164 THE FIRST SABBATH. full and perfect joy as probably filled her heart at that || lifted up the loud voice of the irrepressible agony of season, is perhaps seldom permitted to those whose nature, "father! do you not know me? I am your faith is yet subject to the weakness of the "soul's son-I am William; and blessed, for ever blessed, be clay tabernacle." But never, from that moment, did my mother's spirit; for her prayers shall at last be anthose placid features bear the expression of unutterable swered in your salvation." The son knelt beside the woe they had so often worn. The fond, soft smile, father, and calling upon another to pray for both, he with which she then looked upon her children, was received his bowed form on his bosom, and, reversing from that time habitual; and some two years after, the order of nature, poured over his, the fountains of her faith was sealed in death. That smile parted not his tears. even with the spirit; it was left upon her clay, it was sealed upon the memory of her children! The younger ones were all taken home shortly to her bosom. The son, her eldest, whom that smile directed to its source, is now upon the walls of Zion!" The narrator was done. Had application been necessary, further utterance was denied him. He had sunk upon his seat; and covering his face, wept long and convulsively. As his spirit received new strength, he at last sunk to his knees, and poured forth the entreaties of a soul mighty in the wrestlings of its love. The hearts around him had been deeply moved, and sobs were heard in many parts of the house. The redeeming spirit of temperance, which has since lighted up the extinguished torch of hope and of affection in many a dark dwelling, had not then gone through our land; and in more than one heart in that assembly, "the chord upon which hung its own sorrows" had been shaken. But a better sorrow had been also awakened, and when the preacher again rose to his feet, and made a last appeal, many pressed forward as mourners for the love of Jesus! At last there came one with a heavy and faltering step; and on this one I looked with a peculiar interest. He was a man of scarcely sixty years, judging from his features; but the vigor which, in many, is scarcely impaired at that age, had, in him, already yielded to decrepitude; his dress was humble to the extreme of poverty; his face and figure evidenced habitual, deep drink; but I had recognized him as one recently, and at this time, in the employ, as a day-laborer, of the family with whom I lodged, and I knew him to have been, for some days, entirely sober. I looked at him with a strong feeling of pity, as he bowed his head, so thickly sprinkled with gray-yet without honor-before that simple altar. The preacher was standing among the mourners, and deeply engaged in telling them the way to Him they sought; but as the old man bent his stiffened limbs slowly beside them, he turned instantly toward him with an expression of the most pitying regard: "Now, God be praised!" he exclaimed, "that, even at the eleventh hour, there is yet time to seek the Savior!" The old man groaned heavily, and, lifting his head, which intemperance had slightly palsied, he turned his face, for the first time, to the preacher: "If Christ died for sinners," he said bitterly, "I have great need of him, for I am miserable and sinful. I have almost forgot to pray, though I had once a wife who prayed for me with her last breath." "Father! father," cried the preacher, who had stood gazing at the old man as he spoke, in wordless feeling, but who now I have told all of which I was a witness. But some four years after, I passed through that same village. The log school-house, in which this scene had passed, was gone; a brick building supplied its place, and near it a neat church had also been built. On entering that church on the Sabbath, an old man was pointed out to me sitting near the altar, clothed and in his right mind, as the father of the preacher; but I should scarcely have recognized him, in the decent figure and subdued face before me. I inquired eagerly for the son; he had gone to his reward-the strength of a feeble frame had given way before the overmastering fervors of the spirit. Z. THE FIRST SABBATH. THE sixth day of creation drew near its close. The sun had finished his course, and the gloom of evening began to spread over the earth. The first-born son of creation stood upon a hill in Eden, near Eloah, his guardian angel and guide. It grew darker and darker about the hill. Twilight rushed to the embrace of night, and threw her dewy robes over hill and valley. The songs of the birds and the noises of the beasts were hushed, and even the air seemed to sleep. "What is all this?" said the man with a soft and low voice to his heavenly guide. "Will the young creation disapper, and sink down into chaos?" Eloah smiled, and said, "It is the repose of earth." Now appeared the heavenly lights, the moon arose, and the starry hosts followed in splendor. Man looked upward with sweet surprise, and the angel of the Lord looked with pleasure upon the gazing son of earth. The night was still, and the songs of the nightingale floated in the air. Eloah touched the man with his staff. He lay down on the hillock and slept. His first dream came over him, and Jehovah made him his companion. When the morning twilight opened, Eloah touched the slumbering one. He awoke and felt new power and life streaming through him. The hills and valleys rose out of the gloom, the young light came down glittering upon the fountains of the river of Eden, and the sun arose, bringing the day. Man looked upon his new formed wife, the mother of all living. Surprise and delight filled his heart. "See," said Eloah, "The divine is created out of rest." Therefore shalt thou consecrate this day to rest and devotion.-Krummacher. BEHOLD THE CROSS! BEHOLD THE CROSS! Ar the close of the year 1827, I crossed the Alps, with a small party of friends, from Pignerol, in Piedmont, to Briancon, in France. After proceeding to Finistrelle, we furnished ourselves with mules, men, and the other requisites for the journey. Urged by the apparent necessity of advancing on account of the season, when all preparations were duly made, we set forward amidst descending rain, and a wondering crowd. We soon began to ascend along the ledge of a mountain which opened immense precipices to our view. The road was wholly unguarded, and we were accompanied by the concerto music of a roaring torrent, that foamed along the valley, and the howling winds. Nothing was more obvious, than that our temerity would be repaid by cold, wet, and possible danger. Without adverting to the little incidents of the way, I may simply state that, after some hours of painful march, in which we passed through the small villages of Pourriere, La Rua, and Traverse, we began the ascent of the mountain called Chanal du Col. The rain, as we rose, changed to sleet, and then to snow, the previous accumulation of which rendered our progress slow and difficult. The march of pompous diction seemed consonant with the gigantic scale of the scenery, and we thought of Johnson's description in the Hebrides, "above, inaccessible altitude; below, immeasurable profundity." The snow was now rapidly deepening, the mountains in succession presenting their formidable ridges, and the pathway gradually disappearing from view, till we found ourselves amidst all the "charms of solitude," and all the sublimities of danger. This was the place, and this the season, for the moral philosopher to portray the higher order of emotions, for the Christian to realize the "terrible majesty" of the infinite and eternal God. Two hours had brought us to the crisis of our circumstances. Imagine us then, a melancholy train; each on his mule or horse, thickly covered with cloaks or mantles to screen a shivering frame, and enveloped in a snowy fold; imagine us moving like a forlorn hope in rank and file, slowly, silently and apprehensively along the edge of precipices, to which in making the necessary circuit, the trustworthy animal would often, perhaps unconsciously, (not so his rider,) approach within a few inches-ah! slippery, and dangerous, and uncertain footstep! Each hapless traveler now cast a wistful eye at the other; for not a sound was to be heard; not a trace to mark the course was to be seen the winds were hushed, the flakes of snow fell like the feather in an exhausted receiver, and "thick as autumnal leaves in Vallambrosa." Two guides accompanied us, but the sphere of their knowledge seemed to be bounded at this very spot: and after giving the word of command to stop, they began to consult together (an ominous sign to bewildered travelers) on the course to be pursued, professing themselves to be altogether uncertain of the way. It was a 165 dead calm, and with more truth than prudence, one of them exclaimed, "If the wind rises, we are lost." In fact, it is impossible for any one who has not traversed Alpine regions to conceive of the violence of those gusts which seem to rush like furies between the mountains, as if commissioned to hurl them from their bases. A few minutes determined us to advance cautiously and prayerfully; for in danger it is natural to call upon God; and the sanctified mind does not merely utter the cry of distress, and seek an interference, which in the hour of safety and comfort was despised, but lifts up believing and confiding thoughts to Him who is recognized as "the hearer of prayer." We may not always experience deliverance from evil; but we may be assured, that through Christ, our advocate and friend, we shall enjoy consolation, and reap improvement. The moment I have described was one of those of intense emotion, which now and then occur in life, whether of joy or sorrow. Silence reigned, nature frowned, danger threatened. I will not say that the incipient feeling did not arise which suggested the selfinquiry, Was life hazarded for an adequate cause? for to sacrifice it for a small object is sinful, while to yield it to the claims of duty and of God, is the martyr's heroism. But hark! there is an exclamation of surprise and joy. The foremost guide is in extasies! all is well, and the sleeping echoes are roused by "La croix! la croix! voila la croix!" "See there the cross, the cross!" In these bewildering regions it is not uncommon, for the twofold purpose of guiding the stranger, and eliciting a superstitious worship, to fix a large wooden cross on the summit of a hill, or on the edge of a precipice, as well as frequently by the roadside; by which, when the winter snows obliterate the path, some indication of the course may be given. Our guides became instantly aware of our safety, and knew that we should commence the descent. May not the reader of this narrative compare without any forced application, or inappropriate analogy, his own situation with that of these travelers? Are we not, in fact, all pursuing the great journey into eternity? Have we not missed our way? Have we not departed from God, by wicked works: and are we not universally and individually, in the language of infallible truth, utterly "lost!" The course of transgressors is difficult and dangerous; but the cross, the cross! there is hope, and peace, and safety! Not the cross of superstition, or the cross of temporal safety; not the wood or the tree upon which a Savior was transfixed; but Christ crucified; the blood he shed for the remission of sins; the offering which he presented for a guilty, deluded and perishing world. It is not deliverance from Alpine danger, but from eternal torments; it is not direction to a temporal abode, which may shelter me from inclement skies, or provide the sweets of social intercourse, but elevation to the bliss of heaven, which I obtain by trusting in those merits, embracing that Savior, clinging by faith to that redeeming cross!—Journal of Travels in the Alps. BY J. M. ARMSTRONG. |that, "should we be permitted to look into the grand arcana of nature, there would be nothing which would astonish us more than its simplicity." the task. Caloric may be considered the principle which originates all motion-it is the only principle in nature which possesses force of itself. We, therefore, set out with this proposition, that caloric is the grand sub-agent by which all the operations Ir we lay our hand upon a substance which has of nature are carried on. We do not expect to follow been heated, we feel the sensation of heat. The sub-it in all its operations upon matter, for this would emstance, or principle, which produces this sensation has brace the whole of the physical sciences, and require received the name of caloric-caloric the cause, and volumes-neither do we consider ourselves adequate to heat the effect. We propose to give some of our ideas of the nature and operations of this agent upon matter. Of its intimate nature little is known. We can only say that caloric is a subtil, invisible agent, which pervades all substances in the universe; it has such an affinity, or attraction for matter, that it cannot be entirely separated from it; it interposes itself between the particles of matter, and keeps them from coming in actual contact with each other. It is supposed by some eminent philosophers that the particles of matter are as far separated from each other, in proportion to their size, as the heavenly bodies, and that the spaces between them are filled up by this fluid, or principle. Caloric possesses very different properties from common matter. It has the power to originate motion of itself; in fact, it is never at rest, but is constantly moving from particle to particle, and flying from body to body, from world to world, and from system to system, with a velocity far exceeding that of light. There are good reasons to suppose that it is the agent which conducts light. It, therefore, not only pervades all matter, but all space. The motions of the heavenly bodies will first claim our attention. Newton discovered that the same force which caused an apple to fall to the ground, held the planetary worlds in their orbs. He called it the attraction of gravitation, and demonstrated its laws, but has failed to assign the cause, further than that it was natural for bodies to tend, or draw toward each other. This is erroneous, and contradictory. It may be proper to state here that philosophers generally, in giving to matter its inherent, or essential properties, have run into the same contradiction, by attributing to matter both attraction and inertia. They are diametrically opposed to each other. Attraction gives it power, and inertia takes all power away. Both of these propositions cannot be true. It is said that the earth, at its creation, received from the hand of its Creator a projectile force, which impelled it to move in a straight line. It would have continued to fly in this direction for ever, if some other force had not changed its direction. We are told that the matter of the sun performs this office, or draws the earth toward it, which causes it to move in a curve line. Here matter is made to move matter, and the principle of inertia contradicted. Of the two properties, we shall assume that inertia be Heat, or caloric, may be said to exist in two states, free and latent. Let us illustrate this. If we take a piece of wood in our hand it does not burn us, although the heat is contained in it, being latent; but if we ignite the wood, combustion takes place, and its latent caloric is given out, and rendered sensible. The at-longs to matter; but from the foregoing facts we must mosphere which surrounds us will afford us a more striking example. It, perhaps, contains more than a thousand times as much caloric as a piece of wood, or any other solid substance; yet it is insensible to us, for the reason that it is held in a latent state; but should the Creator command it to be liberated, the elements would indeed "melt with fervent heat." Caloric is further distinguished by its being repulsive of its own particles. These being some of the most obvious attributes of its nature, we will now follow it in some of its operations and effects on matter; and in the course of our observations, we may advance opinions, and make deductions entirely different from any yet advanced. At the same time, we hope to show that they are based upon well ascertained facts and experiments. As a general rule, the great Dispenser of all good governs and brings about moral effects by the use of means. It is equally true, in His physical government of the universe, that means are made use of; it is said too "that nature delights in simplicity:" she never employs more agents than are necessary to accomplish her ends. A writer very justly observes infer that attraction is not essential to matter, but, like He bent a piece of iron, of several pounds weight, in the shape of a horse-shoe, and wrapped it with several strands of copper wire, which he covered with silk thread. He then connected the ends of the wire with the pole of a voltaic battery, composed of two THE PRESENT AGE. very stnall coils of zink and copper. When the iron, thus bent and wrapped, was immersed in an acid, it rapidly developed a thermo-electric fluid, and very nearly resembled an ordinary combustion. While the heat thus produced was conducted along the wires to the horse-shoe, it lifted a bar of iron attached to its poles, with 150 pounds suspended from it. This experiment, we are told, has been improved upon, until a power equal to 4000 pounds has been created. It is stated that when the action of the battery was interrupted, the power uniformly ceased. 167 caloric passes between the particles of bodies; and, secondly, the shape of their particles. An additional quantity of caloric, over and above its natural capacity, admitted into a body, will, of course, cause its particles to separate, and their susceptibility of motion among each other will be increased-it will be rarified, but then its conducting power will be diminished. In this way it may be said to act in opposition to cohesive attraction. This agrees with the well known fact that our most rarified substances are the poorest conductors of caloric. It is a fact worthy of notice that those Now, this may be called artificial attraction; and substances which are the best conductors of caloric who can doubt that caloric was the agent by which it gravitate with the greatest force. This is what we was produced? The experiment may be explained in should expect from our explanation of the cause of the the following manner: When the iron was immersed attraction of gravitation. Substances do not, however, in the acid it was decomposed, its latent caloric given gravitate in exact proportion to their conducting power; out, which was conducted along the wires and poles they may be affected by other circumstances; density, of the battery, forming a copious and rapid current. for instance, diminishes the resistance of the atmosThis, then, was the cause of its lifting so prodigious phere. The rule is general, and all the exceptions are a weight; and we are thus furnished a key with which but partial. Enough is seen to convince us that coto unlock the mystery of attraction. A great current hesion and gravitation are but modified effects of the of this subtil fluid is kept up between the sun and same cause. planets, which holds them in their orbits. This is in accordance with our opinion of the principles of cause and effect. We are persuaded that no physical effect can be produced without the application of physical force; consequently, it would be impossible for bodies to exert an influence upon each other, unless some-responsibility under which they act. The disciples, thing actually passed from one to the other. This is even true with regard to our senses, no one of which can be affected unless operated upon physically; and in the case of attraction we have (by well founded deduction) shown this something to be caloric. We think that it can be fairly deduced that all the different kinds of attraction are but modified effects of the same cause, and all depend upon the self-originating motions of this invisible agent. (To be concluded.) THE PRESENT AGE. who lived in the first and second centuries, were charged with duties which were new in the history of man. It was a high privilege to live in the sixteenth century. The men who landed at Plymouth two hundred years ago, felt that the interests of an unknown posterity were depending on their energy and faith. The year 1620 will be for ever an era in the progress of human eventsa strongly illuminated point in the records of man's existence on earth. But the men of this generation have Let us see by what facts we can infer that caloric is come to a period of far greater interest. Not the empire the cause of cohesive attraction. We are taught that of the Cæsars, simply, is to be planted with the seeds of it is the antagonist principle of this kind of attraction; Christian truth. No undiscovered continent is to be that it causes the particles of bodies to separate from filled with the abodes of free and civilized man. The each other. This we shall not deny; yet we think it field is the world—the means, a combination of moral not inconsistent with the idea that it also holds them influence, which is to link together not the tribes of a together. We suspect that the facility with which single empire, but the hearts of multitudes all over the bodies conduct caloric, determines the degree of tenacity world-the object, to purify thoroughly the great mass with which their particles cohere. A stone, for in- of human sentiment; to unite heaven and earth-the stance, is a much harder substance than a piece of promised aid, the same power who laid the pillars of wood, and it is by so much the better conductor of the sky-the results, glory to God in the highest, and heat. The metals are the best conductors of the sub- peace on earth. A new series of ages is commencing. stance known, and, as a general thing, their particles Now is the spring time of the world. This is the period cohere with the greatest degree of tenacity. There for noble thoughts and noble deeds. The minds of men are partial exceptions to this rule, not enough, how- are every where preparing for a great change. Heaven ever, to destroy the general law. Glass, for instance, is opening wide her gates. Hell is moved from beneath. is a very bad conductor, yet its particles cohere with Who is ready to meet the heavy curse of all coming considerable force. It will be noticed, however, that time, for unfaithfulness to his trust? Who is ready to those non-conductors which possess any degree of co-meet the burning indignation of the Almighty? Such hesion are very brittle. This may arise from the shape a question as is now presented to the Christian world, of their particles. We infer, then, that hardness, or never agitated the minds of men. On its decision is the degree of cohesion, depends on two circumstances; hanging the destiny of multitudes whom no man can the first and primary of which is the facility with which || number.-Professor B. B. Edwards. MUSIC IN HEAVEN. THERE is another, a glorious theatre, in reserve for us, even a heavenly; where, with an ear that will never grow dull, a medium that will present no hindrance, a voice that will never break, a body that will bear all pressure of emotion, subjects of infinite variety, extent and grandeur, drawn from God's creative and redemptive acts; a scene, where we may praise him with all the powers of heart and tongue, where we may go on praising him with more and more of skill and enthusiasm and joy. harmony of sweet sounds, will be turned into thorns and daggers of remorse. O, the powers of the immortal mind! its capacities of joy! its capacities of woe!-solemn thought! The heart says, would there were no woe! But reason-conscience-God-says there is. One of the grand choruses of the Apocalypse is, the pæans of rejoicing for the victory of the Lamb over the enemies of his Church. Some of these enemies are the apostate of this world. "And the smoke of their torment ascendeth for ever and ever." WOMAN'S TENDERNESS. Therefore, I believe that the scenes of the Apocalypse are not arranged as they are, merely in accommodation to our earthly condition, but are intended to IT has often been remarked that, in sickness, there shadow forth to us some points of real analogy be- is no hand like woman's hand, no heart like woman's tween the music we essay to perform here, and the heart-and there is not. A man's breast may swell music of the heavenly world, that we may in the future with unutterable sorrow, and apprehension may rend world in fact hear the very choruses, and bear some his mind; yet place him by the sick couch, and in the humble part in them, which John, rapt in the trance shadow, rather than light of the sad lamp that watches of Patmos, heard. The chorus of unnumbered mil-it-let him have to count over the long, dull hours of lions, the millions of redeemed sinners will be sung night, and wait alone and sleepless, the struggle of the and heard; and it will be responded to by the chorus grey dawn into the chamber of suffering-let him be of unnumbered millions of angels, and they both will appointed to this ministry, even for the sake of the be like "the voice of many waters and of mighty brother of his heart, or the father of his being, and his thunderings;" no want, as in Handel's puny orchestra grosser nature, even where it is most perfect, will tire; of a thousand performers, of bass deep-toned enough his eye will close, and his spirit grow impatient with to balance other parts. There, genius, which in this the dreary task; and, though love and anxiety remain world so quickly finds its limit through want of appro- undiminished, his mind will own to itself a creeping priate facilities, may soar at will; and with faculties in of an irresistible selfishness which, indeed, he may unlike those in this world which grow weary and give be ashamed of, and struggle to reject, but which, deout, will never need refreshment or repair. There, one spite of all its efforts remains to characterize his nature, shall not grow deaf with Beethoven, nor another die and prove in one instance, at least, his manly weakat thirty-six with Mozart, through sheer exhaustion of ness. But see a mother, a sister, or a wife in his place. the body, nor a third expire with Haydn at the sound The woman feels no weariness, and even no recollecof cannon bombarding Vienna; but above weariness, tion of self. In silence, in the depth of night, she confusion and wreck shall sing on and sing on, in dwells, not only passively, but, so far as the qualified sweeter and yet sweeter, in louder and yet louder terms may express our meaning, joyously. Her ear strains. acquires a blind man's instinct, as from time to time it catches the slightest stir or whisper, or the breath of now more than ever loved one, who lies under the hand of human affliction. Her step, as in obedience to an impulse or a signal, would not awaken a mouse; if she speaks, her accents are a soft echo of natural harmony, most delicious to the sick man's ears, conveying all that sound can convey of pity, comfort and devotion; and thus, night after night, she tends him like a creature sent from a higher world, when all earthly watchfulness has failed; her eye never winking, her mind never palled, her nature that at all other times is weakness, now gaining a superhuman strength and magnanimity; herself forgotten, and her sex alone predominant.— Banim. "There, no tongue shall silent be, All shall join sweet harmony, And here, there is a solemn thought. Can there be music hereafter in the soul that does not love God? Nay! music and hostility to God are incongruous ideas. The oratorios of heaven will give no pleasure to those in whose hearts the love of God does not exist. If we enter the future state unreconciled to him, then farewell peace, farewell joy; farewell hosannas, halleluiahs, praises; farewell the company of the redeemed, the glorious Church of the first-born, whose names are written in heaven, and farewell the chorus of angelic beings; farewell all that can purify and ennoble the soul. That we had enjoyed something of music here, and felt longings of soul for something far beyond what the present state permitted to attain, but which we did hope to reach in that better and more glorious world; this will but aggravate our bitter disappointment. Nay, the capacities of music, the remembrance of earthly enterprise and enjoyment in the EULOGY. WOMEN are the Corinthian pillars that adorn and support society; the institutions that protect women throw a shield also around children; and where women and children are provided for, man must be secure in his rights. |