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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.