tory perfectly free from the infection of the disease. It is sometimes most fatal in filthy habitations, crowded neighbourhoods, low moist places, and the hot season; yet it originated in a country where ablutions are frequent, even as a religious ceremony-it was proportionably as destructive in the province of Caucasus, where there are but eight inhabitants to a square league, as in Hindostan, where there are 1200 in the same space-it malignantly ravaged the villages of the Himalaya mountains, 8000 feet above the level of the sea, and in unwatered Arabia-it attacked Moscow in the dead of winter, with the thermometer 16 degrees below zero, and spread with increasing rapidity as the weather grew colder. Who can explain these phenomena of this disease?

66

"Two are grinding at the mill; the one is taken, and the other left"-at every age, in every variety of condition and climate. Reader, it tells, in language that cannot be misunderstood, and with an authority that ought to be implicitly obeyed, “ Be ye also ready; for, in such an hour as ye think not, behold the Son of man cometh. Blessed is that servant, whom his Lord, when he cometh, shall find watching." What is our existence, without this? It is everlasting misery-voluntarily and wickedly begun in time, judicially and justly completed in eternity.

POETRY.

ON REDEEMING TIME,

(For the First Day of the Year 1833;)

ADDRESSED TO THE YOUTHFUL READERS OF THE IMPERIAL MAGAZINE, BY JOSHUA MARSDEN.

Youth is not rich in time, it may be poor,
Redeem it then, its loss we dearly buy;
Part with it as with money, sparing; pay
No moment, but in purchase of its worth;

And what its worth?-ask death-beds; they can tell.
Night Thoughts.

LIST, Stripling, to the warning voice,
That bids thee moments heed;

Go light thy lamp, make God thy choice,
And on life's errand speed.

The birth-day of the present year,

Tax to its utmost power;

And while the sun flies through the sphere,
Redeem each fleeting hour.

Some enter now the gate of life;

Or quit the vale of care;

'Tis oft a title-page of strife,

Or finis of despair.

Each passing day is wing'd by fate,
And fring'd with bliss or ban;
Death is already at the gate:
Lord, what is mortal man?

The heir of an immortal throne!

A candidate for bliss!
A vast eternity alone
Deciphers what he is.

So near the cradle to the bier,
A span alone divides;
Man truly is a pilgrim here,
Walking with rapid strides.
Life is a sunlit avenue,
That opens on the grave;
No flower is half so frail as you,
Or bubble on the wave.

A moment wings thy downward flight,
Or tracks thy high ascent

To realms of beatific light,
If time be nobly spent.

Then hold his silver forelock fast,
Grasp his two-winged feet;
Or, in a moment he is past,
As any arrow fleet.

When gone, he's swifter than the wind,
And, with true Parthian art,
Shoots poison'd arrows from behind,
In every loiterer's heart.

Ah Time! at thy career, aghast,

I tremble, start, and weep;

Thou every circling sign hast past,
I in the Scorpion sleep.

We live upon to-morrow's lie,
While moments glide away;
To-morrow's in eternity!
And so is yesterday!

We bow to mind with hope elate,
But hardly sketch the plan,
Till, hurried on by rapid fate,
We end where we began.
Goodness is still a thing to come,
With youth who are supine;
While folly fills a folio tome,
Virtue has but a line.

But Time is ever on the wing,
Nor will a moment stay:
"Without his crown he was a king,
Who said, 'I've lost a day!""

The sun, the moon, the stars, the tide,
The tempest and the wave,

In a perpetual fluxion glide,

And roll us to the grave.

The sloth, the tortoise, beetle, snail,

May well man's speed define;

The eagle, arrow, lightning, gale,

O Time! resemble thine.

This hour, while I indite the lay
That warns me of my fate,
Myriads of spirits pass away
To an unchanging state.

Then, O my youthful friends, beware
Of folly, trifling, crime;

Life's morn by truth and reason square,
And husband well your prime.

Think light of pleasure, fashion, gold,
Or beauty vain and proud;

By faith, on Jesu's cross lay hold!

Nor tremble at a shroud.

For you to heaven my heart I lift,

A heart sincere and true;

And send these lines, my new-year's gift, By our Preceptor DREW.

THE DEAD ROBIN.

'TWAS winter, and upon the lea

The snow-drift deep and deeper grew,
And hid each green blade, shrub, and tree,-
Keen and more keen the north wind blew!

The cotter closed his humble door,
And wish'd that winter's reign were o'er.

'Twas then a bird, with ruddy front,

And coal-black eye, and pinch'd with cold, Came to our cot as he was wont,

For, oh! our friendship had grown old; And he was tame and docile too,

No harm from me he felt or knew.

He'd hop around the window-sill,

And he would perch upon my thumb,
And from my hand, with busy bill,

Would often peck the seed or crumb;
For well he knew when I was near,
No harm the minstrel had to fear.

And when his humble meal was o'er,
And when his wants were satisfied,
When he had shared the welcome store,
From what my humble board supplied,
Full well he knew the lattice, where
He might again be free as air.

But daily toil call'd me away,

And seldom was I seen at home, Unless at morn or noon each day,

When he with fluttering wing would come; But if he came, and saw not me, He would not enter there-not he!

So oft without the window's edge,
I placed the pulpy bread or seed,
And he would nestle on the ledge,

And of the welcome beverage feed,
And, chirping round, would seem to bless
The hand outstretch'd to his distress.

I lov'd him well, and well I might,
He was the gentlest of his kind,
His eye and bosom seem'd so bright,
His like I never yet could find:
He was the same, in spring's soft hour,
That fill'd with song my woodbine bower.

One night-ah, well that night I know! Bright beam'd the fiery stars on high, And keen the northern blast did blow,

And thro' the crevic'd pane did sigh; Woe was the wanderer's lot, who might Plod o'er the snow-clad moor that night!

That night, while wrapt in calm repose,
I mused on scenes of sad distress,
And oft my bosom heav'd for those

Whom fortune's freak had favour'd less;
And as their wants my feelings stirr'd
I thought upon my minstrel-bird.

How fared he in a night so bleak!
Where would the hapless sufferer flee?
What kindly shelter could he seek?

All leafless was each bush and tree,
The boughs above, the grass below,
Were mantled o'er with crimpling snow.
At morn upon the window-stone

Untouch'd, the scatter'd seed I saw,
And, searching round, the bird alone
Lay stiff and lifeless on the snow;
For in the night the bird had died,
His wings were folded to his side.

His little limbs were stiff and cold,
His breast had lost its glossy hue,
A film his dark eye did enfold,

On which was spread the frozen dew;
His bill was closed,-his slender feet
Had ceas'd to move,-his heart to beat.

In vain with genial warmth I strove,

His breast to move, and life restore,
But, ah! that voice which swell'd the grove,
Was doom'd, alas, to chant no more!
His pangs were past, and even yet
My heart will not the scene forget.

The world may laugh, and wonder much,
That trifles thus bewail'd can be;
But did sweet pity ever touch

The hearts of those who censure me?
Did sympathy ne'er force its way?
A bird can feel as well as they.
Perchance they'll say, the orphan's tale
By me would surely be unheard,
Altho' with grief I seem to wail
The fate of my poor minstrel-bird!
2D. SERIES, NO. 25.-VOL. III.

WORDS cannot tell how beautiful and gay

Are all the scenes youth's laughing hours display;
When not a care the gladsome soul hath cross'd,
When not a tint life's radiant hues have lost;
But fairest forms are seen, and dearest things
Bear up the spirit on exulting wings!

Visions of joy there are, in this bright time,
Beams shed on earth from yon celestial clime;
Pure as the blushing of the crimson rose,
Each generous feeling in the bosom glows;
The fond enthusiastic thought that cheers,-
The sweet companionship that life endears;-
The buoyancy which fills each heart and eye
Mid the spring-flowers of brief humanity;-
The rosy cheek of health,-the spirit's light,-
The sunny day,-soft slumbers of the night,-
High joyous words from lips that breathe of truth,-
All these, and more, proclaim thy triumph, youth!
Yes! 'neath the light of these unclouded skies
The youthful heart creates its paradise;
And builds its home of freshness in the leaves,
Which the warm summer in her beauty weaves;
Where music trembles over bud and spray,
To waft it onward in its glorious way.
Oh! what bright bowers anticipation rears,
Through the long perspective of coming years!
There, as it traces with an ardent eye
The distant shades of dim futurity,
Nought can it see but flowery realms of peace,
Where rapture soars, and pleasures never cease;
Where souls may wander in the balmy air,
And joy and love uninterrupted share!

'Tis ever thus,-while joy and gladness last,
The future still is measured by the past;
And long the fancy with delight will roam
O'er promised bliss, and happiness to come!

But youth must fade ;-each laughter-loving day
Chill'd by the touch of time, will shrink away,
And hearts where love unrivall'd empire sway'd,
In the cold tomb will silently be laid!
Ask yon lone traveller in the vale of tears,
Bow'd by the weight of sorrow and of years,
Ask him how youth pass'd with him; he will say,
"Youth is a season ever bright and gay."

But he will tell how age's winter sears
The early flowers, and fills the soul with cares;
Fair as may be the morning-time of life,

Its latter stage is vanity and strife;

And all that earth can shew of peace to come,
Is a low dwelling in the darksome tomb!

But oh, the joy!-what tongue can speak that hour,
When youth comes back in all its golden power;
In the far land where nought but pleasures reign,
Its strength and beauty are revived again;
Unmov'd by violent winds, its current flows,
Unsoil'd by earth, its fragrant blossom blows,
Water'd by streams of purity and grace,

And cheered with sunshine from a Saviour's face!

REVIEW.-The Missionary Annual for 1833. Edited by William Ellis. 12mo. pp. 300. Seeley, London.

THE name of Mr. Ellis is so well known throughout the religious community, by his Tour through Hawaaii, and his Polynesian Researches, that every thing connected with missionary exertions, coming into the world under his auspices, is sure to excite attention. We therefore conceive that the editorship of a missionary annual could not have been confided to more judicious hands.

This work has an elegant exterior, an embossed cover, gilt-edged leaves, and seventeen engravings, several of which are executed on wood, in a very superior style of neatness. They, however, nearly all exhibit foreign scenes, and relate to events and customs which, to the European eye, have a strange and singular appearance. But the representation and description being combined, leave nothing unintelligible, nothing involved in mystery. Like most other annuals, prose and verse intermingle in its pages, and to each piece the name of the author is assigned. Among the contributors we find several persons who are well known in the literary world, and their compositions in this work will confer no dishonour on their characters.

Having made the preceding remarks respecting this new annual, we proceed to give the following extract from its pages, that our readers may form their own estimate of its literary merits.

"THE THUNDER-STORM AT SEA.

("By the Rev. Elijah Hoole.)

"It was one of the most sultry days we had experienced within the tropics, when the Tanjore, an East Indiaman, outward bound, came to anchor off Batticaloa, in the island of Ceylon. Our only object in touching at the island was to land Sir Richard Ottley, one of the judges of the island, the Rev. Thomas Browning, of the Church Missionary Society, and Mrs. Browning, with some other passengers. It was not without grief that we bade farewell to our friends. In the course of our long voyage from England, we had enjoyed much pleasure in each other's society; many of our religious privileges, whilst at sea, and our freedom from annoyances, were undoubtedly to be attributed, in a great measure, to the decided friendship of Sir Richard Ottley, and the open interest he took in our private and social services. Our grief, however, was mitigated by the conviction, that our friend would, in his high official station in the island, afford efficient sanction and assistance to the missions already established in that heathen land, and that our missionary companions would prove valuable auxiliaries to the interests of religion in general, as well as to that department of the church with which they were connected. We had always felt deeply interested for the missions in Ceylon; but the sight of its distant mountains and adjacent shores, its palmy groves, and the rich scenery which charmed us as we glided along the coast, and the slight acquaintance we had formed with some of its swarthy inhabitants, who had visited us in their strange spider-like canoes, seemed to endear to us, more than any other, the only missionary ground

we had yet been favoured to behold; and we con

gratulated our friends on the prospect of immediately

commencing their labour in so interesting a field.

"About an hour after noon, on the following day, we weighed anchor, and stood out to sea, with the intention of sailing direct for Madras, where my colleague, the Rev. James Mowat, and myself, expected to finish our voyage, and thence proceed to the place of our destination in the interior of India.

"We rejoiced in the anticipation of the safe and speedy termination of our voyage. We hoped soon to behold the scene of our future labours; we had laid down plans of united study, which we supposed would prove mutually advantageous. But our cup of joy was soon to be dashed from our lips, our plans to be frustrated, and our faith and patience to be put to a test of no ordinary severity. How inscrutable are the purposes of the Most High! His judgments are a great deep, and his ways past finding out.'

"The day was fine, but oppressively hot; and in the evening we were neither surprised nor alarmed at a heavy storm of thunder, lightning, and rain, which threatened us from a northerly direction. It caught my attention as I sat on our lofty poop, taking a farewell view of the tops of the mountains of Ceylon, after the sun had set behind them; and the commander of the vessel, Captain Dacre, with whom I was conversing at the time, pointing to a luminous appearance in the middle of the heaviest cloud, intimated that he had no expectation the storm would be severe.

"The rain, however, began to pour in torrents, and we were driven to seek shelter in the cuddy, or in our cabins; while flash after flash of lightning, streaming across the heavens, followed in such quick succession, that it would have been possible to read by the glare. It was about eight o'clock, and I still sat in the cuddy, or dining-room, watching the unabated fury of the storm; when a flash, which illumined the whole hemisphere, and was accompanied with a loud cracking, and a tremendous roar, struck some part of the ship, most probably the fore-mast, and killed two of the seamen on the fore-castle. Running to the door of the cuddy to ascertain the effects of this dreadful stroke, I heard the second officer, who was between decks, cry out, 'Fire in the hold! fire below!' The fury of the storm, the pealing of the thunder, the darting lightning, the last vivid flash, and the instant death of two of our company, had already induced unusual agitation and excitement of feeling; and thus, under these circumstances, was communicated to us the intelligence, that the electric fluid had ignited the cargo of our ship.

The

"The scene which followed exceeds all description, and can never be forgotten by any who witnessed it. In a moment all hands were upon deck; buckets were supplied in sufficient numbers. pumps were manned by the passengers and crew, and were leaked, that the water they raised might be discharged on the burning mass: but when the hatches were taken off, to allow of water being poured from buckets into the hold, clouds of smoke and flames issued forth as from a furnace, increasing every instant in density and heat; it was soon discovered that all exertion was vain,-our gallant ship must perish!

"From the pumps we hastened to the boats, as our only hope of escape. The gig, a small boat, hung over the larboard quarter, so as to be easily lowered in a moment; but its valuable services would probably have been lost to us, had not one of the gentlemen threatened to send a bullet through the head of the carpenter, who, insane with terror, had brought a hatchet to cut the ropes by which it was suspended, and drop it at once into the sea. To hoist out the yawl, a larger boat, our chief efforts were directed, and here we experienced our greatest difficulty. It was turned, keel upwards, over the long-boat, to serve as a roof for the shelter of the sheep and other live-stock kept in the latter; and all attempts to move it from its position were for a time in vain. The long-boat, under the yawl, was already on fire, from the flames which burst from the hold; but when we were about to yield in despair, the yawl eased, and, when raised by the

lines attached to it, was heaved over the side of the vessel, and lowered into the water.

"Captain Dacre, had already affirmed, in answer to my inquiries, that the two boats could not receive all the ship's company, namely, passengers and crew; and, under other circumstances, we should not have made the trial. Mrs. Mowatt, the wife of my respected colleague, and another lady, who had hurried from her bed, whither she had retired for the night, were first safely lowered into the yawl. We followed with other passengers and part of the crew; and our weight sunk the boat nearly to the water's edge. The captain and others, leaving the vessel with honourable reluctance, entered the small boat; whilst the first-mate, Mr. Ibbetson, gallantly remained on board to the last, suggesting the best arrangements, and assisting to hand to the boats any article that could be secured at the moment, and that might be useful to us in the extreme perils we were about to encounter.

"Many of the party, having retired to their hammocks soon after the commencement of the storm, were only partially clothed, when they made their escape; but the seamen on the watch, in consequence of the heavy rain, having cased themselves in double or treble dresses, supplied their supernumerary articles of clothing to those that had none. We happily succeeded in bringing away two compasses from the binnacle, and a few candles from the cuddy-table, one of them lighted; one bottle of wine, and one of porter, were handed to us, with the table-cloth and a knife, which proved very useful; but the fire raged so fiercely in the body of the vessel, that neither bread nor water could be obtained.

"The rain still poured in torrents; the lightning, followed by loud bursting of thunder, continued to stream from one side of the heavens to the other,one moment dazzling us by its glare, and the next leaving us in darkness, relieved only by the red flames of the conflagration from which we were endeavouring to escape. Our first object was to proceed to a distance from the vessel, lest she should explode, and overwhelm us: but, to our inexpressible distress, we discovered that the yawl had no rudder, and that for the two boats we had only three oars. All exertions to obtain more from the ship proved unsuccessful. The gig had a rudder; from this they threw out a rope to take us in tow; and by means of a few paddles, made by tearing up the lining of the boat, we assisted in moving ourselves slowly through the water. Providentially the sea was comparatively smooth, or our overloaded boats would have swamped, and we should have escaped the flames, to perish in the deep. The wind was light, but variable, and acting on the sails, which being drenched with rain, did not so soon take fire, drove the burning mass in terrific grandeur over the surface of the ocean, the darkness of which was only illuminated by the quick glancing of the lightning, or the glare of the conflagration. Our situation was for some time exceedingly perilous. The vessel neared us more than once, and apparently threatened to involve us in one common conflagration. The cargo, consisting of dry provisions, spirits, cotton goods, and other articles equally combustible, burned with great violence, while the fury of the destroying element, the amazing height of the flames, the continued storm, amidst the thick darkness of the night, rendered the scene appalling and terrible.

The

"About ten o'clock, the masts, after swaying from side to side, fell with a dreadful crash into the sea, and the hull of the vessel continued to burn amidst the shattered fragments of the wreck, till the sides were consumed to the water's edge. spectacle was truly magnificent, could it even have been contemplated by us without a recollection of our own circumstances. The torments endured by the dogs, sheep, and other animals on board, at any other time would have excited our deepest commiseration: but at present, the object before us, our stately ship, that had for the last four months been our social home, the scene of our enjoyments, our labours, and our rest, now a prey to the destroying element; the suddenness, with which we had been

hurried from circumstances of comfort and comparative security, to those of destitution and peril, and with which the most exhilarating hopes had been exchanged for disappointment, as unexpected as it was afflictive; the sudden death of the two seamen, our own narrow escape, and lonely situation on the face of the deep, and the great probability even yet, although we had succeeded in removing to a greater distance from the vessel, that we ourselves should never again see the light of day, or set foot on solid ground, absorbed every feeling. For some time the silence was scarcely broken, and the thoughts of many, I doubt not, were engaged on subjects most suitable to immortal beings on the brink of eternity.

"The number of persons in the two boats were forty-eight; and all, with the exception of the two ladies, who bore this severe visitation with uncommon fortitude worked by turns at the oars and paddles. After some time, to our great relief, the rain ceased; the labour of baling water from the boats was then considerably diminished. We were frequently hailed during the night by our companions in the small boat, and returned the call, while the brave and generous-hearted seamen occasionally enlivened the solitude of the deep by a simultaneous "hurra!" to cheer each others' labours, and to animate their spirits.

"The Tanjore rose in the water, as its contents were gradually consumed. We saw it burning the whole night, and at day-break could distinguish a column of smoke, which however soon ceased, and every sign of our favourite vessel disappeared.

"When the sun rose, our anxiety and uncertainty as to our situation were greatly relieved by discovering land ahead; the sight of it filled us with grateful joy, and nerved us with fresh vigour for the exertion required in managing the boats. With the advance of day, we discerned more clearly the nature of the country. It was wild and covered with jungle, without any appearance of population: could we have got ashore there, therefore, many of us might have perished before assistance could have been procured; but the breakers, dashing upon the rocks, convinced us that landing was impracticable.

"In the course of the morning we discovered a native vessel, or dhoney, lying at anchor at some distance; the wind at that time beginning to favour us, every means was devised to render it available. In the yawl we extended the table-cloth as a sail, and in the other boat a blanket served the same purpose. This additional help was the more seasonable as the rays of the sun had become almost intolerable to our partially covered bodies. Some of the seamen attempted to quench their thirst by salt water; but the passengers encouraged each other to abstain.

"About noon we reached the dhoney. The natives on board were astonished and alarmed at our appearance, and expressed some unwillingness to receive us: but our circumstances would admit of no denial; and we scarcely waited till our Singalese fellow-passenger could interpret to them our situation and our wants, before we ascended the sides of their vessel, assuring them that every expense and loss sustained on our account should be amply repaid.

66

They treated us with much kindness, giving us water sparingly, but cocoa nuts more freely; they also boiled some rice for us, with curried fish and jaggery, a sort of coarse black sugar. From them we learned that Trincomalee, the chief naval station in Ceylon, and the site of one of our missions, was not far distant; to that port they agreed to take us, and proceeded to weigh anchor; whilst we stretched our cramped and weary limbs on the pent roof thatch which served as a deck to the vessel.

"When we had cast anchor for the night, the heavens were again darkened with clouds: the lightnings flashed, and the distant thunder murmured and rolled, awakening a lively and fearful remembrance of the dangers we had escaped, and reviving the agitated feelings, of which, during the past night, we had been the subjects. Our arrangements for the night were not completed without difficulty: the ladies were accommodated with the

Master's apartment, if a small but clean division of the vessel, in which it was impossible to stand upright, may be dignified with that appellation; and the rest were left to choose their own quarters. The smoke of the fires for cooking deterred me from going below, till the cold and dew made shelter necessary. I then stooped into the interior of the vessel, and creeping over the cargo, which seemed to consist almost entirely of cocoa nuts, I thought myself fortunate in finding a narrow board, five or six feet in length, on which, with a bundle of fire wood for my pillow, I soon resigned myself to sleep. Alexander, the Singalese, who had attached himself closely to me since our misfortune, came and lay by me; in the night he roused me to drink of the cup he held in his hand; it contained hot coujee or rice water, never an unpleasant beverage, but at that time peculiarly grateful to my parched mouth. I slept soundly; but should have been more refreshed, had we not been so excessively crowded.

"In the morning our native friends again weighed anchor; and in a few hours we came within sight of the flag-staff of one of the forts of the picturesque harbour of Trincomalee. The wind was unfavourable; we, therefore, sent our smaller boat, with four of the best seamen, and the purser, to give information of our circumstances. It was a considerable distance, and our men were weak from fatigue and privations; but within two or three hours we discerned the beautiful, light, and large

sailed boats of a man-of-war then in the harbour, hastening towards us. We could soon distinguish the naval uniform of the officers, and, as they drew nearer, the generous countenances of our countrymen, beaming with interest and commiseration, as they gazed on us, and directed their boats alongside, in contrast with our forlorn condition, presented one of the most affecting scenes I ever beheld, and will, I think, be ever deeply engraven on my memory. My heart had been stout till that moment; but I then leaned against the mast, and gave vent to the mingled emotions which the scene and the circumstances so powerfully excited in my mind.

When we were safely seated in the boats, the men pulled vigorously at the oars; and we soon entered the harbour, admiring its extent, and the beautiful variety of its scenery; but admiring most of all the wondrous dealings of that gracious Providence, which had preserved us in such imminent perils, and brought us to a place of rest and safety. We landed in the dock-yard of Trincomalee about 3 P. M. on Friday, the 8th of September, 1820, exactly sixteen weeks after our embarkation from Gravesend."-p. 97.

REVIEW.-Mortal Life, and the State of the Soul after Death: conformable to Divine Revelation, &c. By a Protestant Layman. 8vo. p. 572. Smith, Elder, & Co. London. 1833.

THERE can be no doubt that the subjects of this volume are deeply interesting, and of the utmost importance to all mankind. The questions that are agitated have em

* "Alexander, the Singalese," to whom the writer here alludes, was one of the two Budhoo priests, who, some years before, had been brought to England under the auspices of Sir Alexander Johnston, and placed under the care of the late Dr. Adam Clarke. Their period of probation in England being finished, they were about to return to their native land, and one of them happening to be a passenger on board the Tanjore, was involved in the common calamity here described, and all his curiosities, presents, and collections of various kinds, were for ever lost. These young men, we learn from all the accounts we receive respecting them, conduct themselves with the utmost propriety.

ployed the talents and the learning of our divines, philosophers, and metaphysicians, in almost every age of the Christian church; but although much light has been thrown on detached parts, the real state of a disembodied spirit still remains involved in impenetrable mystery.

The author is not friendly to that theory which consigns the soul to a state of unconsciousness during its separation from the body, for this he conceives to be inconsistent with the nature of its essence, so far as that essence is known by the phenomena which it displays when in union with the body. He is equally averse to the hypothesis which elevates the souls of the righteous to the consummation of felicity, or consigns to the extreme of torment those of the unrighteous the instant they leave the body. He supposes a middle state adapted to the middle mode of existence into which the soul enters between death and the final judginent. This he, however, contends, can give no countenance to the Papal doctrine of purgatory, it having no similitude even in a single feature.

The arguments which the author adduces in favour of the middle state for which he contends are comprised in the following short chapter which we insert without any abridgment.

"CHAPTER VI.-The middle state of the soul de.. monstrated.

"1. Every living man has a visible body, and a yet more noble part-an invisible soul.

"2. His soul is acknowledged to be immortal, and therefore not subject to an insensible sleep or state of unconsciousness after the death of the body.

"3. That his body is subject to death, and dissolvible into dust, hourly experience must convince us.

"4. If the soul dieth not, and consciousness be (as it undoubtedly must be) the life of the soul when divested of its mortal body, then, in whatever place the soul may be after death, it must continue

conscious of its existence, for we have no idea of a living soul out of the body, and yet perfectly unconscious that it is alive.

"5. Were the soul to become insensible, or torpid, after its separation from the body-then it must be said to die, and be no more immortal than the body, inasmuch as-according to the doctrines of divine revelation, the body is to revive, although of an altered nature, and then to live for ever.

"6. But as the body which now is, is subject to dissolution, and on its dissolution, is no longer a body, the soul cannot continue to inhabit it.

"7. If the soul cannot continue in the body after dissolution, it must go somewhere else.

"8. The Scriptures assure us that a body shall be raised at the last day-shall spring from the remains of our present one as a plant does from a seed-and that then the soul shall be reunited to a material body.

"9. Hence, until the day of the resurrection, the soul must live in a disembodied, and therefore separate state.

"10. As this state of separation must be to the soul an imperfect one, we must infer that in such a state it cannot experience that degree of felicity or misery which in its reunion with the body, is prepared for it, else its glorified body would be of no benefit to it.