^^•wo.owmM./sewmn.o»/^M.o,uoo,uo'i<o,/m’\ ( fi 1 oom’wnu’uo 1 niUGmo,/%cGO,numn < nwmn,o>UGO.owmmn,ewni , uoomo.o,owo<n.owmn,ewmo,/v<o < M,/^mo l fmmo, 
SEPT. 27. 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
5 &taWn\ 
[Special Correspondence of Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
(Bmtsp,—%kfA aitir ^ktc. 
LETTER VII.—ENGLAND. 
BY GLEZEN F. ‘WILCOX. 
Footing it Again—Adventure in Shields—A Queer 
Night’s Lodging—Walking in the Rain—Otterburh— 
Chevy Chase. 
We staid that night at Southerland, and in 
the morning buckled on our knapsacks, and 
started for Shields, ‘which was six miles distant. 
The atmosphere was thick with smoke, making 
it impossible to obtain a clear view of the land¬ 
scape, and on all sides stood tall brick chim¬ 
neys, some of them between three and four 
hundred feet high, which were pouring out 
their black volumes. 
Before we arrived at Shields, an elderly man 
overtook us, and asked if we were not Ameri¬ 
cans. We told him he had rightly guessed, 
and while conversing together entered the 
town. He pointed out several churches and 
other public buildings, and gave us a good deal 
of information. Finally he stopped before the 
door of a coffee-house. “Now,” said he, “you 
must go in and take a cup of coffee with me.” 
“ I won’t take no for an answer,” he added, as 
we hesitated. Accordingly we went in, and he 
ordered a breakfast with the coffee, and told us 
to make ourselves at home, as his son kept the 
house, and then stepped out for a few moments 
to do an errand. We took off our knapsacks, 
and I looked over a temperance journal that 
was lying on the table. Presently he returned, 
and we sat down to the meal, after which he 
called in the members of his household, and 
performed family service, invoking in prayer 
the blessing of heaven on the strangers beneath 
his roof. Afterward he conducted us to the 
ferry, and we shook hands and parted. We 
could not learn his name, but I am sure that my 
recollection of Shields will always be associa¬ 
ted with the remembrance of his kind hospi¬ 
tality—a hospitality which the traveler experi¬ 
ences too seldom not to appreciate. 
We crossed the Tyne, and walked a couple of 
miles down to its mouth to see the castle which 
guards the entrance. Within the grounds of 
the castle, are the ruins of a fortress which was 
built many centuries ago, and also a monument 
to Admiral Collingwood, who took command 
of the English fleet at Trafalgar, after Lord 
N elson was killed. He was a native of Shields. 
From the cliff on which the castle stands, I had 
a splendid view of the German Ocean. It was 
a calm day,and the gentle breeze merely broke 
the surface of the water into tiny ripples. Far 
as the vision could extend, it was dotted with 
craft of all descriptions. Along the shore small 
boats were rowing and sailing—further out 
large ships mived majestically with all their 
canvas spread to the breeze. On the far distant 
line where sky and water meet, were a couple 
of steamers, diminished to black specks, and 
with long streamers of smoke rising and widen¬ 
ing for miles behind them. We returned to 
the ferry and embarked on a boat for Newcas- 
tle. The distance is eight miles, and manufac¬ 
tories of various kinds stand thick on the 
winding banks. I particularly noticed one 
chimney. It stood or a gentle elevation, and 
its symmetrical and needle-like form bore the 
summit upward until it seemed to pierce the 
sky. It was over three hundred feet high. 
We did not tarry long it Newcastle, although 
it rained, for Scotland was before us, and we 
were anxious to behold its craggy Highlands, 
and mountain-locked lakes, and tread the brown 
heather on its airy, upland slopes. According¬ 
ly we took the central road across the Cheviot, 
and walked seven miles to the first village. 
There w'e found every inn full, a party having 
arrived before us, who stopped on account of 
the sto|m, and we could obtain no accommo- 
tions. It was growing dark, anritlie rain pour¬ 
ed dowi freely, and the next village was four¬ 
teen milies further on. Besides, E-, who was 
not yet accustomed to walking, was exces¬ 
sively fitigued with his unusual day’s labor, 
and declared he would not go a step further, if 
he had ta sleep on a bench in the kitchen of an 
inn ! Fibally some one told us that Betty 
Brown lad a spare bed, which she sometimes 
let to tnvelers. We went to her dwtlltog, and 
found htrself and husband at home, and willing 
to furnish us with lodgings. Their house was 
of stone, with a low thatched roof, and bad but 
one room, in which there were two beds, one of 
which was to be occupied by the worthy couple 
and the other by ourselves. We laid off our 
knapsacks and shoes, put on slippers, and sat 
down toiry ourselves before the broad fireplace, 
made cheerful with a huge coal fire, while Betiy 
prepared our suppers. Notwithstanding the 
humble appearance of their dwelling, there 
was an air of neatness and comfoit which we 
enjoyed. The stone floor was kept clean, and 
the walls and ceiling whitewashed. They had 
a small dog jmd a cat, and a canary bird sung 
in a wire cafe. In the window stood several 
flower pots, imong which I noticed a cactus, 
and several geraniums. We sat by the fire 
awhile, and he old man smoked his pipe and 
told stories, aid when we hinted about retiring, 
Betty put os her bonnet, and went out upon 
an errand, anl we took advantage of her ab¬ 
sence, and whn she returned, were srtugly en¬ 
sconced in bei, with the curtains drawn. 
We found ii still raining when we arose in 
the morning, aid the clouds lowering darkly 
overhead. Bif it was too irksome to remain in 
the village, so ive determined to proceed, and 
E -hoisted la umbrella, while 1 put on an oil 
silk cape for protection, and we ,walked on un¬ 
mindful of the pelting rain. I was always 
fond of walking in a storm, whether of rain, 
hail, or snow, and when the gathering darkness 
is dimming the landscape, knd the storm is 
sweeping over the land, bow desolate and 
mournful, yet sublime is the scene. The night 
hath many voices then, and spirits speak in the 
tempest. I enjoyed that day’s walk of twenty- 
five miles in the rain. 
We passed through the poorest farming coun¬ 
try that I had seen to England. The land is 
wet and sterile, and the crops of grain and 
grass looked thin and backward. As we ad¬ 
vanced, the scenery assumed a different charac¬ 
ter. The countrygrew more barren and rough¬ 
er, and the slopes stretched further away and 
rose higher, and seemed to promise extensive 
views if we would ascend their gradual accliv¬ 
ities. At Whelpington we entered the inn and 
lunched, and dried ourselves by the fire. Sev¬ 
eral men were lounging about and drinking. 
They spoke with a Scotch accent, and many of 
them wore plaids. After resting, we started for 
Otterbum, which was ten miles distant. Upon 
emerging from the village, we ascended a hill, 
and from its top the gloomiest landscape I ever 
beheld appeared in view. We had left behind 
us green fields, trees, hedges, and houses, and 
for ten miles the turnpike road wound among 
the hills and valleys of the desolate moor.— 
There were no fences by the roadside, but tall 
poles were set up to mark the way in winter. 
The moor is wet and springy, and covered with 
brown heather, and fit for nothing but the pas¬ 
turing of sheep, of which we saw large flocks 
attended by shepherds. There are a very few 
long stone walls, which are probably landmarks, 
two or three stone houses on the route, and now 
and then a circular stone sheepfold. The dis¬ 
tant hills loomed mistily through the storm, 
and the wind swept the rain in broken surges 
furiously over the heather which clad their 
barren slopes and summits. 
At Otterburn we passed the Sabbath. It is a 
pretty village, and one can pleasantly pass sev¬ 
eral days in its vicinity. The hills and valleys 
around it are the scenes of many fierce encoun¬ 
ters between the English and Scotch borderers, 
and the Red Water, whose tide has been crim¬ 
soned in the bloody conflicts, still rolls murmur¬ 
ing along, though the tumult of battle has died 
away. Half a mile from the village is the 
battle-ground of Chevy Chase, and in a dwarfed 
wood, or plantation as they term it, stands a 
monument which, according to tradition, marks 
the spot where the Douglas fell. Formerly 
there was an inscription on it, but it is now 
effaced ; the monument itself is rapidly crum¬ 
bling, and the masonry of the pedestal is shat¬ 
tered. I broke a twig from a fir tree that over¬ 
shadowed it, and cut a staff in the wood. 
PEARL FISHERY. 
Acapulco is celebrated for the pearls which 
a r e found on some islands lying twenty or thirty 
miles off. The fishery is carried on in a very 
simple manner, by men who dive seventy or 
eighty feet deep into the sea, taking with them 
knives to loosen the pearl oysters from the rock, 
and baskets to put them in, and, after remain¬ 
ing below one or two minutes, they come to the 
surface again with or without booty. The chief 
danger of the pearl fisher is from sharks, which 
swarm around the coast, but which the fishers 
are very dexterous in escaping from. They 
always take with them a long rounded piece of 
wood, which, when they cannot get away by 
swimming or diving, they stick into the open 
jaws of the monster, as he comes towards them, 
and they have plenty of time to escape befere 
he can recover from his peculiar kind of locked- 
jaw. The pearls are found not in the shell, as 
it is often asserted, but in the animal itself; the 
shell contains only mother-of-pearl. In many 
shells there is a kind of excrescense like pearl, 
hut not really such; it proceeds from some other 
animal, and resembles the excrescences on 
leaves and plants. Although every one of these 
oysters contains the material of pearl, and some¬ 
times as much as eight or nine, a fisherman may 
bring up many before he is lucky enough to get a 
really fine one; and the more there are in an 
oyster, the more certain it is that none of them 
are of much value.— A Lady's second Voyage 
Round the World. By Ida Pfeiffer. 
Live Fish in the Paris Exhibition. — The 
Strasbourg Railway has brought to Paris for 
the exhibition in the Champs Elysees, about 
3,000 fish from the Artificial Piscicultural es¬ 
tablishment formed at Huningen by the French 
Government. They consist of salmon from the 
Danube, trout from the lakes of Switzerland, 
and grayling from the lake of Constance.— 
These named have only been hatched this 
spring; the salmon trout are only fourteen 
months old, and are 4% to 4% inches long.— 
There are two salmon three years old, one of 
which is nearly 19 inches long by 13 inches in 
circumference. The fish were conveyed in cy¬ 
lindrical reservors made of tin, the water be¬ 
ing renewed frequently. 
Industry and its Blessings.— People may tell 
you of being unfit for some peculiar occupations 
in life, but heed them not. Whatever employ¬ 
ment you follow with perseverance and assid¬ 
uity will be found fit for you ; it will be your 
support iu youth and comfort in age. In learn¬ 
ing ihe useful part of any ^profession, very 
moderate abilities will suffice ; great abilities 
are generally iujurious to the possessors. Life 
has been compared to a race, but the allusion 
still improves by observing’Jthat the most swift 
are ever the most apt to stray from the course. 
Only the idler or the coward rails against 
his fortune. 
Sffxtl glia. 23i agrd]i(iic r L IjaWratlj Pump, 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
POPULAR ERRORS-NO. I. 
[A friend whose habits of reading, observa¬ 
tion and reflection are worthy of all praise, has 
kindly consented to furnish the Rural with oc¬ 
casional articles upon familiar and practical 
subjects. It is to be hoped that he may con¬ 
tinue his contributions, as well for the positive 
information conveyed as for the purpose of stim¬ 
ulating inquiry upon useful topics. It is shock¬ 
ing to think how much ink is wasted upon 
subjects that don’t pay, while those of the most 
direct and immediate concern are left to the 
traditions of the dark ages and the loose con¬ 
jectures of nursery maids. I confess that the 
subjoined article is contrary to all my previous 
notions on the subject of late meals, but on the 
whole I must admit that our danger is rather 
from over fatigue, (that is, if we are working¬ 
men,) and from excess of food, rather than from 
the lateness of the hour when the last meal is 
taken. Let these things be discussed. —h. t. b.] 
EATING- BEFORE SLEEPING. 
It is a common saying that it is bad to eat at 
night, just before going to bed, and the bad ef¬ 
fects of late suppers are heralded in the prints 
till one hardly dare, if ever so hungry, eat after 
dark, for fear of being ridden by night-mares, 
incubuses, and hobgoblins. Doubtless many a 
man, woman and child has passed a miserable 
night from the mere effect of an occasional late 
supper, but it is also true, that during waking 
hours persons suffer, not however, so much from 
an excess in quantity of food, as from taxing a 
debilitated system with more labor than it can 
reasonably perform. I have yet to learn that 
the habit of eating even a hearty meal just be¬ 
fore retiring for the night is any worse than 
that of eating the same quantity at any other hour 
in the day. In fact, I am fully satisfied that the 
good old habits among farmers, of working in 
the field till sundown, and then resting while 
supper is preparing, and making the evening 
meal the last act before retiring, is decidedly 
better than the practice which has obtained of 
late, of being called to tea at 5 to 6, then work¬ 
ing till night and “going supperless to bed.” 
If there is any one hour in the day when a man 
should not eat a hearty meal, it is when the 
whole force, either of his mind or his muscles, 
is required in his business or occupation. 
It is an admitted fact, and one from which I 
am in no way disposed to dissent, that in ani¬ 
mals, those habits which seem to be the teach¬ 
ings of nature are those which lead to the most 
perfect development and preservation of health 
and strength. Well, how is it with regard to 
eating ? Does not the whole animaljcreation, 
from the mouse to the whale, eat to satiety, 
then go to sleep ? Experiments have proved to 
a certainty that digestion goes on more rapidly 
and perfectly while the body is resting than 
while in action, and I think a close observation 
of the habits of our domestic animals will con¬ 
vince any one that that rest is most perfect and 
invigorating which is obtained when the ap¬ 
petite is satisfied. Man is, perhaps, more than 
any other animal, the creature of habit. No 
wonder, then, that an abrupt departure from 
those customs which the fashions of society 
have established, either’in eating or abstaining, 
just before sleep, should be followed by un¬ 
pleasant consequences. It is, doubtless, with 
an overloaded or oppressed stomach as with the 
toothache, or any other ailment it is more an¬ 
noying at bed time than at any other hour. 
A proper amount of exercise taken at a proper 
time strengthens the stomach, as all the other 
muscular and glandular parts of the body, and 
prepares them the better to perform the tasks 
assigned them, but exercise does not, as many 
suppose, promote the digestion and assimilation 
of the food already in the stomach. It only ex¬ 
pedites the passage of the contents of the 
stomach and bowels, and this it has a tendency 
to do, whether the nutriment is all extracted 
from it and assimilated or not. 
Let the merchant and" the professional man 
beware of taxing his stomach with the diges¬ 
tion of a full meal, while his mind, already 
wearied, is to be further tasked with the busi¬ 
ness of the day; and let the farmer and the 
mechanic, if he would make the most of his 
muscular force, nourish his body before hand, 
and repair the waste afterwards, and not tax all 
his powers to the utmost at the same time,— 
for if he does, debility of the digestive, assimi¬ 
lative or respirative organs will assuredly fol¬ 
low. p. b. s. 
FREAKS OF THE INSANE. 
Old Dr. Rush, of Philadelphia, used to relate 
a singular case of monomania in a patient in 
the Philadelphia Hospital. He took it into his 
head that he was a painter, and resolutely re¬ 
fused for a long time, though possessing fine 
organs of speech, to utter a word. The Doctor 
one day entered his apartment, and found him 
sketching on a slip of paper a really beautiful 
rose ; for he had by long practice acquired 
much skill in the art pictorial, and was very 
proud of the accomplishment. 
One day a thought struck Dr. Rush that he 
would surprise him into voice by dispraising 
his labors, and he resolved to try. 
“You are painting a very handsome cabbage 
there, my friend,” he observed to the maniac. 
“ Cabbage !—good gracious, old gentleman ! 
does that look like a cabbage ? why, sir, you 
are a fool 1 That’s a rose, and it is a good one, 
too!” 
It was not long before the patient was well. 
His train of silent thought was broken and he 
returned home. 
LAFAYETTE. 
During his encampment in the neighborhood 
of Philadelphia, Washington was repeatedly 
at that city, making himself acquainted with 
the military capabilities of the place, and its 
surrounding country, and directing the con¬ 
struction of fortifications on the river. 
In one of these visits he became acquainted 
with the young Marquis de Lafayette, who had 
recently arrived from France in company with 
a number of French, German and Polish offi¬ 
cers, among whom was Baron de Kalb. The 
Marquis was not quite twenty years of age ; he 
had already been married nearly three years to 
a lady of rank and fortune. Full of the romance 
of liberty, he had torn himself from his youth¬ 
ful bride, turned his back upon the gaieties and 
splendors of a Court, and, in defiance of im¬ 
pediments and difficulties multiplied in his 
path, had made his way to America to join its 
hazardous fortunes. 
He sent in his letters of recommendation to 
Mr. Lovell, chairman of the Committee of For¬ 
eign Affairs, and applied the next day at the 
door of Congress to know his success. Mr. 
Lovell answered, that Congress was embarrass¬ 
ed by a number of foreign applications, many 
without merit. Lafayette immediately sent in 
the following note : —“ After ray sacrifices, I 
have the right to ask two favors ; one is to serve 
at my own expense ; the other is to commence 
by serving as a volunteer.” This simple appeal 
had its effect; it called the attention to his pe¬ 
culiar case, and Congress resolved on.the 31st of 
July, that in consideration of his zeal, his il¬ 
lustrious family and connections, he should 
have the rank of Major General in the army of 
the United States. It was at a public dinner 
where a number of members of Congress were 
present, that Lafayette first saw Washington. 
He immediately knew him, he said, from the 
officers who surrounded him, by his command¬ 
ing air and person. When the party was 
breaking up, Washington took him aside, com¬ 
plimented him in a gracious manner on his dis¬ 
interested zeal and the generosity of his con¬ 
duct, and invited him to make his head-quarters 
his home. “ I cannot promise you the luxuries 
of a Court,” said he, “ but as you have become 
an American soldier, you will doubtless accom¬ 
modate yourself to the fare of an American 
army.” 
SHAKSPEARE AND DANTE. 
Shakspeare almost always implies a total 
difference in nature between one human being 
and another ; one being from the birth pure and 
affectionate, another base and cruel; and he 
displays each in its sphere as having the nature 
of dove, wolf, or lion, never much implying the 
government or change of nature by any exter¬ 
nal principle. There can be no question that 
in the main he is right in this view of human 
nature ; still, the other form of virtue does exist 
occasionally, and was never, as far as I recol¬ 
lect, taken much note of by him. And with 
this stern view of humanity Shakspeare joined 
a sorrowful view of Fate, closely resembling 
that of the ancients. He is distinguished from 
Dante eminently by bis always dwelling on 
last causes instead of first causes. Dante in¬ 
variably points to the moment of the soul’s 
choice which fixed its fate, to the instant of the 
day when it read no farther, or determined to 
give bad advice about Penestrino. But Sbak- 
"speare always leaus on the force of Fate, as it 
urges the final evil; and dwells with infinite 
bitterness on the power of the wicked, and the 
infinitude of result dependent seemingly on 
little things. A fool brings the last piece of 
news from Verona, and the dearest lives of its 
noble houses are lost; they might have been 
saved if the sacristan had not stumbled as be 
walked. Othello mislays his handkerchief, and 
there remains nothing for him but death.— 
Hamlet gets hold of the wrong foil, and the rest 
is silence. Edmund’s runner is a moment too 
late at the prison, and the feather will not move 
at Cordelia’s lips. Salisbury a moment too late 
at the tower, and Arthur lies on the stones 
dead. Goneril and Iago have on the whole in 
this world, Shakspeare sees, much of their own 
way, though they come to a bad end. It is a 
pin that Death pierces the king’s fortress’ 
walls with ; and Carelessness and Folly sit, 
sceptered and dreadful, side by side with the 
pin-armed skeleton.— Ruskin. 
ROBERT TREAT PAINE. 
Robert Treat Paine, known universally by 
a long life actively devoted to the good of his 
fellow men, was born in Boston, Massachusetts, 
in 1731, His maternal grandfather was Gov. 
Treat, of Connecticut. His father was a cler¬ 
gyman, and his mother a daughter of the Rev. 
Mr. Treat, of Barnstable county. Having 
graduated at Harvard College, for some time he 
was engaged as a teacher. After a voyage to 
Europe he studied for the ministry, and in that 
calling he attended as chaplain the military 
expedition to the north in 1755. Suqsequently 
he relinquished theology, and studying law 
with Chief Justice Pratt, was admitted to the 
bar. Removing to Taunton, be early espoused 
the popular cause. After serving in the Pro¬ 
vincial Assembly, Mr. Paine was elected, in 
1774, to the Provincial Congress of Massachu¬ 
setts. He, with two others, was deputed by 
the General Congress to visit the army of Gen. 
Schuyler in the north, for the purpose of ob¬ 
servation, which delicate commission was per¬ 
formed with entire satisfaction. Being return¬ 
ed a second time to the General Congress, he 
voted for the Declaration of Independence, and 
was one of its signers. He died in 1814, aged 
84 years. 
“PEACE BE STILL.” 
The wind is wild, the night is dark, 
The waves are raging furiously, 
And dashing ’gainst a slender bark, 
Upon the sea of Galilee: 
Strong men are there, but dumb with fear, 
The while destruction’s drawing near. 
Within the troubled bark asleep 
Lies One who rules the winds and waves ; 
They wake Hina, telling as they weep, 
How wild the tempest round them raves: 
He looks around. He hears the sound 
Of driving winds and waves that bound. 
He rises, with a look of love, 
Surveys the scene, foreboding ill ; 
Rebukes the winds ; they daie not move ; 
Unto the waves speaks, “ Peace be still 1” 
They know their Lord and at his word 
Are motionless as if ne’er stirred. 
Thus, Christian, in the voyage of life, 
When troubles your light shallop fill, 
Turn from your soul’s tumultuous strife 
To Jesus, who said, “ Peace be still 
He can control temptation’s roll 
And speak peace to your troubled soul. 
When griefs assail, when glooms oppress, 
When doubts your wavering mind enshroud, 
Seek Him who is all gentleness, 
He will dispel the tbreat’ning cloud ; 
His voice, at will, your soul can thrill, 
By Bimply speaking, “ Peace, be still.” 
Then grieve no more, bid gloom adieu, 
Dark doubts far from you put away, 
And let your bark glide swiftly through 
The voyage of Life, by night, by day ; 
Eye well the mark, in light or dark, 
Christ sleeps in every Christian’s hark. 
THE BIBLE. 
Hotv comes it that this volume, composed by 
humble men, in a rude age, when art and sci¬ 
ence were but in their childhood, has exerted 
more influence on the human mind, and on the 
social system, than all other books put together ? 
Whence comes it that this book has achieved 
such marvellous changes to the opinions of man¬ 
kind—has banished idol-worship—has abolish¬ 
ed infanticide—has put down polygamy and 
divorce ; exalted the condition of women; raised 
the standard of public morality—created lor 
families that blessed thing, a Christian home— 
and caused its other triumph by causing benev¬ 
olent institutions, (open and expensive,) to 
spring up as with the wand of enchantment ?— 
What sort of a book is this, that even the wind 
and waves of human passions obey it ? What 
other engine of social improvement has operat¬ 
ed so long, and yet lost none of its virtue ?— 
Since it appeared, many boasted plans of ame¬ 
lioration have been tried and failed—many 
codes of jurisprudence have arisen, and run 
their course and expired. Empire after empire 
has been launched on the tide of time, and gone 
down, leaving no trace on the waters. But this 
book is still going about doing good—leavening 
society with its holy principles—cheering the 
sorrowful with its consolation — strengthening 
the tempted—encouraging the penitent—calm¬ 
ing the troubled spirit—smoothing the pillow 
of death. Can such a book be the offspring of 
human genius ? Does not the vastness of its 
effects demonstrate the excellency of the pow¬ 
er to be of God ?— Dr. McCullough. 
SYMPATHY FOR THE FALLEN. 
For my part, I confess I have not the heart 
to take an offending man or woman from the 
general crowd of sinful, erring beings, and judge 
them harshly. The little I have seen of the 
world, and know of the history of mankind, 
teaches me to look upon the errors of others in 
sorrow, not anger. When I take the history of 
one poor heart that has stoned and suffered, and 
represent to myself the struggles and tempta¬ 
tions it has passed, the brief pulsation of joy, 
the feverish inquietude of hope and fear, the 
tears of regret, the feebleness of purpose, the 
pressure of want, the desertion of friends, the 
scorn of the world that has but little charity, 
the desolation of the soul’s smctuary, and the 
threatening voice within ; health gone, even 
hope, that stays longest with us, gone, I have 
little heart for aught else but thankfulness that 
it is not so with me, and would fain leave the 
erring soul of my fellow-being with Him from 
whose hands it came.— Anon. 
Faith. —Faith, according to St. Paul, is the 
means by which the whole being of the be¬ 
liever—his intellect, his heart and his will— 
enter into possession of the salvation which the 
incarnation ot the Son of God has purchased 
for him. Jesus Christ is apprehended by faith, 
and thenceforth becomes everything for man, 
and in man. He imparts a divine life for hu¬ 
man nature; and man thus renewed, disen¬ 
gaged from the power of selfishness and sin, 
has new affections, and does new works. Faith 
(says Theology in order to express these ideas) 
is the subjective appropriation of the objective 
work ot Christ. It faith is not an appropria¬ 
tion of salvation it is nothing, the whole Chris¬ 
tian economy is disturbed, the sources of new 
life are sealed up, and Christianity is overturn¬ 
ed at its base.— D'Aubigne. 
Morals of Heathenism. —Rev. Dr. Leonard, 
in a late address, said When Dr. Wade re¬ 
turned to this country the first time, I asked 
him if the heathen had any consciousness of 
sin and guilt ? He answered, yes. They knew 
it is wrong to steal and to lie, and yet they are 
constantly in the habit of doing both. He fur¬ 
ther stated—I ouce read the first epistle to tli« 
Romans to a group of Burmans, when one of 
them said, “You wrote that on purpose for us.” 
He saw his own character and that of his peo¬ 
ple, as the apostle saw aud described it. 
