for amusement on our internal sources. A day-like night we have often seen about midsummer, serenest of all among the Hebrides; but a night-like day, such as this, ne'er before fell on us, and we might as well be in the Heart o' Mid-Lothian. Tis a dungeon, and a dark one-and we know not for what crime we have been condemned to solitary confinement. Were it mere mist we should not mind; but the gloom is palpable-and makes resistance to the hand. We did not think clouds capable of such condensation-the blackness may be felt like velvet on a hearse. Would that something would rustle-but no-all is breathlessly still, and not a wind dares whistle. If there be any thing visible or audible hereabout, then are we stone-blind and stone-deaf. We have a vision !

character was given to the Hill by its green silence, here and there broken by the songs and laughter of those linen-bleaching lassies, and by the arm-in-arm strolling of lovers in the morning light or the evening shade. Here married people use to walk with their children, thinking and feeling themselves to be in the country; and here elderly gentlemen, like ourselves, with gold-headed canes, or simple crutches, mused and meditated on the ongoings of the noisy lower world. Such a Hill, so close to a great City, yet undisturbed by it, and embued at all times with a feeling of sweeter peace, because of the immediate neighbourhood of the din and stir of which its green recess high up in the blue air never partook, seems now, in the mingled dream of imagination and memory, to have been a super-urban Paradise! But a city cannot, ought not to be, controlled in its growth; the natural beauty of this hill has had its day; now it is broken all round with wide walks, along which you might drive chariots a-breast; broad flights of stonestairs lead up along the once elastic brae-turf; and its bosom is laden with towers and temples, monuments and mausoleums. Along one side, where hanging gardens might have been, magnificent as those of the old Babylon, stretches the macadamized Royal Road to London, flanked by one receptacle for the quiet "Looks through the horizontal misty air, Shorn of his beams," dead, and by another for the unquiet living—a church-yard and a prison dying away in a like some great ghost. Ay, he looks! does he bridewell. Ay, he looks! does he bridewell. But, making amends for such not? straight on your face, as if you two were hideous deformities, with front nobly looking the only beings there-and were held looking to the cliffs, over a dell of dwellings seen at each other in some strange communion. dimly through the smoke-mist, stands, sacred Surely you must sometimes have felt that to the Muses, an Edifice that might have emotion, when the Luminary seemed no longer pleased the eye of Pericles! Alas, immedi luminous, but a dull-red brazen orb, sick unto ately below, one that would have turned the the death-obscure the Shedder of Light and brain of Palladio! Modern Athens indeed! the Giver of Life lifeless! Few are the Grecians among thy architects; those who are not Goths are Picts-and the king himself of the Painted People designed Nelson's Monument.

See! a great City in a mist! All is not shrouded at intervals something huge is beheld in the sky-what we know not, tower, temple, spire, dome, or a pile of nameless structures-one after the other fading away, or sinking and settling down into the gloom that grows deeper and deeper like a night. The stream of life seems almost hushed in the blind blank-yet you hear ever and anon, now here, now there, the slow sound of feet moving to their own dull echoes, and lo! the Sun

The Sea has sent a tide-borne wind to the City, and you almost start in wonder to behold all the heavens clear of clouds, (how beautiful was the clearing!) and bending in a mighty blue bow, that brightly overarches all the brightened habitations of men! The spires shoot up into the sky-the domes tranquilly rest there all the roofs glitter as with diamonds, all the white walls are lustrous, save where, here and there, some loftier range of buildings hangs its steadfast shadow o'er square or street, magnifying the city, by means of separate multitudes of structures, each town-like in itself, and the whole gathered together by the outward eye, and the inward imagination, worthy indeed of the name of Metropolis.

But who can be querulous on such a day? Weigh all its defects, designed and undesigned, and is not Edinburgh yet a noble city? Arthur's Seat! how like a lion! The magnificent range of Salisbury Crags, on which a battery might be built to blow the whole inhabitation to atoms! Our friend here, the Calton, with his mural crown! Our Castle on his Cliff! Gloriously hung round with national histories along all his battlements! Do they not embosom him in a style of grandeur worthy, if such it be, of a "City of Palaces?" Call all things by their right names, in heaven Let us sit down on this bench below the and on earth. Palaces they are not-nor are shadow of the Parthenon. The air is now so they built of marble; but they are stately rarefied, that you can see not indistinctly the houses, framed of stone from Craig-Leith figure of a man on Arthur's Seat. The Calton, quarry, almost as pale as the Parian; and when though a city hill-is as green as the Carter the sun looks fitfully through the storm, or as towering over the Border-forest. Not many now, serenely through the calm, richer than years ago, no stone edifice was on his unvio- Parian in the tempestuous or the peaceful Ïated verdure—he was a true rural Mount, light. Never beheld we the city wearing such where the lassies bleached their claes, in a a majestic metropolitan aspect.

pure atmosphere, aloof from the city smoke almost as the sides and summit of Arthur's Seat. Flocks of sheep might have grazed here, had there been enclosures, and many milch-cows. But in their absence a pastoral

"Ay, proudly fling thy white arms to the seà, Queen of the unconquer'd North!"

How near the Frith! Gloriously does it supply the want of a river. It is a river, though

"Set as an emerald in the casing sea,"

seeming and sweeping into, the sea; but a
river that man may never bridge; and though in triple union breathe as one,
still now as the sky, we wish you saw it in its
magnificent madness, when brought on the
roarings of the stormful tide

"Breaks the long wave that at the Pole began."

“Then come against us the whole world in arms, And we will meet them!"

What is a people without pride? But let them know that its root rests on noble pillars; and in the whole range of strength and stateliness, what pillars are there stronger and statelier than those glorious two-Genius and Liberty? Here valour has fought-here philosophy has meditated-here poetry has sung. Are not our living yet as brave as our dead? All wisdom has not perished with the sages to whom we have built or are building monumental tombs. The muses yet love to breathe the pure mountain-air of Caledon. And have we not amongst us one myriad-minded man, whose name, without offence to that high-priest of nature, or his devoutest worshippers, may flow from our lips even when they utter that of SHAKSPEARE?

Coast-cities alone are Queens. All inland are but Tributaries. Earth's empiry belongs to the Power that sees its shadow in the sea. Two separate Cities, not twins-but one of ancient and one of modern birth-how harmoniously, in spite of form and features characteristically different, do they coalesce into one Capital! This miracle, methinks, is wrought by the Spirit of Nature on the World of Art. Her great features subdue almost into similarity a Whole constructed of such various elements, for it is all felt to be kindred with those guardian cliffs. Those eternal heights hold the Double City together in an amity that breathes over both the same national look-the impression of the same national soul. In the The Queen of the North has evaporatedolden time, the city gathered herself almost and we again have a glimpse of the Highlands. under the very wing of the Castle; for in her But where's the Sun? We know not in what heroic heart she ever heard, unalarmed but airt to look for him, for who knows but it may watchful, the alarums of war, and that cliff, now be afternoon? It is almost dark enough under heaven, was on earth the rock of her for evening-and if it be not far on in the day, salvation. But now the foundation of that then we shall have thunder. What saith our rock, whence yet the tranquil burgher hears repeater? One o'clock. Usually the brightest the morning and the evening bugle, is beau- hour of all the twelve-but any thing but tified by gardens that love its pensive shadow, bright at this moment. Can there be an eclipse for it tames the light to flowers by rude feet going on-an earthquake at his toilette-or untrodden, and yielding garlands for the brows merely a brewing of storm? Let us consult of perpetual peace. Thence elegance and our almanac. No eclipse set down for to-day grace arose; and while antiquity breathes over the old earthquake dwells in the neighbourthat wilderness of antique structures pic-hood of Comrie, and has never been known to turesquely huddled along the blue line of sky journey thus far north-besides he has for —as Wilkie once finely said, like the spine of some years been bed-ridden; argal, there is some enormous animal; yet all along this side about to be a storm. What a fool of a landof that unrivered and mound-divided dell, now | tortoise were we to crawl up to the top of a shines a new world of radiant dwellings, de- mountain, when we might have taken our claring by their regular but not monotonous choice of half-a-dozen glens with cottages in magnificence, that the same people, whose them every other mile, and a village at the end "perfervid genius" preserved them by war un- of each with a comfortable Change-house! humbled among the nations in days of dark- And up which of its sides, pray, was it that we ness, have now drawn a strength as invincible, crawled ? Not this one-for it is as steep as from the beautiful arts which have been cul- a church-and we never in our life peeped tivated by peace in the days of light. over the brink of an uglier abyss. Ay, Mister And is the spirit of the inhabitation there Merlin, 'tis wise of you to be flying home into worthy of the place inhabited? We are a your crevice put your head below your wing, Scotsman. And the great English Moralist and do cease that cry.-Croak! croak! croak! has asked, where may a Scotsman be found Where is the sooty sinner? We hear he is who loves not the honour or the glory of his on the wing-but he either sees or smells us, country better than truth? We are that Scots- probably both, and the horrid gurgle in his man-though for our country would we die. throat is choked by some cloud. Surely that Yet dearer too than life is to us the honour-was the sughing of wings! A Bird! alighting if not the glory of our country; and had we a thousand lives, proudly would we lay them all down in the dust rather than give-or see given-one single stain

"Unto the silver cross, to Scotland dear," on which as yet no stain appears save those glorious weather-stains, that have fallen on its folds from the clouds of war and the storms of battle. Sufficient praise to the spirit of our land, that she knows how to love, admire, and rival--not in vain-the_spirit of high-hearted and heroic England. Long as we and that other noble Isle

within fifty yards of us-and, from his mode of folding his wings-an Eagle! This is too much-within fifty yards of an Eagle on his own mountain-top. Is he blind? Age darkens even an Eagle's eyes-but he is not old, for his plumage is perfect-and we see the glare of his far-keekers as he turns his head over his shoulder and regards his eyry on the cliff. We would not shoot him for a thousand a-year for life. Not old-how do we know that? Because he is a creature who is young at a hundred-so says Audubon-Swainsonour brother James-and all shepherds. Little suspects he who is lying so near him with his

on us, and forgive us our sins, for if this lasts, in another minute we are all at the bottom of that pond of pitch. Take care of yourself, O'Bronte!

Crutch. Our snuffy suit is of a colour with the storm-stained granite-and if he walk this way he will get a buffet. And he is walking this way-his head up, and his tail down-not hopping like a filthy raven-but one foot before the other-like a man-like a King. We do not altogether like it—it is rather alarminghe may not be an Eagle after all-but something worse-"Hurra! ye Sky-scraper! Christopher is upon you! take that, and that, and that"-all one tumbling scream, there he goes, Crutch and all, over the edge of the cliff. Dashed to death-but impossible for us to get the body. Whew! dashed to death indeed! There he wheels, all on fire, round the thunder--and you may sit there to all eternity if you gloom. Is it electric matter in the atmosphere —or fear and wrath that illumine his wings?

Here we are sitting! How we were brought to assume this rather uneasy posture we do not pretend to say. We confine ourselves to the fact. Sitting beside a Tarn. Our escape appears to have been little less than miraculous, and must have been mainly owing, under Providence, to the Crutch. Who's laughing? 'Tis you, you old Witch, in hood and cloak, crouching on the cliff, as if you were warming your hands at the fire. Hold your tongue

choose-you cloud-ridden hag! No-there will be a blow-up some-day-as there evidently has been here before now; but no more Geology-from the tarn, who is a 'tarnation deep 'un, runs a rill, and he offers to be our guide down to the Low Country.

We wish we were safe down. There is no wind here yet-none to speak of; but there is wind enough, to all appearance, in the region towards the west. The main body of the clouds is falling back on the reserve-and ob- Why, this does not look like the same day. serving that movement the right wing deploys No gloom here-but a green serenity-not so -as for the left it is broken, and its retreat poetical perhaps, but, in a human light, far will soon be a flight. Fear is contagious-the preferable to a "brown horror." No sulphurewhole army has fallen into irremediable disor- ous smell-"the air is balm." No sultriness der-has abandoned its commanding position-how cool the circulating medium! In our —and in an hour will be self-driven into the youth, when we had wings on our feet-and sea. We call that a Panic. were a feathered Mercury-Cherub we never were nor Cauliflower-by flying, in our weatherwisdom, from.glen to glen, we have made one day a whole week-with, at the end, a Sabbath. For all over the really mountaineous region of the Highlands, every glen has its own indescribable kind of day-all vaguely comprehended under the One Day that may happen to be uppermost; and Lowland meteorologists, meeting in the evening after a long absencehaving, perhaps, parted that morning-on comparing notes lose their temper, and have been even known to proceed to extremities in defence of facts well-established of a most contradictory and irreconcilable nature.

Glory be to the corps that covers the retreat. We see now the cause of that retrograde movement. In the north-west "far off its coming shone," and "in numbers without number numberless," lo! the adverse Host! Thrown out in front the beautiful rifle brigade comes fleetly on, extending in open order along the vast plain between the aerial Pine-mountains to yon Fire-cliffs. The enemy marches in masses-the space between the divisions now widening and now narrowing-and as sure as we are alive we hear the sound of trumpets. The routed army has rallied and re-appears-and, hark, on the extreme left a cannonade. Never before had the Unholy Alliance a finer park of artillery-and now its fire opens from the great battery in the centre, and the hurly-burly is general far and wide over the whole field of battle.

But these lead drops dancing on our bonnet tell us to take up our crutch and be off-for there it is sticking-and by and by the waters will be in flood, and we may have to pass a night on the mountain. Down we go.

Here is an angler fishing with the fly. In the glen beyond that range he would have used the minnow-and in the huge hollow behind our friends to the South-east, he might just as well try the bare hook-though it is not universally true that trouts don't rise when there is thunder. Let us see how he throws. What a cable! Flies! Tufts of heather. Hollo, you there; friend, what sport? What sport, we say? No answer; are you deaf? Dumb? He flourishes his flail and is mute. Let us try what a whack on the back may elicit. Down he flings it, and staring on us with a pair of most extraordinary eyes, and a beard like a goat, is off like a shot. Alas! we have frightened the wretch out of his few poor wits, and he may kill himself among the rocks. He is indeed an idiot-an innocent. We remember seeing him near this very spot forty years ago

We do not call this the same side of the mountain we crawled up? There, all was purple except what was green—and we were happy to be a heather-legged body, occasionally skipping like a grasshopper on turf. Here, all rocks save stones. Get out of the way, ye ptarmigans. We hate shingle from the bottom of our oh dear! oh dear! but this is painful—sliddering on shingle away down what is any thing but an inclined plane-feet and he was not young then-they often live foremost-accompanied with rattling debris to extreme old age. No wonder he was terriat railroad speed-every twenty yards or so fied-for we are duly sensible of the outre tout dislodging a stone as big as one's-self, who in- ensemble we must have suddenly exhibited in stantly joins the procession, and there they go the glimmer that visits those weak and red hopping and jumping along with us, some be-eyes-he is an albino. That whack was rash, fore, some at each side, and, we shudder to to say the least of it-our Crutch was too think of it some behind-well somersetted much for him; but we hear him whining-and over our head, thou Grey Wackè-but mercy | moaning—and, good God! there he is on his M

knees with hands claspt in supplication-" Din- | thy happiness--for though thou mayst wonder na kill me-dinna kill me-'am silly-am silly at our words, and think us a strange old man, --and folk say 'am_auld-auld-auld." The coming and going, once and for ever, to thee harmless creature is convinced we are not and thine a shadow and no more, yet lean thy going to kill him-takes from our hand what he head towards us that we may lay our hands on calls his fishing rod and tackle-and laughs like it and bless it-and promise, as thou art growan owl. "Ony meat-ony meat-ony meat?" ing up here, sometimes to think of the voice "Yes, innocent, there is some meat in this that spake to thee by the Birk-tree well. Love, wallet, and you and we shall have our dinner." | fear, and serve God, as the Bible teaches-and "Ho! ho! ho! ho! a smelled, a smelled! a whatever happens thee, quake not, but put thy can say the Lord's Prayer." "What's your trust in Heaven. name, my man?" "Daft Dooggy the Haveril." "Sit down, Dugald." A sad mystery all this -a drop of water on the brain will do it-so wise physicians say, and we believe it. For all that, the brain is not the soul. He takes the food with a kind of howl-and carries it away to some distance, muttering "a aye eats by mysel'!" He is saying grace! And now he is eating like an animal. "Tis a saying of old, "Their lives are hidden with God!"

Do not be afraid of him, sweet one! O'Bronte would submit to be flayed alive rather than bite a child-see, he offers you a paw-take it without trembling-nay, he will let thee ride on his back, my pretty dear-won't thou, O'Bronte? and scamper with thee up and down the knolls like her coal-black charger rejoicing to bear the Fairy Queen. Thou tellest us thy father and mother, sisters and brothers, all are dead; yet with a voice cheerful as well as plaintive. Smile-laugh-sing-as thou wert doing a minute ago-as thou hast done for many a morning-and shall do for many a morning more on thy way to the well-in the

by thyself when the old people are out of doors not far off-or when sometimes they have for a whole day been from home out of the glen. Forget not our words-and no evil can befall thee that may not, weak as thou art, be borne

and nothing wicked that is allowed to walk the earth will ever be able to hurt a hair on thy head.

This lovely little glen is almost altogether new to us: yet so congenial its quiet to the longings of our heart, that all at once it is familiar to us as if we had sojourned here for days-as if that cottage were our dwelling-woods-on the braes-in the house-often all place and we had retired hither to await the close. Were we never here before-in the olden and golden time? Those dips in the summits of the mountain seem to recall from oblivion memories of a morning all the same as this, enjoyed by us with a different joy, almost as if then we were a different being, joy then the very element in which we drew our breath, satisfied now to live in the atmo- My stars! what a lovely little animal! A sphere of sadness often thickened with grief. | tame fawn, by all that is wild-kneeling down 'Tis thus that there grows a confusion among to drink-no-no-at his lady's feet. The the past times in the dormitory-call it not colley catched it-thou sayest-on the edge the burial-place--over-shadowed by sweet or of the Auld wood-and by the time its wounds solemn imagery-in the inland regions; nor were cured, it seemed to have forgot its mother, can we question the recollections as they rise and soon learnt to follow thee about to far-off -being ghosts, they are silent-their coming places quite out of sight of this—and to play and their going alike a mystery-but some-gamesome tricks like a creature born among times as now-they are happy hauntings-human dwellings. What! it dances like a kid and age is almost gladdened into illusion of does it-and sometimes you put a garland returning youth. of wild flowers round its neck-and pursue it 'Tis a lovely little glen as in all the High-like a huntress, as it pretends to be making lands-yet we know not that a painter would its escape into the forest? see in it the subject of a picture-for the sprinklings of young trees have been sown capriciously by nature, and there seems no reason why on that hillside, and not on any other, should survive the remains of an old wood. Among the multitude of knolls a few are eminent with rocks and shrubs, but there is no central assemblage, and the green wilderness wantons in such disorder that you might believe the pools there to be, not belonging as they are to the same running water, but each itself a small separate lakelet fed by its own spring. True, that above its homehills there are mountains-and these are cliffs on which the eagle might not disdain to build-but the range wheels away in its grandeur to face a loftier region, of which we see here but the summits swimming in the distant clouds.

God bless that hut! and have its inmates in his holy keeping! But what Fairy is this coming unawares on us sitting by the side of the most lucid of little wells? Set down thy pitcher, my child, and let us have a look at

Look, child, here is a pretty green purse for you, that opens and shuts with a spring-soand in it there is a gold coin, called a sovereign, and a crooked sixpence. Don't blushthat was a graceful curtsey. Keep the crooked sixpence for good-luck, and you never will want. With the yellow fellow buy a Sunday gown and a pair of Sunday shoes, and what else you like; and now-you two, lead the way—try a race to the door—and old Christopher North will carry the pitcher-balancing it on his head—thus-ha! O'Bronte galloping along as umpire. The Fawn has it, and by a neck has beat Camilla.

We shall lunch ere we go-and lunch well too-for this is a poor man's, not a pauper's hut, and Heaven still grants his prayer-“ give us this day our daily bread." Sweeter-richer bannocks of barley-meal never met the mouth of mortal man-nor more delicious butter. "We salt it, sir, for a friend in Glasgow-but now and then we tak' a bite of the fresh-do oblige us a', sir, by eatin', and you'll maybe

find the mutton-ham no that bad, though I've kent it fatter-and, as you ha'e a long walk afore you, excuse me, sir, for being sae bauld as to suggest a glass o'speerit in your milk. The gudeman is temperate, and he's been sae a' his life-but we keep it for a cordial-and that bottle-to be sure it's a gay big ane-and would thole replenishing-has lasted us syne Whitsuntide "

large volumes, shall, ere many weeks elapse, be lying for you at the Manse. Let us recite to you, our worthy friends, a small sacred Poem, which we have by heart. Christian, keep your eye on the page, and if we gu wrong, do not fear to set us right. Can you say many psalms and hymns? But we need not ask-for

"Piety is sweet to infant minds ;"

TO THE SCOTTISH CHRISTIAN HERALD. BY THE REV.

So presseth us to take care of number one what they love they remember-for how easy the gudewife, while the gudeman, busy as how happy-to get dear things by heart! ourselves, eyes her with a well-pleased face, but saith nothing, and the bonnie we bit lassie Happiest of all--the things held holy on earth sits on her stool at the wunnoc wi' her coggie Eternal Life. as in heaven-because appertaining here to ready to do any service at a look, and supping little or nothing, out of bashfulness in presence of Christopher North, who she believes is a good, and thinks may, perhaps, be some great man. Our third bannock has had the gooseberry jam laid on it thick by "the gude wife's ain haun',"-and we suspect at that last wide bite we have smeared the corners of our mouth -but it will only be making matters worse to attempt licking it off with our tongue. Pussie! thou hast a cunning look-purring on our knees and though those glass een o' thine are blinking at the cream on the saucer-with which thou jalousest we intend to let thee wet thy whiskers,-we fear thou mak'st no bones of the poor birdies in the brake, and that many an unlucky leveret has lost its wits at the spring of such a tiger.-Cats are queer creatures, and have an instinctive liking to Warlocks.

And these two old people have survived all their children-sons and daughters! They have told us the story of their life-and as calmly as if they had been telling of the trials of some other pair. Perhaps, in our sympathy, though we say but little, they feel a strength that is not always theirs-perhaps it is a relief from silent sorrow to speak to one who is a stranger to them, and yet, as they may think, a brother in affliction-but prayer like thanksgiving assures us that there is in this hut a Christian composure, far beyond the need of our pity, and sent from a region above the

stars.

There cannot be a cleaner cottage. Tidiness, it is pleasant to know, has for a good many years past been establishing itself in Scotland among the minor domestic virtues.

Once established it will never decay; for it must be felt to brighten, more than could be imagined by our fathers, the whole aspect of life. No need for any other household fairy to sweep this floor. An orderly creature we have seen she is, from all her movements out and in doors-though the guest of but an hour. They have told us that they had known what are called better days-and were once in a thriving way of business in a town. But they were born and bred in the country; and their manners, not rustic but rural, breathe of its serene and simple spirit-at once Lowland and Highland-to us a pleasant union, not without a certain charm of grace.

What loose leaves are those lying on the Bible? A few odd numbers of the SCOTTISH CHRISTIAN HERALD. We shall take care, our friends, that all the Numbers, bound in three

DUNCAN GRANT, A. M., MINISTER of forres.
"Beauteous on our heath-clad mountains,
May our HERALD'S feet appear;
Sweet, by silver lakes and fountains,
May his voice be to our ear.
Let the tenants of our rocks,
Shepherds watching o'er their flocks,
Village swain and peasant boy,
Thee salute with songs of joy!
"CHRISTIAN HERALD! spread the story
Of Redemption's wondrous plan;
'Tis Jehovah's brightest glory,
'Tis his highest gift to man;
Angels on their harps of gold,
Love its glories to unfold;
Heralds who its influence wield,
Make the waste a fruitful field.
"To the fount of mercy soaring,

On the wings of faith and love;
And the depths of grace exploring,
By the light shed from above;
Show us whence life's waters flow,
And where trees of blessing grow,
Bearing fruit of heavenly bloom,
Breathing Eden's rich perfume.
"Love to God and man expressing,

In thy course of mercy speed;
Lead to springs of joy and blessing,
And with heavenly manna feed
Scotland's children high and low,
Till the Lord they truly know:
As to us our fathers told,

He was known by them of old.
"To the young, in season vernal,
Jesus in his grace disclose;
As the tree of life eternal,
'Neath whose shade they may repose,
Shielded from the noontide ray,
And from ev'ning's tribes of prey;
And refresh'd with fruits of love,
And with music from above
"CHRISTIAN HERALD! may the blessing
Of the Highest thee attend,
That, this chiefest boon possessing,
Thou may'st prove thy country's friend:
Tend to make our land assume
Something of its former bloom,
When the dews of heaven were seen
Sparkling on its pastures green;

"When the voice of warm devotion
To the throne of God arose-
Mighty as the sound of ocean,

Calm as nature in repose ;-
Sweeter, than when Araby

Perfume breathes from flow'r and tree,
Rising 'bove the shining sphere,
To Jehovah's list'ning ear."

It is time we were going-but we wish to hear how thy voice sounds, Christian, when it reads. So read these same verses, first "into yoursel'," and then to us. They speak of mercies above your comprehension, and ours, and all men's; for they speak of the infinite goodness and mercy of God-but though thou hast committed in thy short life no sins, or but small, towards thy fellow-creatures how