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lure. Now, for this, the English people
were more to blame than Charles. It
could not be said to have been a custom
established by him ; but it was the eflect
of that great reaction, which followed the
disgus’ with which the cold, unmeaning
policy of Cromwell had been regarded.
In the face of the fact, that the entire
body of the people of England regarded
Charles the Second with extreme love—
that, on his death, a sentiment of universal
sorrow afflicted the whole nation—a sor
row so intense and sincere, that not all the
trumpets and pageantry which .lames dis
played, on his being proclaimed, could dis
sipate ; it cannot be successfully asserted
that Charles was altogether a bad man.
On the contrary, he seemed to have pos
sessed qualities which attracted the confi
dence and esteem of the lower classes, to
him as a man, not as a monarch —the very
best evidence of merit in a man ; because,
while the rabble will run eagerly after
show and parade, and raise their voices at
the displays which, for their satisfaction,
every new occupant of a throne causes to
be made, it is not usual, unless in view of
great qualities of heart, for such exhibi
tions to be made, as followed the death of
that King.
In the death of Charles the First, there
were circumstances of extraordinary viola
tion of bolh law and morals. Macaulay
lias satisfactorily shewn that the revolu
tionary, self-constituted tribunal, that tr el
and condemned him, was a body of men,
who had no authority whatever for the
act; that, governed by revenge, fear, and
the wish to use the kingdom for their own
aggrandizement—not influenced even by
religious enthusiasm, which, sometimes, is
made to excuse martyr-murderers —they
performed the act by first rejecting the
constitutional authorities by military force,
and by following that despotism by a de
struction of all the legal restraints of the
land, and by violations of all the generous
feelings of men. Some facts, detailing the
conduct of the sufferers, and the scene ol
bis murder, not stated by Macaulay, hut
uicurvi. r. ..... —:._4 throw a mel
ancholy interest over the page which re
fers to his trial.
On the morning appointed for his execu
tion, he came from St. James’, dressed in a
black cloak and grey stockings. He was
faint, and was obliged to rest on the way.
He entered Whitehall from the Park, and
went from the Banqueltng-house upon
planks, laid to the scaffold. The scaflold
was in front of the Banqueting-house, and
the passage to it was through a break in
the wall, in the centre of the building, be
tween the upper and lower window. A
spot of modern plastering was disclosed,
subsequently, in this place, attesting tins
fact. The stage was covered with black
cloth, with the axe resting on it; and near
the block lay the coffin, lined with black
velvet. The scaffold was encompassed by
a brawling soldiery, horse and foot —and a
vast multitude of men, women and chil
dren. Cromwell provided not oT.ly the
sacrifice, but for the publicity of it, with
the same indifference with whilh nne
would direct the preparation of an ordina
ry 7 meal; and supposed that, in the specta
cle of an executed King, he was minister
ing largely to the gratification of the pub
lic taste.
On his way to the scaffold, the most in
decent insults were offered to fallen majes
ty. The soldiery puffed tobacco-smoke in
his face, and threw their pipes in his path.
At every step, he was assailed by blasphe
mous taunts and curses. On the scaflold,
he was cheerful and patient. r l timing to
Bishop Juxon, as the executioner was ad
justing his hair, he said, “ 1 have a good
cause, and a gracious God is on my side. ’
“There is but one stage more,” replied
the Bishop ; “it will carry you from earth
to Heaven.”
“I go,” ant wered Charles, “fromacor
rnptible to an incorruptible crown.”
To the executioner he said, looking at
the block, “You must set it fast; I shall
say hut short prayers, and when I thrust
out my hand”
Lifting up his hands and eyes to Hea
ven. he remained a few moments, and then
knelt down and placed his head on the
block. After a short time, he stretched
out his hand, and a blow of the axe sepa
rated his head and body. The general
groan which followed was checked at
once by two troops of cavalry, which rush
ed in two directions, and dispersed the
populace, before the feeling of compassion
could be indulged.
The scenes of folly and profusion, with
which Cromwell followed this brutal mur
der, in an effort to efface the recollection of
the scene from the public mind, are, beyond
description, ridiculous and humiliating.
11l the reign of James the Second, all of
corruption and of tyranny, of extreme cru
elty and of extreme intolerance, seems to
have united. The heart of James, anima
ted by the worst of human passions, ea
gerly watched themoment of his elevation,
as the moment sacred to the indulgence of
the deepest bitterness of revenge. With
this spirit constantly before him, he looked
aiound, not with the feelings of a ruler
anxious to bring around him the wisest and
best of men, but with the emotions of a
fiend, panting for the bloodiest and least
human instruments. The materials for
vengeance were already at hand, and suita
ble agents were not wanting. From ob
scurity, and the worst kind of obscurity—
that of the villain and dissembler—he
drew forth that of Jeffreys, who was to act
asthe destroyer of the human race—whose
incomparably devilish heart, perhaps, since
Nero, never had its equal—whose name
was to become equal to every idea of a vio
lation of law and justice.
The recollection of the exclusion bill,
and of the persecutions of Catholics, and
of hatred to himself, rankled in his bosom.
One of his first victims was Titus Oates.
This man originated the Popish plot, and,
by his perjuries, had not only caused the
deaths of many innocent persons, but sent
the Duke of York from the privy council.
He was, doubtless, guilty of perjury; but
how does one blush for justice, when it is
recorded that the Judges condemned Oates
to a punishment for misdemeanor, which
they knew would, and intended to, effect
his death. He was sentenced to he stripped
of his clerical habit—to he whipped from
Aldgate to Newgate—after an interval of
two days, to be whipped from Newgate to
Tyburn; to be kept, if he survived, a pris
oner for life, and five times, in every year,
to he placed in the pillory. Seventeen
hundred lashes, applied by an executioner,
who was specially selected on account of
his heartlessness, and specially instructed,
were inflicted the second day. When,
amidst his terrible tortures, James was so
licited for pardon, the exultation of re
venge broke out in the declaration—“ He
shall go through with it, if he has breath
in his body.”
Not less revolting cruelties were perpe
trated towards the Covenanters, in Scotland,
by the notorious James Graham, the Cla
verhouse of Scotch execration. When un
der the positive sanction of James, the
most pious and humble men, women and
children, of that country, xvere murdered
amidst the most barbarous displays of
military authority, on account of their re
ligious faith. And can it he at all won
dered at, that the descendants of these peo
ple became the uncompromising enemies of
Kings, and, like Brutus, vowed eternal
hostility to tyranny 1 We mention this
last fact, because it accounts for the un
compromising Hostility of the Scotch Cove
nanters in this country to monarchical gov
ernment, and illustrates the progress of
that feeling of liberty which induced the
settlement of the American colonies.
But it was reserved for James, and the
ministers of his bloody vengeance, to even
refine upon these cruel punishments, in the
proceedings carried on against Monmouth
and his companions.
We do not believe that the question of
Monmouth's illegitimacy has much to do
with the criticisms respecting i.to uut-,.1.
to wrest the kingdom from James. It is
not at all clear that he was strictly illegiti
mate, and, if so, he was not to blame for
the wrong done. One thing is, however,
certain. He would have made a better
King than James; and, under him, the na
tion would not only have been safe, hut
spared the history of those relentless cru
elties which made England a field of judi
cial murders. We feel a deep regret that,
during the various phases of his fortunes,
Monmouth did not present the same firm
ness and resolution. But his conduct, at
his execution, presents him in a noble light
to history. There, all that is resolute and
magnanimous in human courage—all that
is resigned and patient under suffering—
were displayed in his conduct. Heartless
ly refusing a pardon to his nephew—invit
ing himself to dine with the Duchess on
the morning of her husband’s execution—
James showed, in the execution of Mon
mou th, a degree of savage pleasure, which j
deserves to stand by the worst instance of
inhumanity recorded of Richard of Glos
ter.
Brought upon the scaffold, Monmouth
displayed neither timidity nor indifference.
Resisting the harsh and indecent solicita
tion of the Bishops to renounce his opin
ions, and asserting his religious faith, and
his love for, and the purity of, that noble
woman. Henrietta, Baronness of Went
worth, to whom, in the eyes of Heaven, lie
was united —he prepared courageously for
death.
“ Do not hack me,” said he to the execu
tioner, “as you did my Lord Russell. —
Here are six guineas for you—my servant
will give you more gold, if you do the
work well.”
The executioner trembled. He saw be
fore him the image of Charles the Second,
the son of that idol of the people. Five
ineffectual blows failed to sever the head.
At the first, but partially separating the
neck, Monmouth raised his head, and gazed
upon the executioner reproachfully. The
officer threw down the axe, amidst the yells
of the crowd. Again forced to take it up,
he hacked it so nearly off, that a knife
completed the work. It is worthy of re
collection, in connection with this event,
that the revolution in which Monmouth
suffered was that for which Russell and
Sidney perished. It is true, Russell and
Sidney did not participate in the final acts
which brought Monmouth to the block,
for they were then dead; but these last
were only conclusionsof those commenced
hy the others, when a bill against the Duke
of York, and proceedings for his seclusion,
were begun.
The passage of Jeffreys over the West
ern Circuit, was a fearful memorial of the
vengeance of James, and of the inhumani
ty of his unprincipled instrument. This
wretch, whom to call a beast would be to
cast reproach upon the most ferocious of
the brutes, went over the circuit, lately the
scene of Monmouth’s rebellion, like a dc
j gloving fire, blasting and consuming, in its
| course, every record of truth and virtue.
Over seven hundred persons—many of
’ them the most lovely and innocent of the
| softer sex—man j 7 noble-minded youths, all
of them innocent—were removed, under
| the tyranny of this insatiate thirster for
! blood, fiotn life to death. In the mean
; time, James sat exulting over the accounts
! of the murders which reached him, jesting
upon the sufferings which were induced un
der his authority, and contemplating, with
i savage joy, the promise of new victims,
j These events furnish fruitful subjects
for contemplation. They disclose truths,
which cannot be too often kept before the
1 public mind. That the great leading prin
| ciples of constitutional liberty are natural
’ principles of justice—a departure from
! which is most certainly visited by nation
al calamity. That, as for wilful viola
i tions of the ordinary laws of propriety in
il®eiano©® sssisat? ©isiiiia
the individual, the bodies of men languish
under disease, and their souls suffer from
stings of conscience ; so every national
crime carries, in itself, the germs of nation
al punishment. That, for great political
enormities, a whole people must suffer
wars, revolutions, famines, and occasion
ally loss of liberty. That there is hut a
single course for the ruler —a single course
for the people. That the safety of the one
lays in the firm maintainance of just laws;
of the other, in perfect obedience to them.
That, so far from liberty consisting in a
reckless disregard of municipal restraints,
and that uncontrolable disposition to sub
stitute self constituted tribunals for those
long-recognized judicial processes which
exist in a nation, the highest evidence ol
freedom is a peoples’ acquiescence in what
ever the laws ordain. It is not presuma
ble, nor yet shown by history, that the
great body of the people will long submit
to radically unjust laws, or live under laws
essentially violative of the leading princi
ples of natural morality. When, there
fore, we say that a people's submission to
laws are indicative of that peoples’ liberty,
we mean a submission to righteous laws—
laws which spring from the deep founda
tions of revelation, and which, under the
influence of the mind of the Creator, mould
the members of society to virtue and the
acts of peace. Macaulay, in the history
we have briefly adverted to, shows this,
in the condition of England : That the pre
sent superiority of that nation, in every
thing in which she is superior to her for
mer history, and to other nations, arises
from providing a system of just laws, un
der which the people can he at peace, anil
for the prompt execution of these laws by
faithful public servants; that, as this is
the purpose of government, so prosper the
governed; that, in proportion as this end
has been promoted, in that proportion have
the English people extended and secured
their personal rights, and. by extending
and securing these, averted revolutions.
For, certainly, if the social privileges of
men are laid in the foundations of morality
and religion, not only will their individual
rie-hts be the better guarded, but they will
be made more permanent; ami it will not
be every casual error of government which
they can afford, by rebellion, to make the
basis of a revolutionary movement, which
may destroy not only their rulers, but,
what is of more importance, their homes
and private fortunes.
In what has been said favorable to the
character of Charles the Second, let it not
be inferred that, in his public acts, there iij
not much for censure.
Os a class of crimes, of which monarchi
cal rulers arc most always guilty, the most
odious are those resulting from the spirit
of revenge against leadersof insurrectiona
ry movements. No one will refuse to ad
mit a right in a government to punish the
authors of rebellions, which seek, un
necessarily, to destroy existing forms. —
When such punishments take place in a
popular administration, it is very rarely
that we discover any thing more than thi*
plain action of the laws. But when oppo
sition is created to a King, the case is dif
ferent; for there, all opposition is treason,
whether righteous or not—and, as the laws
act immediately through the person whose
authority has been defied, the penalty of
the law is almost invariably increased by
the vengeance of the offended man. We
wish we could exempt Charles the Second
from the imputation of coming within this
rule, in the case of Russell and Sidney.
That they were both republicans, and
warmly opposed to the success of the
Catholic party, and that these opinions led
to interviews and correspondence with the
leaders of the great political movement,
then concerted by the Whigs, is unques
tionably true. But, that they ever contem
plated any injuiy of the persons of Charles
or James, is certainly false. It is a noble
redemption of every act of folly in the life
of the Duke of Monmouth, that, on the
committal of Russell, he voluntarily offered
to return from banishment, and give him
self up to save the life of this patriotic
friend. It is to be remarked, however,
that, at this juncture, Charles was goaded
by opposition. The exclusion bill had
passed the House of Commons. His son,
Monmouth, was known to be the idol and
contemplated leaderof the Protestant cause.
The Whigs were carrying every thing be
fore them; and Charles, on every hand,
was tortured to consent to the depriving
his brother of his birthright. Under these
circumstances, a contrast, most favorable to
him, is presented between him and James,
about the same time, maliciously subject
ing the people of Scotland to tortures so
cruel, gs to drive members of the Council
from the Chamber.
The circumstances of the execution of
these two illustrious men are mournful in
the extreme. Russell was executedon the
21st of July, 1683, in Lincoln’s Inn Field.
He displayed a degree of heroism and resig
nation, that at once exhibited the Christian
and patriot, and drew forth the tenderest
sympathies of the crowd which surrounded
him. To the offer of Monmouth, he said :
“No, it will be of no advantage to me to
have my friends die with me.” His wife,
after the first paroxysms of grief, prepared
herself to bear the awful separation, and
displayed her piety and virtue most in the
, moment of the most bitter of trials. Lord
Cavendish offered to exchange clothes with
Russell, and give him the chance of es
cape. He nobly answered he would en
tail no danger on those he loved. Wind
ing up his watch, he cheerfully said, “ I
am done with time, and must think, hence
forth, pf eternity.” Engaging, then, de
cently in his devotions, he submitted to his
fate with the composure which might have
been expected of one going upon an agree
able journey.
On the 7th of December, following, the
heroic Algernon Sidney was beheaded on
Tower Hill. He went on fool to the scaf
fold, without friends, whose company he
declined. He ascended the platform with
firmness aul a haughty look. He said, to
an inquiryof the Sheriff whether he would
address the people, that, having made peace
with God, he had nothing to say to man.
He prayei for success to the good old
cause, am invited the stroke of the axe.
For Russel, says Dalrymple, men wept.
But, when they saw Sidney suffer, ‘ their
pulses beathigh, their hearts swelled, they
felt an u.iusual grandeur and elevation of
mind, whilst they looked upon him.”
In the history of the gradual advance of
the people of England, towards the timeof
the permanent establishment of their liber- |
tics, American* cannot feel other than a
deep interest. \n the approaches of that
period, when tli* English Constitution be
came a settled we see the formation
of the foundation! of the liberty of the U.
States. These approaches were, as simple
install ’es, often imperceptible. Sometimes
they were displayed in the sufferings of
some humble, obscue person, tortured for
religion’s sake; sometimes in the heroic
death of a Russell or a Sidney. Often,
they came by the silent operations of the
ballot-box; and, not unfrequently, in judg
ments from the judicial seat. Tyrannic
men, invested with a false authority by
still more false hereditary right, calling to
their aid all the instruments which a sor
did, corrupt ‘ace of politicians couldbring—
full of erne’ and revengeful passions—sup
plied with all the means considered, in this
world, unconquerable—gold, power, wil
ling and obedient servants —the law, and
the judges of the law, in their hands—
strong,military force, and still stronger se
cret agents—poisons and the dagger —did
their Ijest to stay this spirit of freedom.
They jould not check it. On. on it flowed;
sometjnes in small trickling drops through
the c® vices and secluded avenues of so
ciety,; sometimes in a bolder torrent down
the mpuntain-side; then, again, in a calm,
unrumed stream; until the whole body of
impelious waters rushed upon the plain, in
uncontrollable force, sweeping all before it,
wasling up the filth which ages and cor
ruption had accumulated, and purifying so
ciety in all its relations.
Independent of the effects thus produced
upon our own tortuncs, vve take a pride in
noticing the results upon the English na
tion. With her hereditary right of Kings
and Queens, we have no sympathy. In
what her statesmen call her perfect form of
well-regulated liberty, vve have no confi
dence, as a system, though admirably
managed. But in her laws, her constitu
tional rights, her language, the lives and
wrongs of her great patriots—her Cobham,
her Hampden, her Elliott—we have much
to do. They were her martyrs to republi
can doctrines, there; they were martyrs to
liberty here; martyrs for the truth of free
government every where. The laws of
England are our laws; her great constitu
tional principles ours. To her literature
vve look as to our own great fountain of
letters, and nourish our infant knowledge
at the breast of E., B lisll learning. What
ever jealousy arises between us, is the
competition, vve trust, of benefactors of the
humin race in asserting the rights of men,
advancing civilization, perfecting the in
stitutions of society, promoting science and
philojophy, and in uniting the spirit of tol
eration and benevolence with public virtue.
© JiiWil© JBL
For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
TEMPERANCE ADDRESS.
Mr. Editor: Dr. 0. A. Lochrane, the
Orator of the Day, at the recent Anniver
sary Festival of the Sons of Temperance
in this place, was solicited by the Division
to furnUh a copy of his Address for publi
cation. While he has declined to accede
to this request, he has permitted me to se
lect from the Address a few passages for
publication in your columns. They will
afford your readers a fair specimen of the
general tone and spirit of the whole. The
following is a description of the Goddess
of Temperance :
“Who is she that enmeth robed in the
brightness of morning ; the lays of the
sun gilding her auburn hair, as it strays in
silken ringlets o’er her snowy neck ; her
blue eyes flashing love and light, and
sparkling in their lustrous splendor; her
bosom shaded by her hair, as the moon by
clouds, seeming the more beautiful, and
heaving in ttanquil majesty as the billowy
sea beneath tie evening breeze I In her
ivory hand she holds a wreath of balmy
roses. Around her head, a garland of
spangled flowers shed their perfumed sweet
ness. Iler voice melts with the heavenly
cadence of soul and song. Her breath is
dulcet as the odorous charms of the East.
As she glideth along, she scatterelh peace
and contentment. Before her, murder and
bloodshed and rioting and wantoning fly
shuddering away. She plants the flowers
of joy and happiness around the cottage,
and bends the jessamine of jxace to twine
about and kiss its windowed face. She
lighteth the home with the beams of hope,
and maketli the heart to sing with glad
ness.”
The following is a vivid picture of the
desolation wrought by the demon-vice of
Drunkenness:
“ Go to the squalid where misery
holds her reign. Look spoil the cadave
rous, shrunken and diseased sufferer : see
the cold sweat damping his forehead his
distorted features gloomed by remorse; his
filmed eyes, and the flickering of life's ebb
ing tide; death empiring over life, sick
ness over health, and hell over death—and
you behold but an imperfect, though true,
picture of the drunkard’s death-bed.
“ No hand to wipe away the sweat is
there ; no heart to pray for inercy is there:
no father to speak of consolation is there;
no mother to kiss his longing lips is there;
no angel smile of a ministering wife is
there—none to convert despair to hope,
and waft that hope to Heaven, arc there !
All is blank gloom and desolation: and
who, looking upon such a scene, will not
shudder, and shun the monster that has
caused the ruin!”
Again, the orator exclaims, with appro
priate fervor:
“ Where were the boasted liberty of your
Institutions, if Temperance preserved not
their virginal purity, with a vestal fidelity?
Temperance is the palladium of your coun
try’s greatness : will you not, then, watch
with a lynx eagerness the men to whom
it is entrusted ?
“I verily believe the day is just ap
proaching, when all that human tongue
can speak of praise, and all that wisdom
can devise of eulogy, will be more than
expressed in that heaven-born panegyric,
‘That man is temperate. 1
“Temperance shall sit in your Senate
chambers; it shall give its warnings from
the pulpit; it shall give its lessons in the
political arena; it shall speak its blessings
from every home,
“ The frightful records of guilt will be
come less appalling; ruined and beggared
families will become less frequent—mad
houses less full; gaming houses shall be
tQrn down, and in their stead the glisten
ing steeple of a church will be reared to
the glory of God; sinks of infamy’ will be
abolished; houses of iniquity shall be de
serted, and the spectral ghosts of the de
bauchee will keep its midnight watch in
the chambers where it has been immolated,
and the wild winds whistling through the
half-opened doors, will sound as a warn
ing voice to future generations —finding its
echo in the breast of someone wavering
between the peace of virtue and the hor
rors of vice, the companionship'of God and
the service of the devil.”
I close my extracts with his concluding
remarks to.the members of the Order :
“Sons of Temperance! cling to each
other through the storms and sunshine of
life; and may no tempest of discord ever
ruffle the stream which bears you on as
lights to posterity.
“ When your voices are heard no more,
when your hearts shall have ceased to
beat, when your sinews are cramped with
impotence, when your souls shall have
mounted on the wings of religion to the
throne of the living God, where justice is
seated on the throne of love, and where
mercy cheers the colorless cheek of des
pair, may your actions live again in ages
yet to come, and your feelings reanimate
the hearts of yet unborn generations.”
assinfmffls;
POISONOUS ACIDS-OXALIC ACID.
This acid is characterized by white crys
tals in four-sided prisms. It is very solu
ble in water, very sour and very poison
ous. This acid looks something like Epsom
salts and serious results have arisen by
mistaking the one for the other- Oxalic
acnl is decomposed at a high heat, into
water, carbonic and formic acids. It can at
once be known from Epsom salts by being
exceedingly sour in taste, while the salts
are very bitter. No person need mistake
the two. Oxalic acid volatizes when heat
ed on a platinum foil, while Epsom salts
only lose their water of crystalizalion.
If Oxalic acid is weak, or has been sus
pected to have produced death in any per
son, one test is the nitrate of silver, which
produces a precipitate in a solution that con
tains 1-4000 part by weight of oxalic acid.
This oxalate of silver, isa fulminating pow
der,and when ignited,it leaves no carbonace
ous residue.—Sulphate of lime also produ
ces a white precipitate with oxalic acid so
lution. Sulphate of copper produces a
greenish white precipitate acid
solution, which is not easily soluble in hy
drochloric acid. Oxalic acid is the best
substance known for erasing iron spots on
linen. No other acids equal it. It is also
used by those who bleach straw and Leg
horn hats to clear up their color and take
out the iron stains. The straw hats are
dried out of it in the sun and it does not
seem to injure their texture so readily as
some other acids. Some housekeepers use
oxalic acid to clean their brass ornaments,
such as stair rods, door knobs and many
other things. There is therefore a danger
of children being poisoned with it, as it
very often happens that what some are for
bid to do—that they are sure to do.—The
antidotes for this poison are magnesia, and
chalk. Simple remedies and easily admin
istered
Sulphuric acid is also sometimes used in
families. It cannot strictly be said to be
poisonous as it may bo uaeJ in small quan
tities diluted in water, and no evil effects
produced. It will destroy life, however, if
taken into the stomach in a strong state.
A simple antidote is saleratus, or any al
kali—or chalk or magnesia. We would
prefer the later as an antidote. We have
known some cases, where urine was suc
cessfully (because convenient) adminis
tered.
Nitric Acid is also a poison, but we nev
er knew of any cases of poisoning by it.
It is a dangerous acid to use. Its fumes
are poisonous, and it should be used with
great caution in all departments where it
may be necessary to employ it. It stains
the skin yellow and makes white silk a
beautiful golden color.—lt is injurious to
the texture of woolen cloth and is used to
produce the orange colors on blue table
spreads. Ammonia or potash are the best
antidotes.
SCIENTIFIC.
A writer in the N. Y. Evening Post, of
Thursday morning, March 15, says; “My
observations of the state of the atmosphere
for the last forty-eight hours indicate that
a shock of earthquake has taken place at
a distant point during that period.” The
Memphis Enquirer of Wednesday, March
14, says: “A shock of an earthquake was
very sensibly felt on Tuesday morning be
tween midnight and day—we suppose
about 1 o'clock. The vibration of the
earth probably continued ten seconds, pro
ducing no little commotion with theciuck
ery, windows, &c.” So it seems the writer
was correct.
The recent severe blow seems to have
prevailed in all parts of the Union from the
valley of the Mississippi to Maine; but
whether of the same day or not our exchan
ges do not enable tisto determine. It would
be well if the press generally were more
particular in recording the time, duration
and intensity of remarkable meteorological
phenomena.
Origin of Fogs.— The very common
but mistaken idea is that the fog which we
see of an evening hanging over low mead
ows, and by the sides of streams, arises
very naturally from our first observing it
in low places, and, as the cool of the even
ing advances, remarking that it ascends to
higher laud ; the fact is, however, not that
the damp is ascending, but that from the
coldness of those situations they are the
first places which condense the before in
visible vapor, and as the cold of the even
ing advances, the condensation takes place
at a higher level. A large portion of the
vapor ascends to the upper region of the
atmosphere, where it cools and becomes
visible to ns in the form of clouds ; and in
creasing in density by cooling, they gradu
ally descend nearer the earth, until at last,
becoming to condensed by the loss of heat,
they fall in rain, to be again returned in
endless succession.— Scientific Phenomena
of Domestic Life.
Printing Machines. —The cylinder
printing machine in Messrs. Hoyles’ print
works, Mayfield, Manchester, print a mile
of calico in an hour! If fifteen of these ma
chines work uninterruptedly for only ten
hours each day, and for six days in the
week, they would be able to print cotton
diesses in one such week for one hundred
and sixty two thousand ladies! The actual
number of miles of calico printed by this
■ eminent firm alone, in a single year, ex
j ceeds ten thousand more than sufficient to
measure the diameter of bur planet with !
I? (D surtax
JUNE.
BY ELLEN LOR VINE
When tlic V)w south wind
Breathes over the trees,
With a murmur soft
As the sound of bees,
And the calm, cold moon,
From its mystic height,
Like a sybil looks
On the voiceless night—
’Tis June, bright June!
When the brooks have voice,
Like a seraph fair,
Amd the songs of birds
Fill the balmy air,
When the wild flowers bloom
In the wooded dell,
And the sense is tranced
By magic spell—
’Tis June, bright June!
IE is 1J Jj J u
Sunban Suite WE.
RULES FOR PRAYER.
“ I will therefore that men pray everywhere,
lifting up holy hands, without wrath and doubt
ing.”—l Tim. il. 8.
Paul here speaks with authority, as he
had received a commission from God. The
contents of this verse are highly important;
let us briefly glance at them.
The nature of the duty. It is the exer
cise of prayer. Prayer is an offering,
which, if not presented on the altar of the
heart, with the fire of fervent devotion, can
not come up with acceptance before God.
It is the breath of the new creature, the
spiritual pulsation of the soul.
The scenes of its exercise. “Every
where.” This includes prayer in the se
cret of retirement, at the domestic altar, in
the social circle, and in the solemn assem
bly. The exercise is to be continued; that
is, we are to cultivate a prayerful spirit,
and a devotional frame. If this duty were
observed, how many evils would be pre
vented ! what vast and inestimable, bene
fits would be enjoyed!
The manner of its performance. Three
rules are here laid down, which we do well
to observe.
Purity. “ Lifting up holy hands.” This
may allude to the custom which prevailed
among the Jews of washing the hands be
fore engaging in the service of the temple,
and this was to express their desire of in
ward purity. David says, “ I will wash
my hands in innocency: so will I compass
thine altar, O Lord !”
Love. “Without warath,” that is, in a
spirit of Christian love and kindness. The
angry passions must be quelled, and the
leaven of malice must not be mixed up with
our devotions.
Faith. Without “doubting.” It is the
prayer of faith that prevails with God.
There must be a belief in our exigences,
and Christ’s fulness and sufficiency to sup
ply all our wants. Jeremy Taylor beau
tifully observes, “Prayer is the daughter
of charity, and the sister of meekness; and
he that prays to God in an angry spirit, is
like him who retires into a battle to medi
tate, and sets up his closet in the out quar
ters of an enemy, and chooses a frontier
garrison to be wise in. Anger is a perfect
alienation of the mind from prayer;
therefore is contrary to that attention wh
presents our prayers in a right line
heaven.”
THE MORAL OF SUFFERING.
Had I lime, I might show how sufferin
ministers to human excellance; how
calls forth the magnanimous and sublin
virtues, arid at the same time nourishes th
tenderest, sweetest sympathies of etir
ture ; how it raises us to energy and totH
consciousness of our powers, and at th
same time infuses the meekest dependant
on God ; how it stimulates toil for the
of this world, and at the same time wea„
us from it and lifts us above it. I migl
tell you how I have seen it admonishini
the heedless, reproving the presumptuous
humbling the proud, lousing the sluggish
softening the insensible, awakening th
slumbering conscience, speaking of God t
the ungrateful, infusing courage, force an
faith, and unwavering hope of heaven,
do not, then, doubt God's benificence oi
account of the sorrows and pains of fflfe |
look without gloom on this suffering work
True, suffering abounds. The wail of th
mourner comes to me from every regio
under heaven; from every human habita
lion, for death enters into all; from'thi
ocean, where the groan of the dying min
gles with the solemn roar of the waves
from the fierce flame, encirclimr, as an ai
mosphere or shroud, the beloved, the rev
ered. Still all these forms of suffering 4
not subdue my faith, for all are fitted tc
awaken the humjin soul, and through alii;
may be glorified. We shrink, indeed, wifi
horror, when imagination carries us to the
blazing sinking vessel, where young and
old, the mother and her child, husbands,
friends, are overwhelmed by a common,
sudden, fearful fate. But the soul is
mightier than the unsparing elements. I
have read of holy men, whom days of per
secution, have been led to the stake, to pa;
the penalty of their uprightness, not in fierci
and suddenly destroying flames, but in ;
slow fire; and, though one retracting won
would have snatched them from death, the;
have chosen to be bound; and amidst th<
protracted agonies of limb burning afie:
limb, they have looked God with unwa
vering faith, and sought forgiveness for
their enemies. What, then, are outwan
fires to the celestial flame within us! and
can I feel as if God had ceased to love, as
if man were forsaken of his Creator, be
cause his body is scattered into ashes by
the fire ? It would seem as if God intend
ed to disarm the most terrible events of their
power to disturb our faith by making them
the occasion of the sublimest virtues.—
Channing.
jii ]3 £ : ii 11
poetliy.
Poetry is that part of our nature, which,
diffused through every’ other pait of it, de
lights in whatever is great, beautiful and
generous. It was w r eli termed by the an
cients, the mens divinor —the divine mind.
That perhaps remains to be, after all, its
best and only definition. It mingles itself
with all our feelings and emotions; il quick
ens our passions, elevates our sentiments,
and becomes of Ihese not only the life, but
the language. There is nothing in out
life, or in any of its movements, that has
not its electric fire running through it. Oui
rejoicings, our adorations, our woes, our
loves, our very crimes and tyrannies, all
have their poetry, which, retaining its own
unchangeable properties, clothes them with
their specific characters, giving beauty to
the gentle, though so intimately mingled
with ourselves, and giving us feelings and
views as from a heaven from which it came
revealing its origin by its tendency'. Ordi
nary natures we term prosaic, yet the very
commonest and flattest mind at times be
trays its presence, ceases to be prosaic, un
der some peculiar e.xcitemefit, and we ex
claim, “Why, you are quite poetical!”
SCRAPS.
The sun is like God, sending abroad
life, beauty, and happiness; and the stars
like human souls, for all their glory comes
from the sun.
Does not the echo in the sea shell tell of
the worm which once inlia’ ited it 1 and
shall not man’s good deeds live after him
and sing his praise ?
The mind makes all the beauty on earth,
as the sun all in the heavens.
What is thp universe but a hand flung
in space pointing always with extended
finger unto God 1
The pitying tears and fond smiles of wo
men, are like the showers and sunshine of
Spring; alas! that unlike them, she should
often miss her merited reward—the sweet
flowers of affection.
How like rain is the human heart—hav
ing no beauty in itself, but beneath the
smilt of God, showing forth with all the
rainbow’s glory; or how like a star, which,
though but dust, can yet be cherished into
a semblance of the fountain of its light.
The songs of birds, and the life of man,
are both brief, both soul-filled, and both as
they end,-leave behind whispers of heav
en.— The Literary American.
English Beggars. —The systematic me
thod and ingenuity with which begging is
carried on in England, may be judged by
the following item from a London paperr-
A clergyman, not long since, called at a
house in his parish, near Uxbridge, which
islet out as ‘lodgings for travellers,’ and
in the room was a map of the country,
with the principal houses inserted, under
neath which was written,‘The red lines
denote the houses that give, the black do
not.’ His own was underlined with the
former, which he altered to black, and m
consequence found himself relieved from
the greater part of the begging population
which had previously hesciged his doors.