been given by most of the periodicals and newspapers, it would be superfluous to insert it here. The most interesting addition which Mr. Osburne has furnished, is an account of a basin of boiling water, about ninety feet wide, in the middle of the island. The vapour arising from it was oppressive, affecting more the digestive than the respiratory organs, producing nausea and faintness. On the south-west side of the island was a terrific ebullition of the sea, evidently the commencement of a new crater. Carburetted hydrogen gas ascended so collectively, that the watches of the observers were blackened. The water at the margin was 190° Fahrenheit. From the incoherent nature of the materials, of which the island was composed, Mr. Osburne prognosticated that it would be but of short duration. A few months have verified his remarks. An officer connected with the city of York, and who landed the same day with Mr. Osburne, (surgeon of His Majesty's Ship the Ganges,) avouches for the correctness of Mr. O's statement. Huggate, April 28.

T. R.

METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.

THE mean temperature of May was 56 degrees of Fahrenheit's thermometer. The maximum, which was 68 degrees, was observed on the 25th, and also on the 26th, the wind being north-westerly on both days. The mininum, which was 47 degrees, was noticed on the 15th, and also on the 17th; the direction of the wind on the former day was north-easterly; and, on the latter, northerly. The range of the thermometer was 21 degrees; and the prevailing wind south-west. The direction of the wind has been south-westerly 63 days; north-westerly 6; northerly 43; easterly 43; southeasterly 4; north-easterly 3; southerly 23; and westerly 3.

Rain has fallen on 14 days; and five have been accompanied with wind. On the 5th, the blossoms of the apple were observed unfolding. Thunder was heard on the morning of the 7th, which was followed by a very fine and warm day. The lilac and horse-chesnut were noticed coming in flower on the 8th; and the laburnum and flag on the 13th. Hail fell on the 13th and 14th; and on the 15th, between 3 and 4 in the afternoon, a considerable storm of hail took place, which continued nearly an hour; the stones were large, and lay on the ground a considerable time. On the evening of the 16th, the extremities of the arch of a rainbow were observed for about half an hour.

THE WOODEN LEG; AN HELVETIC TALE. (From the German of Gesner.)

On the mountain from whence the torrent of Ranti precipitates into the valley, a young shepherd fed his goats. His pipe called echo gaily from the hollow rocks, and echo bid the valleys seven times resound his songs melodious. On a sudden, he perceived a man climbing with pain the mountain's side. The man was old; years had blanched his head. A staff supported his heavy tottering steps, for he had a wooden leg. He approached the young man, and seated himself by him on the moss of the rocks. The young shepherd looked at him with surprise, and his eyes were fixed on the wooden leg.

66 My son, said the old man, smiling, do you not think that, infirm as I am, I should have done better to have remained in the valley? Know, however, that I make this journey but once a year; and this leg, as you see it, is more honourable to me than are, to many, the most straight and active."

"I do not question, father, replied the shepherd, that it is very honourable to you, though, I dare say, another would be more useful. Without doubt, you are tired. Will you drink some milk from my goats, or some of the fresh water that spouts below from the hollow of the rock?"

"I like the frankness painted on thy visage," observed the old man. "A little fresh water will be sufficient. If you will bring it me hither, you shall hear the history of this wooden leg." The young shepherd ran to the fountain, and soon returned.

When the old man had quenched his thirst, he said, "Let young people, when they behold their fathers maimed, and covered over with scars, adore the Almighty power, and bless their valour. Without this, you would have bowed your necks beneath the yoke, instead of thus basking in the sun's warmth, and making the echoes repeat your joyful notes. Mirth and gaiety now inhabit these hills and valleys, while your songs resound from one mountain to the other-liberty! sweet liberty! All we see around us is our own. We cultivate our own fields with pleasure. The crops we reap are ours; and the time of the harvest is with us a season of rejoicing."

"He does not deserve," replied the young shepherd, "to be a freeman, who can forget that his liberty was purchased with the blood of his forefathers."

"But," rejoined the old man," who, in

their place, would not have done as they did? Ever since that bloody day of Nefels, I come once a year to the top of this mountain; but I perceive that I am now come for the last time. From hence I still behold the order of the battle where liberty made us conquerors. See, it was on that side the army of the enemy advanced; thousands of lances glittered at a distance, with more than two hundred horsemen covered with sumptuous armour. The plumes that shaded their helmets nodded as they marched, and the earth resounded with their horses' hoofs. Our little troop was already broken. We were but three or four hundred men. The cries of the defeat were re-echoed from every side, and the smoke of Nefels in flames filled the valley, and spread with horror along the mountains. However, at the bottom of a hill, where we now are, our chief had placed himself. He was there, where those two pines shoot up from the edge of that pointed rock. I think I see him now, surrounded by a small number of warriors, firm, immoveable, and calling around him the dispersed troops. I hear the rustling of the standard that he waved in the air; it was like the sound of the wind that precedes a hurricane. From every side they ran towards him.

"Dost thou see those floods rush down from the mountains? Stones, rocks, and trees, overthrown, in vain oppose their course; they overleap or beat down all before them, and meet together at the bottom of that pool: so we ran to the cry of our general, cutting our way through the enemy. Ranked around the hero, we made a vow, and God was our witness, to conquer or die. The enemy, advancing in order of battle, poured down impetuously upon us. We attacked them in our turn. Eleven times we returned to the charge, but were always forced to retire to the shelter of those hills. We there closed our ranks, and became unshaken as the rock by which we were protected. At last, reinforced by thirty Swiss warriors, we rushed suddenly on the enemy, like the fall of a mountain, or as some mighty rock descends, that rolls through the forest, and with a horrid crush lays waste the trees that interrupt its course. On every side, the enemy, both horse and foot, confounded in a most dreadful tumult, overthrow each other, to escape our rage. Grown furious by the combat, we trod under foot the dead and dying, to extend vengeance and death still further. I was in the middle of the battle. A horseman of the enemy, in his flight, rode over me, and crushed my leg. The soldier who

fought the nearest, seeing my condition, took me on his shoulders, and ran with me out of the field of battle.

"A holy father was prostrate on a rock not far distant, imploring heaven to aid us. Take care, good father, of this warrior,' my deliverer cried; he has fought like a son of liberty!' he said-and flew back to the combat. The victory was ours, my son, it was ours! but many of us were left extended on the heaps of the enemy. Thus the weary mower reposes on the sheaves himself has made. I was carefully attended; I was cured; but never could find out the man to whom I owe my life. I have sought him in vain; I have made vows and pilgrimages, that some saint of paradise, or some angel, would reveal him to me. But, alas! all my efforts have been fruitless. I shall never in this life shew him my gratitude."

The young shepherd, having heard the old warrior, with tears in his eyes said, "No, father, in this life you can never shew him your gratitude." The old man, surprised, cried, "What dost thou say? Dost thou know, my son, who my deliverer was?" The young shepherd answered, "I am much deceived, if it was not my father. Often he has told me the story of that battle, and often I have heard him say, 'I wonder if the man I carried from the battle be still alive!""

"O God! O angels of heaven!" exclaimed the old man, 66 was that generous man thy father?" "If the same,” replied the young shepherd," he had a scar here, (pointing to his left cheek :) he had been wounded with a lance; perhaps it was before he carried you from the field." "His cheek," rejoined the old man, was covered with blood when he bore me off. O my child! my son!"

"He died," the young shepherd added, "two years ago; and as he was poor, I am forced for subsistence to keep these goats." The old man embraced him, and said, "Heaven be praised! I can recompense thee for his generosity. Come, my son! come with me, and let some other person keep thy goats."

They descended the hill together, and walked towards the old man's dwelling. He was rich in land and flocks, and a lovely daughter was his only offspring. "My child," said he to her, "he that saved my life was the father of this young shepherd. If thou canst love him, I shall be happy to see you united." The young man was an amiable person; health and pleasure shone in his countenance; locks of yellow gold shaded his forehead, and the sparkling fire

And brightly shone the night-dropt shower,
And round the trellis'd pane did cling
The woodbine's weeping flower;

When from his pillow'd rest the soldier startedFrom golden dreams he wakes-his air-built visions thwarted.

The furlough's past,-from parents kind,
From brothers, sisters, he must part,
Whose fond affections had entwined
Like tendrils round his heart:

Not these, nor aught could bind his longer stay, Stern his commander was,-and time brook'd no delay.

His parents on the threshold stand,

And bless their son, with many a tear:
He shook each kindly by the hand,
And bade them be of cheer;

But not a dry nor tearless eye was found

'Mongst all the little group that hemm'd the veteran round.

And Helen to the garden hied,

And flowers in haste she gather'd there,
And with a tendril these she tied

Into a nosegay fair:

Then to the mournful group with speed she hies, And in her brother's coat she placed the parting prize.

He kiss'd the children, each and all,

Which round their brother fondly clung;
And then his staff and bundle small

He o'er his shoulder flung,

And down the vale, where birds were chanting gay, And pathway flowers bloom'd wild, he wound his devious way.

And now some favourite martial tune
He whistled, and a martial stride

He next essay'd, but each full soon

A cheerful heart belied,

For O, his soul did his sad fate deplore,

And thitherward his steps, perchance might turn no more!

And off, with wistful eyes, he turn'd

A homeward glance, with many a sigh,
Where age his sad departure mourn'd,
And weeping infancy.

'Till gain'd the mount, he cast a final view,
Dash'd from his eye the tear, and waved a last adieu !
Near Halifax.
THOMAS CROSSLEY.

THE THISTLE.

(A Fable.)

IT was a sultry summer's day,
And numerous insects were at play,
And over heaths and meadows brown
Floated the silken thistle down,
Borne on the breezy wings of noon
Like to the fairies' gay balloon,
Tho' but a feather-guarded seed
To propagate a noxious weed.

It chanced (such chances are not rare)
Within a richly gemm'd parterre,
One of these air-light globules fell,
And what occurr'd our Muse shall tell,
But hid 'neath shrubs and flow'rets gay
It slept the sultry hours away.
Now days and months roll'd swiftly on,
Autumn was past, and winter gone;
And lovely Spring appear'd again,
And call'd to life her flowery train:
The crocus first obey'd her call,
The primrose and the daisy small;
And soon in sombre green was found
This thistle starting from the ground;
Nurtured by showers and falling dew,
And genial suns, it daily grew,
Till it appear'd the stateliest flower
Which bloom'd beside the garden bower.
Then thirst of power and pride inflam'd
Her breast, and every homage claim'd,
And in that Eden quickly show'd
Herself a demon-stern and proud.
A purple crown the alien wore,
And numerous pointed spears she bore;
And of this martial pomp possest,

She thus the trembling flowers address'd:
"Ye meanest vassals, which surround
My throne upon this ample ground,
I come, or life or death to give,
"Tis mine to bid ye die or live;
By force of arms I claim this spot,-
Say, do ye own me queen, or not?
If not, I drive ye all aloof,

'Gainst every foe my arms are proof:
But own me queen-to me attend,

Ye've nought to dread-I'm still your friend.
My children, though, in after year
Shall reign, and nobly flourish here;

A valiant band, whom no vile foe

Can hope or dare to overthrow;

I too, demand"-alas, vain weed,
The gardener heard those threats indeed!
He struck it down-root, flower, and all,
And tost it o'er the garden wall!
Near Halifax.

THOMAS CROSSLEY.

THE RESCUED ONES.

(By Rev. J. Young.)

'Twas night, dark night, save when the moon's faint beam

Broke through the low'ring clouds with sickly gleam;
No lonely star, amidst the appalling gloom
Shone out-to light the mariner's watery tomb;
Like pealing thunders round the rocky shore
Howl'd the rude tempest, with tornadian roar;
The wide-mouth'd caverns of the hungry deep
Yawn'd for their prey-while 'gainst the craggy
steep

With fatal violence, driven before the gale,
A gallant vessel, creaking 'neath her sail,
Dash'd her fine prow. The rude concussion given
Unship'd her seamen, and her sides were riven.
The breaking billows cleared at once her deck,
And crash on crash proclaim'd her hull a wreck.
A yell of misery, with the gurgling wave
Sounded, as sunk her inmates to their grave.
Some few were sav'd, and gained the rocks with joy;
One yet the sea held, with her infant boy.
Long had she battled with the rolling sea,
"My child! my child!" she shriek'd in agony.
He heard, who cast upon the high land shore,
The dying echo, but he heard no more.
The husband, father,-heard his sinking mate,
And rushed to rescue, or to share her fate.
A desperate effort only now could save
His wife, his child too, from the yawning grave.
Down from the rocks, which o'er the waters frown'd,
Held by his shipmates,-with strong cordage bound
He hung suspended, like a speck in air,-
'Till lowered, he met the objects of his care;
And then, with spring of superhuman kind,
Clasp'd his lov'd wife, nor left his son behind.
The half drown'd mother, still retained her child
With phrenzied grasp amidst the billows wild.

The anxious watchers mark'd the deed, and now Rais'd the fond trio to the mountain's brow.

While the loud shout, above the storm which rav'd, Ran echoing round the shore, "They're sav'd, they're sav'd."

London.

"THERE THE WICKED CEASE FROM TROUBLING; AND THERE THE WEARY ARE AT REST."

THE last cruel tempest has blown,
The last passing danger is o'er,
The last dart of Satan is thrown,

And terror and care are no more.

No more shall their terrible foe

Send shaft upon shaft at their breast;
Their Lord is the conqueror now,

And Jesus has given them rest.
And shall I then basely repine?—

Oh! would that I murmured less;
Tho' sorrow and sighing be mine,

I bless Him; I cannot but bless.
What tho' in the bosom of earth

These beloved ones peacefully lie!
They are fled to the place of their birth,
And happier are they than I.

How selfish to wish for their stay

Mid the beggarly elements here;
Rather plume thee, my spirit, away,
For flight to a happier sphere;
For flight from the regions of pain

To the mansions of pleasure above,
Where no separation again

Shall chill the pure feelings of love.
For the last cruel tempest has blown,
The last passing danger is o'er,
The last dart of Satan is thrown,
And sorrow and sin are no more!
March 22.

p. 0.

"THE SHEEP FOLLOW HIM, FOR THEY KNOW HIS VOICE."

WHO are those sheep that walk in the cool vale, And shun the giddy mountain's cloud-topp'd height? There sheltered from the gale,

They fear no foe;

His gentle hand they know

Who guards them day and night!
Happy are they:

No sweeter herbage tempts those sheep to stray:
His lambs that peaceful shepherd leads
By purest streams and flowery meads,
And far beyond those distant trees
Has promis'd fairer fruits than these.

Know ye that shepherd? O then stray no more
From his sweet fields; his flocks lie down at noon
Where the cool waters pour,

And hear his voice;

He bids his lambs rejoice,
Those days are coming soon,
When blood and strife

Shall stain no more the peaceful paths of life;
When with one song the earth shall ring,
And all shall own one Lord, one King;
And their own Shepherd then shall stand
With that bright sceptre in his hand.
Sweet are the strains that He is wont to sing,
And calmly joyous are the hours they pass,
When round their Shepherd King,
They hear him tell

Of blessed sheep that dwell

Far off, and taste the grass
Of that bright clime!

Oh! soon shall come the glorious happy time
When all the ransomed flock in one,
In the same heavenly fields shall run;
And one in heart and glory be,
With one good Shepherd, Lord, in Thee.
March 22, 1832.

p. 0.

OLD AGE NOT TO BE DESPISED.
SHORT, short are the days of our pilgrimage here,
We are seen for a while, and too soon disappear;
But life has its joys through each quick passing stage,
From the fervour of youth to the wisdom of age.
So the seasons, though varied, their pleasures possess:
The spring sings and smiles in her beautiful dress,
The summer shines forth in the pride of the year,
The autumn brings plenty, and winter his cheer.
We heed not the days which in youth hasten o'er us,
So calmly and brightly they vanish away;
We care not to see Time's broad pinions before us,
But gladly perceive he is urging his way.
Then manhood steps forward with dignified mien,
Casts round his bold eye o'er this troublesome scene,
And with vigour and skill guides the bark of this life,
Through the world's raging sea of vexation and strife.
See age slowly comes with a lingering pace,
His hand is unsteady and wrinkled his face,
His
eye is still bright, though his forehead is bare,
And the soul in its strength is still beaming forth
there.

Though the busy employments of life cannot please,
And achings and languor deprive him of ease,
He draws a delight from his mental resources,
In wise contemplations and useful discourses.
Thus eased of a burden he scarce could endure,
His wisdom affords an enjoyment most pure,
His advice to the man, and his tales to the young,
Are eagerly caught as they fall from his tongue.
Then as we draw near our mortality's close,
May we find in "life's evening a tranquil repose,
And let it the chief of our youth-time engage,
To provide for the honour and comfort of age.
King's Cross, Oct. 17, 1831.

W. TAGG.

REVIEW.-The Records of a Good Man's Life. By the Rev. Charles B. Tayler, M. A. Two Vols. 12mo. pp. 358-314. Smith, Elder, & Co. London. 1832. We know not with certainty whether the subjects of these volumes ought to be considered as real or fictitious. Some circumstances would incline us to think the former, but others induce us to believe, that the first volume rather contains the character, than the actual history of any individual. The good man is named Mr. Singleton, who appears before us as a pious clergyman of the church of England, to whose constitution, services, and ritual he seems inor. dinately attached. But, why Mr. Tayler, the professed author of these volumes, should have his portrait prefixed to the title-page, rather than that of Mr. Singleton, we are at a loss to discover.

The biographical narrative proceeds through the greater portion of the first volume, with all the appearance of reality. But as we approach towards its close, L'Envoy starts before us, saying, "And now, neither as Mr. Singleton, nor as his friend, the editor of these records of his life, do I come forward; but in my own character, as the author of the whole; and I might as well say, that my object has been, even by so slight a work, to rouse the pro.

fessing members of our blessed and beau, tiful church of England, to the consideration at least of the meaning of the profession made by them, as members of that church."-p. 352.

The second volume, losing sight of Mr. Singleton altogether, comprises nine distinct articles, which bear the following names."Fulgentius and Meta; Joan of Kent; The Lady Anne Carr; Guyon of Marseilles; The Lady Lisle; The Lowly Lady ; Anne of Cleves; The Son and Heir; and A Vision of Conscience." Why these stories should be thus placed before the public under the title of "Records of a Good Man's Life," we must wait for the author to explain: There is indeed in the title-page of the second volume, an et cetera, which the first does not bear, but this forms only a feeble link of connexion.

Independently, however, of these anomalies, the "Records of a Good Man's Life" is an excellent work; and the first volume, to which the above title exclusively applies, has few rivals, and perhaps, no superior in this department of the market of literature. The narrative is full of interest, and contains a fine delineation of christian character. A great variety of natural incidents occur, as we proceed in the sketch, all of which tend to develop virtues that no friend of mankind can survey with indifference. Rarely, indeed, do we behold so many moral and spiritual excellences combined in active life, in any one individual. Yet we perceive nothing extravagant, nothing Utopian, nothing which, to the sincere and humble Christian, can be considered as unattainable in his present probationary state.

The tales in the second volume participate in the same general outline of character; and, taking the first story as a specimen of the whole, they inculcate this important lesson, that the world by wisdom knows not God. Joan of Kent is drawn in a masterly style, and those who peruse the tale, will speedily be convinced, that legalized murder, produced by the intrigues of ecclesiastical bigotry, and executed under the sanction of royal authority, was not exclusively confined to the ascendency of papal power.

The portrait of Mr. Tayler, prefixed to the first volume, is beautifully executed; but all the delicate touches of the artist are insufficient to eclipse the fine strokes of discrimination, and vivid delineations of character, that are profusely scattered over the pages of this very useful and very entertaining work.

2D. SERIES, NO. 19.-VOL. II.

REVIEW.-The Wesleyan Preacher, containing Sermons of the most eminent Ministers in the Connexion. 8vo. pp. 448. Vol. I. Northcroft, London, 1832.

THIS work, as it issued from the press, was published in numbers at three-pence each; and now, since about seven months from the commencement have elapsed, they are collected together, and neatly bound up in the volume before us. The reader will be aware from its title, that nothing but discourses delivered by Wesleyan ministers engross any of its pages. To this we may add, that the sermons here published, are chiefly those of the regular itinerant preachers of this christian community, officiating in various parts of the metropolis, and its extensive suburbs.

As the discourses, contained in this volume were delivered extemporaneously, and taken down by short-hand writers without the knowledge of the preachers, we are authorized to infer, that they are fair specimens of their talents and doctrines. In discourses written with a design for publication, the author is naturally on his guard, and examines with cautious attention every thing he submits to the public eye. But when no such extensive publicity is anticipated, and no permanent record of what he delivers is expected, we behold nothing more than his common ministerial efforts, without embellishment and without disguise. Occasions like these, bring the preacher before us in his natural and unvarnished character.

In days that are past, it was fashionable with those who embraced a different creed, to traduce the Wesleyan preachers as antichristian, loading them with reproachful epithets, and piously consigning all their followers to perdition. In the present day, the charges of heresy, though not entirely unheard, are delivered out with a more sparing hand; but it is only where prejudice prevails, and the doctrines they inculcate are unknown, that the voice of sectarian bigotry can produce any injurious effect.

This publication must tend considerably to dissipate the clouds which misrepresentation had collected, and to place this large christian community in their proper light. It will, also, preserve many valuable discourses from being consigned to oblivion, and thus extend the sphere of their utility beyond the narrow boundaries of a congregation, or the limits of a single town.

So far as we are able to judge, these discourses have been taken down with commendable fidelity as to their doctrine, import, and general language; and if tho 163.-VOL. X

2 T