sider it as a miracle, and speak of it as a commón natural event. But when the sick are healed, the blind restored to sight, and the dead recalled to life by a word, we then see the immediate agency of God in the act, and are sensible of its miraculous nature.

When the esteemed writer of the essay under consideration says, that God always acts according to laws, I am not sure that I correctly seize his meaning. If it be that there is any law, (other than the law of universal benevolence) which is antecedent to God's agency, I doubt the correctness of the maxim. It is true, that that agency in nature is in a great measure uniform and stable; and this is absolutely necessary to our preservation. If we could not depend on the cohésion of matter, the regular return of the seasons, and the reproduc tions of the earth, we could neither build, form tools and implements, nor make any provision for the future; and the human race would perish at once. But in regard to all these, it is to the divine agency itself that men have applied the term laws, and not to any thing antecedent to it. If it mean that the Deity constantly acts through second causes, the maxim requires to be limited. The agency by which organic matter: is kept in existence, or by which active powers are communi. cated to it, appears to me to be direct, and without the intervention of any second cause.

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I have dwelt thus long on the first point, because that pears to me the important one. As to the second, there are several passages in the New Testament which appear to favor the idea, that to the working of a miracle, faith in the party on whom it is to be wrought is a pre-requisite; and yet there are other passages which militate with this position. The centurion's servant, mentioned Matt. viii.; the daughter of the Syro-phenician woman, mentioned Matt. xv.; and the ruler's son, John iv., were all healed instantaneously by the word of Jesus, though he was at a distance, (and from the latter at a distance of several miles,) at the time they were cured; and there is nothing in the narrative which can lead us to believe that they were at all aware of the application which was made to our Saviour on their behalf. The daughter of Jairus, Matt. ix., the son of the widow of Nain, Luke vii., and Lazarus, John. xi., were raised from the dead by a word, and we have no evidence that the departed spirit is cognizant to what passes; near the body. Elymas, who was punished with temporary blindness, Acts xiii., was certainly not a believer, and the miraculous multiplication of the loaves, Matt. xiv., and the blasting of the fig tree, Matt. xxi., were performed on inanimate

matter. It would appear from all these, that faith in the party operated upon, is not, in all cases, a pré-requisite to the working of a miracle.

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On the third point I shall say but a few words. The writer of the essay admits that the miracles of our Saviour were wrought as evidence of the truth of his religion. He merely thinks that this was not their primary object. The impression which the study of the scripture has made on my mind is, that the miracles were wrought to establish the truth of the religion, and that then the religion, thus established, became the means of creating in sinners the inward life of holiness. It appears to me that in the passages recorded John v. 36, John x. 25, 37, and 38, John xiv. 2, and in other places, our Saviour expressly appeals to his miracles as evidence of the truth of his mission.

Such are the reflections which suggested themselves to my mind by the reading of the article in the Messenger. The idea of the all-pervading providence of God is dear to me, and one on which I love to dwell. It enables me to realise, in some measure, that I am constantly in the presence of my God, and makes me feel, that I too am, at every moment, the object of a Father's care. //

H.

4

THE LAST MOMENTS OF MANKIND

Historical Illustrations of the Passions, and their Influence on the Conduct of Man, with some Subordinate Sketches of Human Nature and Human Life. (Attributed to Sir Humphrey Davy.) In two vols, London.

ཏཏི ན

This is a very curious book. It is probably attributed to the right author. It bears the marks of Sir Humphrey Davy's peculiar style. The book appears like the metaphysical lucubrations of a chemist; and although it savors little of the mysticism of Davy's Consolations in Travel, it is written in the same barbarous English the same chemico-spiritual style. It has little pretensions to being coosidered a metaphysical or philosophical work. As its title implies, it aims rather to give historical illustrations of the influence of the passions, than a philosophical analysis of their naturele #d

His view of human nature is the same as that which our age inclines to. He treats the passions and moral affections, as having their origin in instinctive faculties, and not as being altogether factitious, and the creatures of habit or association. If asked to classify him, we would call him a spiritualist; although his ideas are not very clearly defined. ›

He writes with much faith in man's better capacities, and with deep reverence for virtue. He portrays the vices of mankind with seeming regret, and speaks glowingly whenever he is the recorder of any trait of manly honor or gentle affection. He trusts in the eternal life, but more in the spirit of Cicero than of Jesus. But our purpose is not to give a review of his work, but merely to glance at a subject treated in the last chapter a subject which the last chapter of our own lives must clothe with solemn import.

The Last Moments of Mankind. All are at some time led to question, what their own last hours will be, and to look with interest on the great subject of death. Imagination not seldom conjures up a vision of the parting scene. The mind asks, shall we die among our kindred, shall the hand of affection close our eyes in the last sleep? Or shall we meet the king of terrors in some far off land, and no friend be near to sooth the parting spirit, and receive the last requests? Shall our departure be in youth or in age-by some gentle disease, or some fearful accident-shall our spirit be ready to meet the last messenger with Christian faith, or shall we cling fondly to the world, and rebelling against the Heavenly Father's decree be torn away from this mortal tabernacle. Such questions arise, and fancy from her pictured urn draws forth a reply to each..!

The first thought that occurs upon contemplating the last moments of mankind, relates to the pain of body suffered. We have good cause to believe, that death does not bring near so much physical suffering as is commonly supposed. Much of that convulsive struggle that is taken as the mark of mortal anguish, is merely mechanical and little if any felt by the conscious mind. The seeming agony continues even after conscious life is known to be extinct. The remarks of the celebrated William Hunter, the physician, who had been present at so many death beds, would apply to many cases beside his own." If I had strength to hold a pen, I would write how easy and pleasant a thing it is to die." Seneca tells of Tullus Marcellinus, that he slowly weakened away, not without some sensation of pleasure, such he said, as is sometimes felt in swooning. The experience of persons who have been restored to life, after the agony of drowning, or freezing, justifies a similar idea.

The second thought, that the death scenes of mankind inspire, is, that death generally shows the real character. The ruling passsion is strong in death!

Soldiers have ever gloried in showing heroism in death. When a stone from the hand of a woman struck Abimelech's skull as he was assaulting a tower, "he called hastily unto the young man, his armor bearer, and said unto him, draw thy sword and slay me, that men may not say of me, ‘a woman slew him.'"

Alexander the Great, on being seized with a dangerous disease, when in quest of victory and fame, was deeply mortified, lesthe should die an obscure and ignoble death in his tent." A Danish monarch finding inevitable fate approach, the day after having been wounded in battle, ordered himself to be carried out that he might expire among his troops; for he also dreaded dying in his tent obscurely, and thus leaving a veil over his reputation. We read of Siward, an ancient Northumbrian chief, who appears to have been yet more sensible of equivocal celebrity from a private death, when true renown might have been purchased by a public one: for he cried aloud in the extremity of his distemper, as the ancient record declares; "0 the shame of not having died in so many battles! Clothe me in mail, gird on my sword, and put an axe in my right hand, that as one of the boldest, I may die as a soldier, for thus it becomes a soldier to die." His command being obeyed, he expired.

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Descending to more modern times, at the battle of Lutzen, where Gustavus I. of Sweden, led his army in person, he valorously charged the enemy "with hand and voice, though thrice shot, sustained the fight, doing alike the duty of a soldier and a king, till with the loss of his own life, he did restore the victory to his eternal credit: he died standing, serving the public, for God and his religion."

The death of men in exalted stations, such as nobles and statesmen, almost always displays much courage and dignity, at least to the eyes of spectators. The dignity, that has been the habit of their life is not laid aside, even at the last hour. With what dignity did Charles I. meet his fate. How beautiful were even the bloody deaths of Marie Antonette, Lady Jane Grey, Mary Queen of Scots. Womanly delicacy, pride of station, and we trust, Christian faith, conspired to make the deaths of these illustrious personages so calm and resigned.

Yet many a time the monarch's pride and dignity has fled away at the approach of the king of terrors. "Ah, what avails the pomp and splendor surrounding me," cried the unfortunate Gustavus III. to his physician when despairing of safety; "willingly would I exchange conditions with the

poorest healthy young cottager in Sweden. Say, can you not procure me by your art a short respite? Can nothing arrest the blow for three short days. I have, alas, some painful matters to arrange." But the hand of destiny was irreversibly upon him. "Wa, Wa," shouted the wild, iron framed Clovis, barbarian founder of the French Monarchy. "What a mighty king this death must be, that he can thus take away the strength of so mighty a warrior as I."

No monarch's death bed was ever more pitiable that of Louis XV., so powerfully portrayed in Carlyle's French Revolution. The monarch, who forbade his courtiers mentioning the subject, and who forbade that the royal chariot should ever be driven near a burial ground, could find no escape from the common lot, and shared the fate of the meanest peasant whom he had oppressed.

The French Revolution, and especially Carlyle's record of its horrors, affords amplest opportunity for the meditations of him who would speculate upon the condition of mankind in their last moments. Here were men and women of all ranks, fortunes and characters. Princes, Statesmen, Soldiers, Priests, Peasants-philosophic and unlettered-infidels and believers -the virtuous wife and the profligate courtesan-all led away to death, in such manner, as to afford the world full opportunity to see their exit, and know in what manner they left this life. Now the Nuns of a convent are borne on the fatal tumbrel, and serene as angels pass to the guillotine, singing the hymn to the virgin, that had cheered so many lonely hours in their cells, and one by one the voices cease until at last the voice of the Abbess alone was heard, and then all was hushed. Now come a party of fanatic Infidels, whose power had been crushed by a mightier party: they pass through the streets, madly jesting, and singing, until their mocking lips are forever sealed. Now comes a self-possessed philosopher, calmly meditating upon the event which he is about to meet-scorning alike all coward fear and Christian faith-owning no God but nature, and denying that he shudders, save with cold. And again comes the wretched Robespierre on the fatal cart-a few days since the idol of the people, and master of life and death, marching in silk and gold at the head of the potentates of his nation and now the scorn and jest of all beholders, his face bloody and disfigured-his jaw horribly broken by his attempt at suicide-the most abject of all beings, a fallen demagogue, given up to the vengeance of the people whom he has cheated. And thus onward through countless horrors.