equally absurd with the other terms conscience, or sin. So that, sir, you must either remain in the bewildering vortex of absurdity, or admit the existence of some being; and this is all I contend for, call him what you please, for names can never alter the identity of nature.

I shall now conclude by saying, sir, that in a subject so abstruse in its nature as the present, in the investigation of which the mind is carried into unknown regions, we must expect that mystery will set a boundary to all human reason, a boundary that we can never pass; and unless we implicitly believe the Bible, we must for ever wander in darkness.

Abstracted from revelation, we can neither account for the existence or non-existence of the Devil, for the following obvious reason. The existence of all spirits is above our comprehension, above our nature; and whenever we, on the principles of natural reason, can account for their existence, then it must necessarily cease to be supernatural; and "by attempting to make that to be natural which we admit to be supernatural, we attempt to explain that which we admit to be inexplicable. The rules of duty dictate that we should divest our minds of prejudice, to look into our Bibles; and when this is done, we shall soon discover, that the doctrine of Devils is no bugbear; that hell itself is an eternal, an indestructible reality, a receptacle PREPARED FOR THE DEVIL AND HIS ANGELS."

C. W. THOMAS. St. Sedwell's, Exeter, Oct. 10. 1822.

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The

fortunate victim. It was as vain to ask to know the charge, as it was impracticable to avoid or resist it; after conditioning for the removal of the soldiers, and some promises of humanity on the part of the judge, I surrendered to that magistrate a young man, born of Irish parents, red-haired, of a fair complexion, and without any impediment in his gait or person. I mention these circumstances, because this officer and his alquazils were in search of his direct opposite, in every particular, viz. of an old felon, an Austrian, black as a gipsy, and lame in one of his feet by a natural defect in its formation. In spite of the evidence of his own eyes, the judge conducted my guest to prison, hand-cuffed, and hauled between two fiend-like alquazils, in the sight of hundreds of spectators, who followed him through the streets, silently compassionating his ignominy and misfortune. next day his books, papers, and effects were seized and rummaged; but fortunately no food for the holy office, no offence against the state, appeared on the search. In the regular course of proceeding, he should have lain in prison ten or twelve years; but at my instance he was admitted to an examination, and justice was made to quicken her customary pace. When brought before the judge, though every feature in his countenance swore to the mistake of his commitment, the forms of the inquisition were not to be dispensed with, and he was called upon to recapitulate the whole history of his life. When this had passed, and happily nothing had dropped on which his judge could fasten any new matter of crimination, he was coolly informed that he did not answer the description of the felon they were in search of, and that he was at liberty to return to the place from whence he came."-O Spain! these are some of the blessings thou hast recently recovered!

MENTAL BEGGARY.

"HE," says Colton, " that has no resources of mind, is more to be pitied than he who is in want of necessaries for the body; and to be obliged to beg our daily happiness from others, bespeaks a more lamentable poverty than that of him who begs his daily bread."

ANECDOTES OF JAMES THE SECOND.

WHEN this infatuated prince visited Worcester, he was splendidly entertained by Dr. Thomas, the bishop, who waited upon the king as far as the door of the Catholic chapel."Won't your lordship go farther?" said the king. 66 May it please your majesty," said the bishop, "I think I have gone far enough."

A nobleman, with similar politeness, attended the same monarch to the door of the chapel royal, and, on his standing aside to let his majesty pass, the king said, "Your lordship's father, I believe, would have gone farther."-"Sir," answered the nobleman, "your majesty's father would not have gone so far."

BELIEF OF ANAXAGORAS.

ANAXAGORAS, one of the most celebrated of the ancient philosophers, was born about the 70th Olympiad, or 495 years before the birth of Christ, and, at an early age, on some religious account, was condemned to exile. He appears to have been one of those ancient worthies who did not doubt the immortality of the soul; for, being asked upon his death-bed if he wished to be carried back to his own country, "It is no matter," replied he, "for there is a near cut to heaven from every place."

POETRY.

G.

A MORAL REFLECTION ON THE BEAUTY OF SPRING.

IN this gay delightful vision,

Wisdom, beauty, love, are seen;
Spring is nature's sweet Elysian,
Eden's type, perfection's queen.
"Tis dead nature's resurrection

To the flush of life and joy;
Beauty glows in full perfection,
O'er the landscape, earth, and sky.
Vernal suns their lustre lending,
After winter's rude control,
Seem like beams of love descending
On a dark and guilty soul.
"Tis the jubilee of nature,
All is gladness in the grove;
Let me, O Divine Creator!

In the landscape see thy love!
Holy wisdom, love, and power,
All this mimic Eden drew;
Knowledge pencill'd every flower,
Eyes of goodness wept the dew.

Soft and balmy is the morning;
Past are wintry storm and gloom;
Buds are bursting, bloom adorning,
Every zephyr breathes perfume.
From his winter mansion coming,
Lo! the bee is on the wing ;
And the drowsy beetle humming,
Carols the return of spring.
Could the Vale of Tempe fuller,
Sweeter loveliness display,
Than when flowers of every colour
Open to the solar ray?

Let me in the sweet recesses

Of the garden, orchard, grove, Pour to God my warm addresses, Source of beauty, life, and love! In my heart Thyself revealing, All my moral winter chase; Every cold, ungrateful feeling, Soften by the warmth of grace. To a garden turn my spirit, Let my heart, a fruitful field, Water'd by the Saviour's merit, All the bloom of Eden yield. Then, in lovely graces growing, Let my heart thy presence cheer; Every bud in beauty blowing; Summer lasting all the year. J. MARSDEN.

Newark.

PETER.

MATTHEW XIV. 24-33.

AT midnight, toiling on the deep,
Whilst every swell, and every sweep
And buffeting the ruthless blast,
Of billows, seemed to be the last!
In such a time, a hapless crew

Perceived a distant, shadowy form
Following, and of a paly hue,

That shewed it thro' the darkening storm.

What may it be? perchance a sail,

But mark how swift it comes! and how, In very teeth of such a gale!

And, God of mercy! see it now! They looked-and nearer as it drew, Through each a dreadful horror ran, For on their troubled sight it grew Distinct, the semblance of a man! Still nearer now they saw it glare

(It glared in their fear-fancying eye,) Full on them, and their loud despair Exploded in a deafening cry.

""Tis he, that spirit stern, 'tis he,

The spirit of the storm!" they cry-
A voice broke on them suddenly,
""Tis I; be not afraid, 'tis I."

As when the Almighty's word first spoke
Light on chaotic darkness, so

At that known voice hope's dawnings broke
On their dark souls, tho' dim and slow.

They saw 'twas Jesus, and rejoiced;

Then feared, for their weak hearts misgave, The demon took the form of Christ

To imbitter still the imbittered grave.

None dared ask "Who art thou?" " whence?"

Loth to betray their dubious minds; And, like a fetter, them suspense

Held speechless, bruising as it binds. Till one, who ever foremost stood,

Cried, "Lord, if thou indeed it be, Bid me approach thee on the flood, Bid me, and I will come to thee." The word is given, and from the bark The adventurous fisherman is gone; He looks to Christ, his safety-mark,

And o'er the waters wild rides on. As comes the fledgling from the nest,

And, strong at first, untrembling flies, But sinks at length, with fluttering breast, And, but for care parental, dies:

So Peter left the vessel's side,

First dauntless the strong waves he trod, And then his dreadful path he eyed, The dashing sea, and billows broad! Now hurried to the fearful height

Of liquid reeling rocks! and now Shot down between, with nought in sight But the high foam's dread shaggy brow! The bark-tost crew in fear look'd on,

And trembling for their comrade's fate; The big wave swelled, and he was gone! Then rose their cry, and it was great! The interposing wave, that dashed

His Lord from view, had never sped, But ah! that cry of fear (it crashed Like thunder in his ears, and said: "Thy Master whelmed, thy fellows sunk, What but destruction waits for thee?") Unmanned him, and his spirit shrunk, Alone on the big bursting sea! Meanwhile the furious flood flounced wild, Impatient of a man's control, And from its angry mouths there boil'd

The rage with which it seem'd to roll. The flood flounced wild-the hollows deep Of its grim features grinned distort, In all the hideous forms, that keep

Their vigils in death's goblin court. The flood flounced wild-like fiery steed, Regardless of unskilful rein, That dashes, plunging to be freed, His driver lifeless to the plain. So ran Apollo's steeds, when driven By Phaeton would-be charioteer! Impetuous, wasteful, firing heaven,

Till Jove stopp'd short his mad career.
And, Peter! such had been thy fate,

Had not that arm protected thee,
Which hurled the other from his state
Headlong into the roaring sea!
The waves, as ice in sudden heat,

Betrayed him, paralyzed as he stood, They melted from beneath his feet, And round him yawned the opening flood!

Him soon its chilly arms enclasped,

And he was dragged beneath the wave, But caught a glimpse of Christ, and gasped, As prone he sunk, a prayer to save.

As

one, who to some daring deed Thrusts himself on, then plays the coward, And in his comrades' eyes can read The writ of jeers himself empowered; He found himself once more amid

His fellows, but with downcast look;
And Cinnereth's sea her waves had hid,
And hummed and rippled as a brook.
For, black-winged, as a dragon flies,

Raised and dismiss'd by wizard skill,
The storm fled howling from the skies,
Constrained by Jesus' secret will.
In worship at his feet they fall,
Exclaiming, in amaze, and awed,
(Strangers, disciples, seamen, all,)
"In truth, thou art the Son of God!"
Thus he, ambitious o'er his peers,

Would imitate miraculous power,
Failed, near to ruin, through his fears,
And thus was saved in fateful hour.

But thou, that read'st, should'st thou have to
And tempest, and shouldst thou espy
In thy distress and the turmoil

Of elements, a Saviour nigh;

Leave not the bark thou canst not rule,
To journey on the wilder sea,
Presumptuous, lest thine ardour cool,
And worse than danger threaten thee.
But should it be that thou must go
Upon that dread, unstable path,
All doubt and unbelief throw to

The mercy of the water's wrath :
For unbelief's dead weight would sink
Thy spirit down to darkness, where
Gaunt monsters lurk, and not a blink
Of light or hope awaits despair.
But should surrounding peril scare
Thy timorous faith away, then call
Mightily on Him, who hears the prayer
Of misery, and rescues all.
1822.

ADVERSITY.

J. M. G.

How the young fancies of an ardent mind
Leap over cold realities, and find
Brightness and bliss unsullied, unalloyed,
In every thing:-Oh! how are they destroyed,
When life, in all the soberness of truth,
Blackens before them! how the hopes of youth
Sicken and fade before the chilling eye
Of a cold world, that feeds on misery!
How droops the untaught heart, when first it
learns

Those it had loved were heartless; when it turns

Towards a friend with warm and frank embrace,

And meets suspicion in that altered face;

When a loved voice, on the astonished ear, Pours forth hard censures, and rebukes the

tear

It raised, with bitter taunts; when harmless acts

Are laid before it as condemning facts,

That prove it worthless: but howe'er it be
In human thought,-whatever man may see,
Or feign to see, of wrong in thee, do thou
Stand firmly with a clear and open brow;
Repose on thine own thoughts; whate'er men
say,

If thou canst calmly think, and sleep, and pray
With deep sincerity, there's nought to fear
Beyond the sufferings heap'd upon thee here:
Let human kind despise thee as they will,
Droop not, sad heart, thy God protects thee
still.
ANGELICA.

THE BROKEN HEART.

He is gone to the land where the dead are still,
And mute the song of gladness,
He drank at the cup of grief his fill,

And his life was a dream of madness;
The victim of fancy's torturing spell,
From hope to darkness driven,
His agony was the rack of hell,
His joy the thrill of heaven.

He is gone to the land where the dead are cold,
And thought will sting him never;

The tomb its darkest veil has roll'd

O'er all his faults for ever:

O there was a light that shone within
The gloom that hung around him;
His heart was formed to woo and win,
But love bad never found him.

He is gone to the land where the dead may rest
In a soft, unbroken slumber,

Where the pulse that swell'd his anguish'd breast

Shall never his tortures number; Ah! little the reckless witlings know How keenly throbbed and smarted

That bosom which burned with the brightest glow,

Till crushed and broken-hearted.

He longed to love, and a frown was all
The cold and thoughtless gave him;
He sprang at ambition's trumpet call,
But back they rudely drave him:
He glowed with a spirit pure and high,
They called the feeling madness;
And he wept for woe with a melting eye,
'Twas weak and moody sadness.

He sought, with an ardour full and keen,
To rise to a noble station,

But, repuls'd by the proud, the cold, the mean,
He sank in desperation.

They call'd him away to pleasure's bowers,
But gave him a poisoned chalice,

And from her alluring wreath of flowers

They glanced the grin of malice.

He felt that the charm of life was gone,
That his hopes were chill'd and blasted;
That being wearily lingered on

In sorrow while it lasted:
He turn'd to the picture fancy drew,

Which he thought would darken never,
It fled to the damp cold grave he flew,
And he sleeps with the dead for ever.

A HYMN FOR EASTER. CHRISTIANS, unite with one accord To celebrate the day

On which our Saviour Christ, the Lord,
Did saving might display.

From the fast-binding hold of death,
And eke that of the grave,
He rose to vanquish hell beneath,
And human-kind to save.

Lo, the rejected and forlorn

By wicked wiles betray'd,
The "man of sorrows" and of scorn
In glory now array'd!

Let the loud anthem pierce the sky,
The hills and valleys ring
With pious strains of grateful joy
In honour of our King.

Angels, and ye that dwell above,
Your cheerful voices raise,

In accents sweet to chaunt his love,
To bymn immortal praise.

How great the love, how great the pow'r
Engaged to make us free!

In that important awful hour
How weak captivity!

Christians, unite with one accord
To celebrate the day

On which our Saviour Christ, the Lord,
Did saving might display.

LINES

J. M.

WRITTEN AFTER VISITING PEARTREE-GREEN CHURCHYARD, NEAR SOUTHAMPTON.

DEVOTED spot! to contemplation dear,
To raise our dormant thoughts, our hope, and
fear,

To shew unthinking man his long last home,
Where busy fancy can no longer roam.
Here all alike! the rich, the poor, the brave,
Kings, princes, statesmen, find one common
grave.

Here the proud tyrant can no further go,
No more command the negro's blood to flow,
No more torment poor Afric's wretched slave,
Safe in his peaceful citadel, the grave.
Here the once blooming lovely youth is laid,
The man design'd for bus'ness and for trade;
The fair, the short-lived flow'r, no more can
bloom,

Now laid beneath the rubbish of the tomb.
No track remains, no mark is left behind,
Earth to its mother earth is here consign'd.
The mother's hope, the father's joy, is fled,
To seek a chamber with the peaceful dead.
The heart that once with earthly cares com-
"Tis here the man of traffic is resign'd,

bined,

No more to take a sympathizing share
With those who once were partners in his

care.

The tender wife no more will hear the voice
Of him who once had been her only choice.
The once loved children weep upon the stones,
That here are placed upon their parents' bones.
And here decrepit age obtains repose;
Here blood once flowing, now no longer flows;
Here the once nimble actor lies at last,
His thought extinguish'd, and reflection past.
W.M.T.

DESIGNED FOR THE MONUMENT OF SIR ISAAC NEWTON.

(From the Gentleman's Magazine for 1731.) APPROACH, ye wise of soul! with awe divine, 'Tis Newton's name that consecrates this shrine; That sun of knowledge, whose meridian ray Kindled the gloom of nature into day! That soul of science! that unbounded mind! That genius which exalted human kind! Confess'd supreme of men! his country's pride! And half esteem'd an angel-till he died. Who in the eye of Heaven, like Enoch, stood, And thro' the paths of knowledge, walk'd with God:

Who made his fame a sea without a shore, And but forsook our world to know the laws

of more.

REVIEW. Reliquiæ Diluvianæ, or Observations on the Organic Remains contained in Caves, Fissures, and Diluvial Gravel, and on other Geological Phenomena, attesting the Action of an Universal Deluge. By the Rev. William Buckland, B.D. F.R.S. F.L.S. &c. &c. &c. 4to. pp. 303. London. John Murray, Albemarlestreet. 1823.

THE vast improvements in modern science, compared with that of the ancients, may be, in a great measure, attributed to the judicious principles established by Lord Bacon, for correct reasoning, and philosophical induction. These principles should never be wholly neglected, when reaSoning upon physics, which, generally speaking, perhaps always admit of physical proofs: but were we to extend these axioms to metaphysics, it must be evident to what narrow limits we should reduce the utmost bounds of our knowledge in this department of science.

The zeal and ardour with which science has unquestionably been cultivated in these modern times, reflect as much honour on its friends, as they confer credit on the age in which they live. When this ardour and zeal are confined within rational bounds, the progress of science cannot be contemplated without feeling the most cheering gratification; but when we find it forsaking the paths of reason, and wandering into the visionary regions of a dogmatical enthusiasm, we can only deplore the checks thus given to the advancement of truth. Hence arises scepticism, whose property it is to dissent from every fact or proposition, which is not fully attested, according to all the laws and rules of evidence; or which does not admit of indubitable proof. To this source, in some measure, may be ascribed those doubts which have been entertained with regard to the historical facts revealed in scripture: our modern philosophers, finding themselves incompetent to reconcile the history of these occurrences with the observable phenomena of nature, conclude they are incompatible with our views and ideas of natural operations.

No subject, perhaps, has afforded greater scope for controversy, or been productive of more literary acrimony,