, amidst the fearful looking for of judgment, and fiery indignation that shall consume the adversary. That the wicked may flourish and live long, is true-in which case the longsuffering of God will make their reckoning for eternity more dreadful; but more frequent it is, that whilst sin embitters every moment of his life, it also cuts off the sinner in the midst of his days. And thus the precept of our text, much needed in an evil world, much needed in the period of youth, and in the place of abounding temptations, is commended to heart and soul by all that you experience within, and by all that you see around you, in the constitution of nature and in the course of providence. There you see laws which are as plainly written as they are stedfast; whose operation, if they are unheeded, must be felt ;-laws which no art can elude, no power can resist, and whose excellence, whether for man's good or God's glory, no mortal creature can deny. And thus, if the precept have less welcome because it is written in the Word of God, the careless reader will be compelled to meet with it in another volume by the same Author: and though nothing can add to the obligation laid on us by what we knew to be the Word of God; yet are we brought to a clearer understanding, and deeper feeling of the preceptive authority, when we see the same thing as certainly written in the work of God's hand as in the Word of his inspiration, and find its sanction upheld before our eyes every day, in all the dealings of that providence by which he rules the world. The two greatest things that concern the whole of our being, as sojourners here in the prospect of eternity, are peace with men and acceptance with God in heaven. Our text embraces both; "Follow peace with all men, and holiness, without which no man shall see the Lord." These two are essentially connected. The wisdom that cometh down from above is first pure, then it is peaceable. Without holiness, there can be no peace on earth; without holiness, we cannot enter the kingdom of heaven. We proceed then, in an humble dependence on the Divine aid and blessing, to consider, First, The necessity of holiness to the promotion of peace; secondly, The necessity of holiness to a meetness for heaven. As the carnal mind is enmity to God, it is no wonder that man in such a spirit should hate that holiness which he requires. Hence they give to it some bad appellation, and strive to invest it with a prejudice which may render it unlovely, if not hateful, to others. They describe it as being righteous overmuch, or they call it fanatical, and allege that those who are the most remarkable for its attainment, are merely hypocrites. Thus they brand, as being a detestable delusion, that very thing which in the creature is likest the Creator, and which, as it honours the Sovereign Ruler, constitutes the chief good for time, and the only preparation for eternity. I warn thee, O reader, if thou hast ever so spoken, take heed that such words be no more found on thy tongue. They betray the deepest enmity to God, and the worst will to the best interests of man. If ever thou come to a right frame of spirit, the remembrance of such words will be thy burning shame and bitterest sorrow; and if thou die as thou art, thou wilt be speechless before that high and holy tribunal from which the wicked go away into everlasting punishment, and the righteous into life eternal. How well might it correct all such loose and injurious thoughts respecting holiness, to learn for certain, that without it there can be on earth no solid peace amongst men; that without making it the first aim, as means to an end, the ablest of statesmen and the best of patriots will labour in vain. That term, apart from all aspersions, and in its proper sense, means nothing more nor less, than every living soul ought to aspire after, and labour to attain. It signifies the absence of those evil passions that corrupt the soul, as well as those lusts that defile the body; and which, taken collectively, the apostle terms a pollution of the flesh and of the spirit. Is it not then to be suspected, that they who scoff at holiness, if they do not patronize, have at least no great aversion to those vices which are no less vile than destructive? But the term in question does not only imply the removal of those evils, but the possession of whatsoever things are pure, and lovely, and of good report-the highest attainments of those virtues and graces by which the disciple of Jesus, through sanctification of the Spirit and belief of the truth, adorns the doctrine of God his Saviour in all things. And probable it is, that they who speak highly of holiness have as little relish of the worth by which it is dignified, as they have of hatred to those degrading propensities from which it is altogether free. Such is that true nobility of character, that purity of heart and life, which the Gospel wonderfully achieves, which God peremptorily requires, and which it is the part only of the ungodly, in their ignorance and folly, to deride and now, seeing what holiness is, it is easy also to show, that without it there can be on earth no solid peace amongst men. Sin is disorder carried into the ways and works of God. However weak the hand, sin, in any shape, is a blow levelled at the foundations of the universe; it is enmity to the preserving the unity of the spirit in the bonds of Sovereign Ruler, and rebellion against his righte- peace. Thus, sin being destroyed, selfishness ous laws. See, then, the inevitable There would be no more clashing would cease. consequence: If all men are by nature in a state of sin, and that sin is enmity to the Supreme Ruler, there can be no bond of union amongst men, as the subjects of a divine and righteous government. Hence, as it is truly said, All men seek their own things." Hence, might becomes substituted for right; or, if might fail, selfishness will seek its own ends by baser means,—such as falsehood, circumvention, and fraud. Hence the endless crossing of paths, and clashing of interests; a continual course of mutual injuries; the suffering of oppression on the one hand, and the exhibition of ill-got gains on the other; never ceasing to provoke envy and strife, hatred and revenge. Hence it is said, as it may be seen of men, that "their feet are swift to shed blood, and the way of peace have they not known." It is in such a state of things that the precept of our text is given, under a certain limitation, "Follow peace with all men." It is not said, Be at peace with all men, but, Do the things that make for peace. The same precept is elsewhere given, with the like reserve,- "If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men;" intimating that it may not be possible, do what you will; and if possible, that in some cases it would not be right, for peace must not be sought by the sacrifice of principle, we must not abandon the fear of God, and the allegiance we owe to him, in order to please the wicked, and be at peace with them. of interests and crossing of paths, but all creatures yielding obedience to the blessed and only Potentate, would, like the planets, moving in one way, and shining with one light, harmonize, and in their happiness proclaim the glory of Him in whom they live, and move, and have their being. This is the Bible theory of peace, the only one that has reason on its side, and, so far as they go, the facts of experience for its vindication, the only one that fallen mortals will ever realize; holiness the way, and peace the end! presenting on earth the scenery of heaven,-a type and pledge of future bliss, where all are of one mind, because one holy and unerring will is law; and all is peace, because all is pure. Let no one fear that the world, by such a renovation, would lose the interest of variety, or suffer a tedious monotony in the quietude of its peace. We cannot allow to sin any one good effect; and we see no want of variety in the works of God. There is much diversity of feature and temperament in the character of the apostles, though they are all holy men, devoted to their Lord, and lovely in their lives. There is one glory of the sun, another of the moon, and another of the stars, and one star differeth from another star in glory; but they are all glorious. The flowers of the field have many hues and forms, but they are all beautiful; and if moral evil might improve the world, then would the effect of flowers be heightened by the foot that treads them down, or the hand that stains their bosoms with mire. The dew-drops have the sameness of a single ele the same to all; yet have they no dreariness of aspect, but delight the eye with the varied hues of modest green, of orient pearl, and of brightest fire: and, oh! in what permanent and peaceful loveliness will the converts of Zion appear, when shining in the light of the Lord, they shall be numerous, and beautiful as the drops of the dew! Thus have we seen the necessity of holiness to the promotion of peace; an end as certainly to be attained through holiness of heart and life, as the blessedness of its boon to man's few days is by any other course absolutely and for ever unattainable. But, suppose the precept requiring holiness to be carried out to its full extent, not aiming at peace directly, and in the first instance, but indi-ment, and the light which they reflect is one and rectly, and through the medium of an acquired holiness, then would peace, the desired end, be most certainly acquired. Healing the fountain, the sweet waters would flow; a joyful order would arise out of the confusion of darkness, in the presence of a holy light; and in proportion to the abundance of that beauteous element, would a blissful peace be diffused over the homes and the hearts of men. Were all intent on getting, for themselves as well as for their kindred and race, the holiness of heart and life which is dear to God, then would all have one end,-not their selfish gratification, but his glory. To gain that end, all would be conducted in one way. "To the law and to the testimony," would be the universal rule; "not my will, but thine be done." This oneness of object and procedure would be accompanied by a divine and constraining influence, ever tending to produce in all minds a similarity of character. Serving the same Lord, and walking in his steps, his followers would grow in his likeness; and all growing like to One, they would insensibly, and without invidious comparisons, become like one to another; and finding in each nothing hateful, there would be no hating, but, bearing the image of their Saviour and Lord, they would dwell together, as dear children, in love, Let no one say, The end is so remote, and the field so wide, I cannot entertain the motive, or feel that an obligation for the wellbeing of a world should rest upon me. Thy God requires thee to "follow peace with all men." The sin that thwarts that purpose, as in every other view, is an infinite evil; for there is no end to its effects. A bad word or deed that dies not with thee, may disturb the peace of another hemisphere, and hurt the generations yet unborn; and well may it be felt in thy heart, that, at the least, thou art answerable for whatever may create dispeace in thy family, amongst thy kindred and neighbours, and |