pictures were not enough to identify him with the action, he caused medals to be struck, an impression of one of which now lies before the writer. It is about the size of an English half-crown; on the obverse, a bust of the pope, with the inscription, Gregorius XIII. Pont. Max. An. I.;" on the reverse, an angel, crowned with a glory, in the left hand a cross lifted up, in the right a sword, with which he thrusts, as he advances: before him, numerous persons, some fleeing, some slain: the inscription is, "Ugonottorum Strages, 1572:"(Slaughter of the Hugonots.)

However, having mentioned the revocation of the edict of Nantz, in connexion with the slaughter on St. Bartholomew's day, it is proper that a distinction should be made between the pope, who probably instigated, but certainly applauded, the latter event; and him who ruled the popedom in the time of Lewis. He wrote, indeed, a letter to the French king, to compliment him on the revocation; but he openly condemned the method of gaining the heart by holding a poniard to the throat. The reproach that must ever accompany the atrocities which were perpetrated on that occasion, atrocities too infamous for utterance, falls chiefly on the monastic orders; and it is certain, that, when some Jesuits were afterwards reproved by some of their own church, for suffering such actions in those whom they alone could have restrained, they made sport of it.

DEATH OF A DRUNKARD.

C.

THE following account of the awful death of a drunkard, is extracted from the correspondence of an American paper.

"He had once been a sober and a

happy man. His business prospered, his prospects were flattering, his family-as lovely a family as ever existed this side of heaven-were all that he could wish. The sun never shone on more love, peace, and happiness, than were found around this fireside. But in an evil hour he tasted the poisonous cup, and all was lost. He became a drunkard. Oh that last hour!-the last hour of the destroyer of himself, the hopes of his friends, and the prospects of his family,-of him who had deliberately brought a blighting curse upon all that was beautiful around him-it was awful!

"As he lay upon his bed groaning under the burden of a guilty conscience, and his family-they were still lovely, although reduced to beggary by his infernal appetitegathered weeping around his bed, I came into the room. "Doctor," said he," do

66

you believe there is a hell?--a hell?" laying a strong emphasis upon the last word as he repeated it." I certainly do," I replied. "I know there is," rejoined he, "I know there is, for I feel it here ;-laying his hand upon his breast-I feel it here; the worm that can never die, the fire that can never be quenched, eternal punishment, endless torments-I feel them, they have begun to be my portion even in this world." I suggested to him that the mercy of God was infinite, and would be extended even to the vilest sinner, upon repentance.—— Repentance," said he, catching my words, "repentance! I cannot repent; the time of repentance is gone for ever! I can reflect on my treatment to my wife, on my dreadful abuse of my children, on my loss of respect, honour, and every noble feeling, and still not be moved-not be penitent. The day of repentance is past-there is no hope; I am lost-I am lost!" Horror-struck with his expressions of despair, and with the agony depicted in the countenance of his wife, and the bursts of grief from his children, I knew not what to say. He lay silent for a few minutes, and again burst forth into the most blasphemous expressions of horror and despair; and these were followed by a cry, as if coming up from the world of wo, for rum: Give me some rum! give me some rum! Fearing that in his paroxysm of rage he might spring from his bed, and do injury to those around, as he had on similar occasions exhibited more than human strength, I ordered it to be given him. His wife brought it to his bedside. Raising himself upon his pillow, and seizing the tumbler, with a convulsive grasp, in both his hands, he made an ineffectual attempt to carry it to his mouth. Enraged at his repeated failures, occasioned by the high excitement of his nervous system, he uttered a dreadful oath, and called upon his wife for assistance. She turned from soothing the distress of their youngest child, a beautiful little girl of some four or five years old, whose excessive grief had drawn the attention of the mother even from the dying husband-to afford him her aid; but, ere she could reach the bed, with a fiendish laugh, and a more than hellish spite, he dashed from him the tumbler, and, muttering Damnation! damnation! fell back, and expired."

A FACTORY CHILD'S TALE. "I work at Bradley Mills. A few days since I had three wratched cardings,' about two inches long. The slubber,

my

Joseph Riley, saw them, shewed them to me, and asked me if this was good work. I said, "No." He then, in the billy gait, took a thick round leathern thong, and wailed me over the head and face, for, I think, a quarter of an hour, and for all my cheek and lips were bleeding, he wailed me on, then sent me to my work again, and I worked till a quarter past seven. I went to the mill at half-past five in the morning he wailed me a bit past one in the afternoon. I worked in blood-as I worked, the blood dropped all in the piecening gait. My right cheek was torn open, swelled very much, and was black. My lips were very much torn; and each of them were as thick as three lips. He lashed me very hard over my back, too, in all directions; but the skin was not torn, because I had my clothes on. He has many a time strapped me before till I have been black; he has often struck me over the head, with the billy roller, and raised great lumps with it. At one time, when I had thrice little flyings,' which I could not help, he took me out of the billy gait, lifted me into the window, tied a rope round my body, and hung me up to a long pole that was sticking out of the wall, and there he left me hanging about five feet from the floor. I cried very much, and so in about ten minutes he took me down." The above true account was last week taken, verbatim, from the lips of a poor child, aged ten years, by Mr. R. Oastler, and has by him been communicated to the Leeds Intelligencer. If this be not INFANT SLAVERY, what is ?-June 4, 1832.

WILL DR. ADAM CLARKE EVER SEE

AMERICA?

THE following extract of a letter from Dr. A. Clarke to the senior publisher of N. Y. Chr. Advo. will be read with peculiar inte.

rest.

Heydon Hall, Pinner, Middlesex, October 8th, 1831. "Rev. and Dear Sir: You inquire about my going over to America, and ask, Is it yet too late?' That depends on the quantum of life that God may have allotted me. I shall have the will; and though bearing the load of more than seventy years, yet I would not shrink from the task. I have made, twice, a more difficult voyage. I have, for the sake of my Lord and Master, and for the sake of the souls he has bought, gone into the dangerous North seas, not in the very best time; and during my last voyage, I circumnavigated the whole of

the Zealand group, into the Greenland seas; and many who know both that and the Atlantic, would consider the latter as a steam-vessel canal trip, when compared with the former. In those seas I have seen HIM

'Take up the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them With deaf'ning clamours on the slippery rocks :' while the monsters of the deep sported in the surges, and played around our weatherA man who was once beaten bark. drowned, once cast away, and often in dangers by sea and land, is seldom found to be coward, dreading a bucket of water, or fearing a capful of wind. Should God, with any rational evidence, open the way, and say, even in the gentlest whisper, Adam, go! I think I would say, 'I come, Lord. Te duce, ibo.'

6

"Please to give my love to Mrs. E. and your colleague, and assure your connexion of my heartiest well-wishes.

THE late Mr. Solomon Carpenter, while holding a religious meeting in a private house in Sussex county, New Jersey, the owner of which was much addicted to profane swearing and other vices, in the course of his exhortation expressed himself as follows: "I have often thought, when reading the account of the rich man and Lazarus, that the rich man must have been a great swearer, and that his tongue, that unruly member which he had used in uttering profane language, was on this account particularly punished, for we read that he cried for a drop of water to cool his tongue, it being tormented in the flame." Upon this, a little daughter belonging to the family, placed herself behind the door, and began to weep bitterly. Her father, hearing the noise, went to his child, to know the cause, and to quiet her. 'My daughter," said he, "why do you weep so, and disturb the meeting? At first she made no reply; but being pressed for an answer, at length said, "Father, you hear what Mr. Carpenter says about the rich man. I am afraid you will also go to hell, because you swear every day." The father now tried more than before to hush the child, but all in vain. At last he told her if she would quit crying, he would not swear any more.

"Well," said she, "if you will promise never to swear again, then I will be quiet."

He renewed the promise, and the child was still. After the meeting, she seemed almost frantic with joy; she came to her mother, and exultingly said, "Ah! mother, I know something, and father knows something." "Well, my child, what is it? Come tell me." "Ah," said the little girl, "I know, and father knows ;" and then continued to manifest her joy. At last she came and whispered to her mother, that her father had promised her to swear no more.

The father kept his promise; he was never heard to utter an oath after that evening. The unexpected reproof he received from his child, deeply impressed his mind, and brought him sincerely to reflect upon the consequences of profane swearing, and the many other follies of his life. Through the co-operating influence of the Divine Spirit upon his heart, he soon became an humble penitent; reformed his life, connected himself with the church, is now a ruling elder, and a burning and shining light in the Christian community with which he is connected.-New York Observer.

MY NOTE BOOK: NO. IV.

THE HIGH AND PRE-EMINENT EXCELLENCE OF OUR OLDEN WRITERS, AND ESPECIALLY OUR EARLY DIVINES.

"If you forget any writers, do not forget the authors of olden time. There were giants in those days. The intellectual beauty, energy, and reach of thought, which they discover, excite perfect

astonishment. We stand like dwarfs before them." Anonymous.

THERE are many persons who uniformly tell us, with the utmost confidence and complacency, that all old things are incomparably the best. Old principles and maxims are, in their estimation, by far the most excellent. Old paintings are sketched with greater boldness and freedom, and finished with more exquisite beauty than any modern productions. Old customs and manners possess peculiar and resistless charms. Old faces are expressive of more characteristic meaning, power, and originality. Any thing that is old, whether it be material or intellectual, strikes them as being possessed of some indescribable and transcendent virtues. There is a charm in the word antique, which nothing modern, however interesting, or attractive, or strongly recommended, can possibly dissolve. The aged do not cling to life with more deep-rooted tenacity, than they do to every olden excellency and almost peculiarity.

I am not one of those who unhesitatingly adopt this maxim-who adhere to it unvaryingly, and who discover that it exerts its

powerful and magic influence over their habits, plans, and mode of procedure; but I cannot refrain from acknowledging, that my attachment to many things which existed in olden time, is at once glowing and increasing. And this remark will most appropriately and powerfully apply to a considerable number of distinguished writers, particularly on theological subjects, who then poured their fresh and beauteous lustre on the world, and who now shine most clearly and resplendently as bright stars of vigorous intellect and splendid piety, in their numerous and inestimable productions. Hence I cannot do otherwise than regret most deeply, that there is so trifling a share of attention discovered, particularly in the present enlightened and intellectual period, to the productions of men whose understandings were so capacious, whose judgment was so masculine, whose fancy was so rich, and sparkling, and luxuriant, and whose devotion was so pure and elevated.

The multitude of light, airy, frivolous productions that now issue from the press; the variety of sportive, beauteous, and splendid pieces which are formed by the fancy and the imagination, that are constantly given to the world; the disposition of the majority of readers to form an acquaintance with such works principally or exclusively; the want of sufficient reflection; the unattractive qualities of many volumes of the olden writers, the frequent circumlocutions, the boundless digression, the ruggedness of phrase, the numerous mixtures and extravagancies of metaphor; the unqualified manner in which they uttered their opinions; the peculiarity of spelling; the coarseness and often indelicacy of allusion; the closeness and solemnity of their appeals to the heart and conscience; are more than enough to deter hundreds from entering on their perusal, much less dispassionate and rigid investigation; though, at the same time, their extensive acquaintance with scripture; their richness and discursiveness of fancy; power of expression; happiness and freshness of allusion; beauty of metaphor; originality and energy of thought; and vein of profound and lofty piety-would, in the estimation of a man of penetrating judgment and vigorous mind, not only compensate for any minor defects, but fill him with the liveliest admiration, and impart the most refined and exquisite delight.

It is readily conceded, that the divines of the modern school discover greater refinement of manner; greater niceness and accuracy of discrimination; greater elegance of taste; a more delicate perception of the

beautiful; periods are more finely rounded; there is more precision in the choice of terms; greater chasteness of expression, and beauty of illustration, are perceivable ; luxuriances are more rigidly pruned; and considerably more marked attention is discovered, with regard to heightening and increasing embellishments. But it has often been observed, that when very minute attention is manifested to the choice of terms, the disposition of words, the structure and harmony of sentences, and the rhythm and melody of periods—thought is forgotten, or cannot be supplied.

In perusing, for instance, the great writers who shone like so many suns of intellectual beauty and splendour in the age of Elizabeth, who can help admiring most enthusiastically-with all their ruggedness, uncouthness, inaccurateness, want of fastidious delicacy or niceness, circumlocutions, and frequent barbarisms of language-that magnificence and richness of fancy, that loftiness of mind, that energy of conception, and power of expression, which nearly all their productions discover? O what an ill compensation for their glowing and gigantic writings is made by the neat language, the elegant periods, the harmonious composition, and the polished taste, of the modern school! There is now much more surface, but little depth; a large collection, but few valuables and rarities. Where is the vein of towering intellect? Where is the mine of golden ore? Where is the substratum of vigorous thought, which characterized the writings of our olden worthies? and, therefore, I cannot help wishing that a little less attention were paid to grace, and more to strength; that less regard were discovered to taste and beauty, and more to real power and comprehension of mind.

How desirable and advantageous it would be, if the present generation would discover more marked and devoted attention to the pious, gifted, and erudite divines of past days! Were this habit formed, and a feeling of attachment and veneration awakened, the highest, indeed, inestimable, benefit would be reaped. A most clear and enlarged view of the Holy Scriptures would be furnished; a deep and an extensive insight into the principles, the feelings, the errors, and depraved propensities of the human heart would be gained; there would be a much bolder and more comprehensive judgment formed of many doctrines of the word of God, which constitute its prominent characteristic, and its peculiar charm. There would be the greatest delight awakened, from the perception of what was clear and capacious in the understanding; manly

and fearless in character; lofty and powerful in mind; rich and beauteous in illustration; pure and sublime in devotion.

What are all the digressions; the circumlocutions; the quaintnesses; the roughness, coarseness, and frequent vulgarity of the old divines—when one thinks of the incalculable benefit to be enjoyed from perusing and investigating the writings of Howe? so profound, so sublime, indeed heavenly for their devotion, and so lofty as it regards "the scale of mind" which they discover; or of Jeremy Taylor, so gorgeous for their splendour, so copious, beautiful, and magnificent for their illustrations, and so exhaustless for the intellectual treasures they pour forth; or of Barrow, so precise, so clear, so nervous, so mathematical for arrangement, distribution, and discrimination; or of Charnock, which discover the utmost depth, the loftiest grandeur, and the most striking originality of conception; or of Bates, all is music, so soft and melodious; where the beauty is so chaste; where the light is so mild and silvery; where the eloquence is so rich and persuasive; or of Baxter, who is rough and coarse, but energetic, vehement, and glowing, in the very highest degree; or of Flavel, whose devotion and ingenuity at once interest, excite, and improve? The works of these men praise them in the gates of every city, and will ever reflect on their memories the richest and the most attractive lustre.

If young ministers, especially, would pay profound and unceasing attention to these deep, and sagacious, and most devotional writers, it is almost incalculable what advantages would accrue. If the time devoted by many to the perusal of teeming periodicals; a great number of which are volatile and unsubstantial, discovering little vigour or solidity of thought, and only viewing a subject superficially and partially; were employed in diligently and habitually studying the massive theological productions of the conformist and non-conformist divines, the change produced in the habits would be inestimably beneficial. They would be better qualified to explain and elucidate difficult and mysterious subjects; to contend against the deist and sceptic; to preach the gospel in all its beauteous simplicity, and overflowing fulness, and evangelical richness.

"Whatever you do," said one to a young minister, "do not forget the giants of olden time. Go, and examine their prominent and striking features; attentively mark their powerful and almost super-human energy. Get your library well stored with the productions of many learned, estimable, and

energetic writers of the present day, but do not fail in remembering those who shone resplendently and diffusively, by their numerous, exquisite, and pious writings, as the very lights of the world.'

It is all well enough to pay attention to composition; to clear, elegant, flowing, and energetic language; but let the trite maxim never be unheeded, that language is only the vehicle of thought. I do not inquire so much what the vehicle is worth, but what it bears, who is in it? If a Newton or a Johnson were in a common cart, which would be the most valuable? We should forget the vehicle; the mighty men of literature, and intellect, would occupy all our regard.

London, July, 12th, 1832. T. W.

THE WONDERFUL AGENTS IN NATURE BY WHICH THE WORLD IS SUPPLIED WITH WATER.

UNTIL improvements and discoveries in science, made within about the last fifty years, proved the contrary, water was held to be, not a compound body, but a simple elementary substance,-one, indeed, of four elements, of which the whole universe was supposed to be constituted; the other three being, according to the doctrines of philosophers preceding the era above mentioned, earth, air, and fire. It is, however, now satisfactorily determined, that neither of the four is a simple element, the three first being compound bodies, and fire being only an effect resulting from intensity of action in certain matter, and only to be produced under certain restrictions.

On what mode of decision, then, it may be asked, does that philosophy of only fifty years' standing, rest its claim to credit, beyond that which it professes to have proved was a frailty, and would fain wholly supersede?-We answer, on experiment,-that, henceforth, no philosopher has a right to expect disciples, unless his principles are in strict conformity with the laws of nature, that have fact for their basis; except indeed his analogies are directly deducible from experiments, or established facts.

Having, by way of precaution against the fallacies of imagination, adverted to a longpredominant error, some allusion may now be made to those essences which, in a state of combination, constitute water; and these are two ethereal substances, termed in modern science, gas. Each of these gases being derived from a distinct element, each has been consequently characterized by the generic term attached to its natural base,

or that ather from which it is generatedthat of the one being called oxygen, and of the other hydrogen, the former signifying the native principle of all acids; and the latter, that native substance whence water is derived.

With regard to the nature of the gas derived from oxygen, some of its properties are peculiar to itself, and very wonderful. One of its peculiar properties is, its vitalizing influence, being, as it is, the actual principle of animal life. Without its stimulating action on the system, every animal function would become torpid; in short, we could not breathe an instant, without the faculty of respiration being excited by the agency of this wonderful stimulant. Hence, by the decree that called forth nature itself into being, and, at the same time, miraculously foreordained all the provisions necessary for its subsistence, it was ordered, that this vital essence should be diffused throughout the air that was to administer life, by means of breath, in just such measure and such weight as was exactly suitable to life and health.

Were there a greater proportion of oxygen ether in our atmosphere than it uniformly contains, it would, by its stimulating quality, cause a fatal degree of irritability in the human frame? It would, in excess, have a similar effect on animal nerves, to that of an ardent intoxicating spirit; and, not only would it act on the brain so as to destroy all mental capacities, but, by its over - stimulating effect on the corporeal system, it would speedily, also, cause its destruction. On the contrary, had the proportion been less than the air contains, the difficulty of respiration would have been so great, that it could not have been long kept up, and suffocation would be the conse- How conspicuously, then, has Divine Wisdom herein manifested itself, that the exact measure and weight of this essence of life should have, first of all, been compounded in the common air with such marvellous precision, and that no local peculiarity of climate should alter the proportion ordained-that no fluctuations of seasons should add to, or diminish the quantity suitable to supply the organs of respiration with their vital stimulant!

quence.

-

Another peculiar and marvellous property of this gas is, that no substance, how inflammable soever it be, can be made to burn without its presence and consequently it is the means of our being able to produce that effect which we call fire. It was before stated, that fire is not a self-existent element, but dependent on certain matter latent in various substances, for its produc