was, and He, resuming the sway, will be the sun-the light-the ascendant of the universe; and ultimately the Sun of creation. "The new heavens and the new earth have no need of the sun, for the glory of God is the light thereof:" yea, as it was in the beginning of time. Thus the created atoms, as we have already stated, were first disposed into spheres, atmospheres, and ethers, and from these the universe was formed; gravity and polarity were induced, and the great machine of the universe was put in motion. To these succeeded formations, in and upon the spheres, of waters, oceans, and dry land: drainage was induced, by subterranean as well as surface currents, through the peculiar disposition of the earth's crust into formations of regular inclined strata, and solid or dry land arose above the waters, presenting vast fields for sustaining life; and thereon and therein vegetation was induced, and endowed with fecundity. The day had at length arrived when, in the order of infinite wisdom, light was to be thus disposed, and motion induced therein, that it might no longer, as heretofore, depend upon the immediate and repeated action of the Creator thereon. Within the vortex of the sun's rotary motion, it appears, He accordingly formed an assemblage of light into a vast circumambient, elastic mass, not in contact with, but covering the sun's surface, as the clouds float over, and thus cover the earth, yet not so completely covering it, but that chasms (by us called spots in the sun) frequently occur, through which the body of the sun appears; and its appearance through these chasms is opaque and solid, similar to the moon and other planets; which indicate that it may be an habitable globe, blest with animal and vegetable life, like our earth. The great Creator, in subjecting the action of light to fixed laws which are invisible to man, has, as in His previous formations, perfected and perpetuated His work, but veiled the hand which wields it, so completely, that science itself remains in doubt, even to this day, of the mode of action. To discourse here upon the substance and properties of light, would be to repeat what has been already noted in treating on its creation; our subject in this essay must, therefore, be the Sun, considered as the enlightener of the universe. The elastic circumambient radiance, added on this day to the sun, whether it consists of light mingled with gas, or of pure light in action and reaction, is itself a perpetual motion, and its undulations and issuing rays, perhaps, are the cause of per petual motion to the whole universe. We are told, verse 4, "God divided between the light and between the darkness." And, verse 18 states, that the sun was appointed, "to divide between the light and between the darkness." What, therefore, Elohim performed by His immediate act, in the first instance, He now performs by His delegate, the sun; and He endowed it on this day with suitable powers. The sun is denominated an enlightener; an issue must, therefore, be in perpetual progression from this luminary, into, and throughout, the whole universe; and for this purpose a plenum of light is provided; but if the provision was only once made, and no supply instituted, time must impair the original provision, and thus ultimately induce a lack. The idea of a provision once for all, in such a case as this, where the consumption is perpetual, is contrary to the economy of creation, which is every where provided with a succession of good, to supply a succession of wants, and no where is made to depend, during the ages of time, upon a provision made in the first instance. The distance of this circumambient elastic radiance from the surface of the sun is great, in proportion to the magnitude of the orb which it encloses, although completely within the vortex of its rotary motion; and if an immense issue takes place upon its equator, a suitable return probably enters at the poles. We perceive, in all the ordinary operations of caloric, that a draught of the fluids into the focus of its action takes place, invariably commensurate with the expenditure; and that this draught perpetuates itself, so long as the force of the caloric in action continues. In a manner similar, yet imminently refined, and aloof from the grosser operations of caloric, when combustible matter is its fuel, may this vast operation be performed-issuing rays, which strike every object that opposes their course, as well as the latent substance of light, and thus inducing action, and heat, and providing the medium of vision throughout the solar system. The action of light is ever to divide or separate; and rarefaction and combustion, either by the rays of the sun or by an ordinary fire, divide substances, fluid or solid, in a way similar to each other. If, therefore, the effects of the sun's light and the effects of caloric in action, throughout the universe, be similar, it is fair to suppose, that the light of the sun, and the caloric of this system, is one substance; and that the whole was included in the one creation of light, although the radiance around the sun, from its rich abundance, shines to us with superior lustre to every object in creation; for whether a fire is kindled by the sun's rays, in the focus of a lens, or by friction, or by the stroke of flint on steel, its action is the same. The whole universe would have continued one huge field of darkness, even after the creation of light, had not Elohim, in the first instance in person, and in the second by His vicegerent, the sun, induced action in light, and, through the medium of that action, rendered objects visible; for light when latent is invisible: yet another species of action is also needful, in order to enlighten every part of the spheres. To move the sun round the universe every day, would have been a monstrous labour-a mere waste of power, on the part of the Creator, and quite at variance with the economy visible in all his acts; but to induce a rotary motion in every sphere, and thus turn every part of each in succession into the direct path of the sun's rays, by the most simple process, effects the desired end with the greatest ease. Hence, day is in that portion of an orb which is towards the sun, and night in the opposite portion. Thus is the sun every instant dividing between the day and the night, upon the face of every sphere in the solar system; for whereas every orb is in incessant motion, so the line of light and darkness is every instant moving forward over the surface of every one of them. "For signs let these be." This implies a second species of motion-a movement along a path or orbit; for if the spheres had inerely a rotary motion, save the mere division of light from darkness, day and night, no other sign would occur amidst the solar system. We have, however, another species of motion in the universe; viz. the progression of every orb in the system, in that orbit appointed to each by the great Creator, round the central sun. Now, the sun, as the enlightener, renders the face of every sphere in the system, which is in the unobstructed path of his rays, luminously visible to every other sphere, which is in the unobstructed path of the rays that each of these reflect from their respective surfaces; and while the line of light incessantly flits over the surface of each sphere, the illumed portion is as distinctly seen from the other spheres as if no rotary motion existed; whereby all their wanderings are observed -their conjunctions, oppositions, relative positions, and the beginnings and endings of their years in endless progression. Thus are their several times noted; and the order and precision of all these, from age to age, become signs of the beautiful order and stability of creation, and of a regularity which may be calculated upon, without the least disappointment, to a second of time long prior to each event. Without the action of the sun's rays, all these, if they existed, would be hidden, darkness would cover the whole; therefore the sun's action becomes a sign to us of the continuance of action therein, of the hale and healthy state of the whole system, and a commanding sign of the stability of the works of God; under that especial providence which is in perpetual exercise throughout the whole, during all the ages of time. "For seasons." We behold, amidst the admirable regularity of the planetary motions, eccentricities which, while they do not destroy the precision of their times, interfere with the place and position of each in respect of the others, and of the sun; hence arise the seasons of spring, summer, autumn, and winter. During these several seasons, the sun's rays act more obliquely or more directly upon the several portions of the surface of the spheres, according to the position into which each portion is by these eccentricities turned, in respect of the sun; and heat and cold are, in consequence, induced in a greater or lesser degree therein. Winter and summer, the two extremes, and spring and autumn, the two means, thus progressively visit and pass over certain portions of a sphere; and thus the sun is the ascendant of the seasons, while these eccentricities are the cause: for uniformity of temperament would perpetually exist in each sphere, if all its motions were always regular. Our astonishment is great, that the equipoise of the universe is not disturbed, yea, even destroyed, by the incessant recurrence of these eccentricities in the motions of orbs of such immense magnitude as the planets and infinite wisdom, as well as infinite power, are proclaimed, from season to season, by every time, and its precise return, which passes over these, the work of His hands: "All thy works shall praise Thee, O Lord; and Thy saints shall bless Thee!" "For days and for years." The sun is the ascendant of day; but it is, also the note of time. It rises, it becomes meridian, sets, and rises again; and these periods note, in their progression, a day: not that the motion of the sun produces this, but the rotary motion of the planet, by turning certain parts of its surface, in succession, into the path of the sun's rays. The planets also form their own years; for a complete revolution of a planet round the sun is the year of that planet. The days, as well as the years, as we have already noted in former portions of this exposition, are of vari ous lengths; indeed they differ each from each exceedingly; but every planet has its day and its year; and the sun is the arbiter of all these. The changes occur in the planets themselves; but the note of these is the presence or absence of the rays which induce light therein, in respect of day; and in respect of the year, the place in the expansion of the heaven to which the planet returns, after a complete revolution, in its orbit round the sun, made visible by the incessant issue of rays from the sun. The sun is, therefore, the noter of time. If the whole planetary system is the dial-plate, and the motions of the planets therein are the hands, the sun is the divider of periods the division of time thereon; incessantly visible, and inducing vision throughout the whole. It is the perfection of wisdom to perpetuate an unerring time-piece to the sojourners of time, that incessant note may rise up before them of their progression in the direct path to eternity; for which they are born, and into which they must enter, to return no more for ever. A day is short, and passes quickly away, while a year is a long period: the ages of time are, therefore, noted by this long period, rather than the fleeting of a day; but, in comparison with infinite duration, (eternity,) a year is, even as a day, fleetingly short, and passes away, like a dream, from which men awake, unconscious of duration. "Let them be lights in the expanse of heaven, diffusing light throughout the terraqueous!" Darkness was, in the beginning, upon the face of the abyss, the created atoms were all opaque, inert, cold and cheerless; and light was created in order to bless this universe with warmth, vigour, and fecundity. During the expansion and the subsequent formations of earths and waters, it does not appear that a radical change took place in the atoms; but they were brought into contact with and acted upon by light, in the hands of the great Master-builder, who thus fitted each for its appointed place, on the erection of the universe: all matter was, therefore, opaque as in the beginning, when this system was completed; and the terraqueous spheres were equally dark with the great abyss. Light is, as it was in the beginning, absolutely necessary to these spheres throughout all the periods of their existence, and here we have the supply. The sun has it in command, "to diffuse light throughout the terraqueous, while he lights the expanse of heaven." The issues of light during one day will not suffice for the next day, much less for the next year; on every day, and throughout every year, light must issue-the action must be kept up; because between vegetable and animal life and light the connexion is inseparable; and where vital heat fails, vitality ceases and death ensues. If, therefore, the genial rays of the sun were to cease from the terraqueous, earth and water, with vegetation and animation, would cease from that action which raises up the opaque atoms, under the hands of Divine Providence, into forms and hues lovely and deligtful, and the whole ministration of life would cease from the spheres. Thus far our discourse has been solely upon that magnificent luminary, the sunthe ascendant of day; under the impression that all which is related by the inspired penman, Moses, of and respecting this orb, has a direct reference to the whole system. It remains that we discourse on the inferior luminary, the moon-the ascendant of night, separately; because what is said of the moon, refers to this one sphere our earth, almost exclusively. King Square, Feb. 2, 1832. W. COLDWEll. It was on a lovely morning, during one of the summer months, a few years ago, that I entered a delightful village, in one of our finest English counties, with the intention of spending some weeks in the prosecution of important engagements, and the enjoyment of very intelligent and agreeable society. The spot chosen for my temporary residence, was at once sequestered and beautiful, far removed from the bustle and turmoil of cities, and from the noise of men. The village was by no means large; the houses were pleasingly scattered, occupying the most picturesque situations. The site of the place was laid somewhat low, though in no degree confined. In front of the village, some lofty and magnificent hills finely presented themselves, from which the boldest and most delicious views were enjoyed. Immediately behind it, a beautiful river, which abounded in fine fish, and whose banks were uncommonly verdant, pursued its silent course; and, in every direction the most pleasing, and elegantly disposed, gardens met the eye. It was a spot for calm meditation, for quiet, pure, and exquisite enjoyment. After having rambled about this delight ful village, for some period admiring exceedingly the beautiful and sublime scene.y with which it was encircled, I was invited, on the eve of my departure, to visit a peasant, named John, who resided about two miles from my temporary abode. I had heard him very highly spoken of, and a strong desire was expressed that I should visit him, and enter into some conversation with him. I gladly embraced the opportunity presented, and, on a pure and balmy morning, a friend and myself proceeded to the peasant's residence. After a delightful walk through the richest and most cultivated country, we arrived at the "cotter's home," which at once awakened surprise and gratification. It was a neat and pretty little cottage, situated on rising ground, in the midst of an extensive and nicely-ordered garden. Immediately in front of the house, there was a most beautiful collection of flowers, of every form and hue, breathing their fragrance around, and unfolding their loveliness to the beholder; behind the cottage, there was a considerable portion of land for the cultivation of vegetables, and it was abundantly stocked, and seemed to be carefully superintended; while on one side there was a large orchard, giving the promise of a luxuriant crop. The cottage itself was a pleasing building, with a white-washed front, and a beautiful bower, over which the honeysuckle was trailing, in the most delightful manner, and sending its "delicious sweets" abroad. We entered the cottage somewhat abruptly, and took the family a little by surprise; still they were delighted to see us. We found all the family together, and the appearance of the whole was, to an enlightened and benevolent individual, deeply interesting. The peasant himself was a fine, manly, fresh-coloured, and vigorous individual, apparently about forty, and he had on his knee a laughing, healthy, chubby boy, of the age of five. Near him was his wife, a clean, smiling, rosy-cheeked woman, all life, animation, sincerity, and apparent good humour. Two boys, one about seven, and one about nine, were delighting themselves with some plates in the "Pilgrim's Progress," and a light, elegant, and beautiful girl, apparently about thirteen, was gazing, with joyousness, on her youngest brother. I never beheld a more beautiful or agreeable group, and the scene would have presented a striking appearance on canvass. "Well," said my friend to the peasant, "I have brought a stranger to see you, who respects character, and delights in happiness, wherever they are found." "I am obliged to you, sir," replied the peasant, 2D. SERIES, NO. 19.-VOL. II. "for your goodness to me, at all times; and, I am sure, the stranger is welcome to my humble abode, and I rejoice to think that true Christians are no respecters of persons or situations; but that, where they find a disciple of Jesus, whether in the cottage, the hospital, or the workhouse, they receive him as a friend and a brother." We entered into an extended conversation with this estimable peasant, while we remained, in order that I might gather what were his characteristic habits and feelings, and from what source his tranquillity and comfort sprung. The following were some of his remarks, during the interview. "I live, sir, in a quiet, rural spot, and I am very happy. My cottage, as you see, is neat, and pleasantly situated; my garden is pretty, and, generally, very productive; and my family are healthful, contented, grateful, and I love them dearly. I have not much money to spend; but I have enough, and I cannot be too thankful. We rise early in the morning, and pour forth our acknowledgments to that gracious Being, who "crowns the year with his goodness." I go forth to my labour till noon; after enjoying a plain and peaceful meal with my wife and children, I spend the evening in reading some excellent books, (for I have always had a love of reading) and in amusing myself with my family; besides, I endeavour, to the best of my ability, to instruct them all myself, for I consider a good education to be an inestimable blessing; and to bring them up in the fear of God, knowing that education, without Christianity, will be an evil, rather than a source of good. We thus spend our days calmly and happily. There is no idleness -no profanity-no slander-no unholy passion, in our humble abode. We wish to walk consistently, and in peace and affection towards all around. Few know little of us; but we are contented, for we have peace and serenity of mind; our home is the dwelling of harmony and love; and we hope to live and die, with the satisfactory testimony of a good conscience, that God and heaven will constitute our portion for ever. We wish to live as the friends of man, to walk as the children of God, and to dwell with Jesus for ever in the heavenly sanctuary." "Ah!" said I to my friend, on our return home, "this is, indeed, an enviable condition! This is a happy man! However lowly his cot, obscure his station, or limited his pecuniary resources, he possesses true dignity, and enjoys genuine and high felicity. He can sit down in his habitation with peacefulness and delight. He c C pose himself on the bosom of his family with perfect satisfaction. He can look on the splendours, and luxurious enjoyments of the opulent and mighty, and not desire the slightest degree of them; and, what is infi. nitely more important and delightful, he can Jook up to heaven with inexpressible composure, cherishing the blissful anticipation, that, after death, the delights and glories of immortality will be his abundant and exhaustless portion." What a heart-inspiring circumstance would it be, if our peasants, generally, instead of being the creatures of ignorancethe victims of intemperance-the beings of profanity, that so many of them are, were under the hallowed influence of that religion which expands the mind-which regulates the powers-which subdues the violence of the passions-which sweetens life which elevates the character in every respect -which raises the mind above even the heaviest afflictions-which prepares for all the storms of existence, and fits the spirit for all the dread realities of eternity; then, amidst all the fluctuations of this changing and tempestuous scene, they would be abundantly supported, and would delightfully anticipate the region, Where fragrant flowers immortal bloom, T. W. CURSORY REMARKS ON INTEMPERANCE. INTEMPERANCE may justly be called, the parent of disease; yet numbers of mankind act as if they thought disease and death were too slow in their progress, and by intemperance solicit their approach. If we only consider the construction of the human body, we at once see the danger of intemperance. While the vital functions are regularly performed by a proper state of the solids and fluids, we are sound and well; but if, by intemperance, these are disturbed, our health must of course be impaired, digestion hurt, the nerves relaxed, the seretions irregular, the humours vitiated, and disease must ensue. Moisture, manure, and warmth, greatly promote vegetation, but an excess of either will destroy it; yet man, who is entitled to the character of a rational being, too often becomes a slave to his appetite, and a disgrace to human nature, by perpetually searching out something to gratify his arti ficial wants : "Nature is content with little but luxury knows no bounds." : Did men but reflect on the painful diseases and premature deaths that are daily taking place in consequence of intem perance, it would be sufficient to make them shrink back with horror, from pursuing their grievous failings, and they would no longer cherish a scorpion in their bosom. What ought to be our thoughts when we see the most sumptuous table set out in all its magnificence? should we be gratified at the expectation of partaking to an excess of the luxuries set before us? ought we not rather to imagine that we see disease lying in ambuscade among the delicacies, and to act with moderation? It is greatly to be lamented that intemperance does not rest in injuring its votaries alone, but the innocent frequently feel the direful effects. How often do we see the miserable mother pining over her helpless infants, while the cruel father is indulging in his darling pleasures; and notwithstanding all the pills, potions, and plasters that may have been administered to him, he entails upon his posterity a train of distempers. We need not envy the situation of a pampered lord, who, sunk in ease and luxury, often languishes without an heir to his estate. Drunkenness has very properly been styled a distemper of the head, a subversion of the senses, a tempest of the tongue, a storm in the body, the shipwreck of virtue, a loss of time, a wilful madness, a sugar'd poison, &c.; and where drunkenness reigns, there reason is an exile, virtue a stranger, blasphemy is wit, oaths are rhetoric, secrets are proclamations, and happiness is a stranger. Drunkenness murders the understanding, and qualifies a man for every vice. The Spartans caused their children to dislike drunkenness, by shewing them a drunkard, whom they gazed at as a monster ; and among the heathens, he was considered the best man, who spent more oil in the lamp than wine in the bottle. Beware of drunkenness, or all good men will beware of you; and be careful lest you should realize the saying, that he who goes to the tavern first for the love of company, will at last go there for the love of liquor. Too much evil has arisen from individuals attending such places, only to take a single glass, and smoke a cigar with a friend. Recollect, it is easier not to commence an evil than to leave it off, when once begun; and it should not be forgotten, that many people injure their health by drinking, who seldom get drunk. Nothing is more absurd than the unfortunate and miserable expedient of expecting, when in distress, a remedy from drinking. It is true that the senses may be drowned, and this to some may appear as a temporary relief from calamity. But, alas! this solace is of short duration; and when it |