may be easily carried out by a well-disposed person raised above abject 10verty.-Mr. Combe adduces the case of the Tron Church Parish as a district which illustrates the inefficacy of theological teaching,-which would seem constituted after the model of that state into which the fall brought man. It may be replied, and that successfully we think, that while members of this unhappy population have never been brought under the ordinances of religion, they are daily made to feel the evil of violating those laws of nature to which he attaches so much importance. After the experience of suffering, they still cling to the vice which produces poignant woe. Personal feeling, which expresses the laws of health, is habitually disregarded. A thorough change, a change to be depended upon, can only be brought about by the sovereign power of religion. As regards mere knowledge of the laws of nature in the case of the arts, we believe that many of the depraved males of the Tron Church Parish are adepts at this species of learning.-We may, however, take up this subject at another time, and shall defer further remarks till an opportunity of ampler discussion arrives.

A Book of Devotions and Sermons, designed chiefly for the use of Mariners. By the Rev. GEORGE MACDONNEL, Bathurst, New Brunswick. Armour & Ramsay, Montreal; Oliver & Boyd, Edinburgh.

So far as we are aware, the present volume is unique. A work of a similar cast, adapted for our countrymen in distant settlements, and for the use, on shipboard, of that large and interesting class whose vocation is upon the great waters, was much wanted. In many of even our ships of war there is, we believe, no chaplain: while in the merchant service, it too commonly happens that there is no one able or willing to conduct divine service at sea. Either for this important purpose, or as a Manual for private reading and devotion, this little work may be strongly recommended. It contains private devotional exercises for each day of the month, besides a set of Sabbath services, consisting of prayers, portions of Scripture and psalms, indicated and arranged; together with a series of discourses, which, from their suitableness and simplicity of expression, are well adapted to interest and edify the class for whom, more especially, they are designed.

The author is a colonial minister, connected with the Church of Scotland, whom the readers of this volume will find to be a safe guide, deeply interested in promoting their spiritual interests.

Several of the discourses are appropriately devoted to an elucidation and improvement of the history of Jonah. We give from this part of the work the following short specimen of the author's manner. Noticing the tempest which arose after Jonah had embarked, the fear of the mariners, and the "casting of the wares into the sea," the preacher goes on to remark as follows:

"Where now was the prophet? What had become of the passenger during all the crying to heaven, and the strenuous exertions of the terrorstruck crew of the ship? Alas! the exile who had chosen expatriation, association with idolaters, and to flee from the presence of the Lord,'-the guilty cause of all the danger, alarm, and suffering that had overtaken the ship of Tarshish-is least of all alive to the peril and awful solemnity of the circumstances into which his sin in particular had brought both himself and his companions. Overcome and exhausted with fatigue, anxiety, and excitement, the fugitive is altogether unconscious of the storm. That most extraordinary tempest had told upon the most experienced and courageous of the seamen. It had naturally and with propriety, as well as in accord

6

ance with their wonted notions, suggested to the minds of these simple and serious heathens, the idea of the divine wrath and displeasure. But Jonah was gone down into the sides of the ship; and he lay, and was fast asleep.' "What an emblem have we here of the sinner dead in trespasses and sins! Neither the love of Christ and his tender beseechings, nor the terror of the Lord,' can persuade or prevail with such a sinner. No, not though such words of awful truth are sounded in his ears, as Awake, thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light. The wicked are estranged from the womb, they go astray as soon as they be born, speaking lies. Their poison is like the poison of a serpent; they are like the deaf adder, that stoppeth his ear, which will not hearken to the voice of charmers, charming never so wisely.' In vain, as respects such, are any of their fellow-passengers on life's tempestuous and troubled sea alarmed for their sin and danger; in vain are they warned on the one hand and besought on the other, to flee from the wrath to come; in vain the voice of conscience, the word of God, and the instructive occurrences of life with which they are connected, unite in proclaiming the solemn necessity that exists for turning to the Lord, and seeking safety in harmony with Him through union with the Son of his love. The trump of the AImighty may have sounded, and the dead in Christ been raised; but not till the voice speaks, which the doubly dead shall hear, will many, many such awake to the dread reality of their ruined and helpless condition. Not till the sentence of final and irretrievable condemnation is pronounced upon them by that Judge, whom, when offered to them as a Saviour, they had impiously rejected, will they believe. They will then, like the devils, 'believe and tremble.'

The Mother's Catechism, Doctrinal and Historical. Designed for the School and Family. By the late Rev. JAMES OLIPHANT, A.M. Edinburgh: W. Whyte & Co.

This is an admirable compendium of Christian doctrine, clear, connected, and full,—not only well fitted for the instruction of the young, but which may be studied with advantage by those more advanced in life. The work was originally compiled by the Rev. James Oliphant of Kilmarnock, and has gone through twenty editions. The present edition has undergone a thorough revisal, in which the language has been freed from antiquated modes of expression, and much new matter added. The historical part, especially, has been considerably enlarged, and divided into periods, embracing the whole range of scripture history, rendering the great facts not only easy of comprehension, but memorable as to the order of their succession. We know of no better sequel to the Shorter Catechism than this work, and can recommend it as not only most suitable for the school and the family, but particularly so for classes of young communicants, and with this view worthy of the attention of ministers of the gospel.

Original Poetry.

MODERN ÆSOP.

FABLE IT.

THE BELLY AND THE LIMBS.

It once happened that the members of the human body, taking some exception at the conduct of the Belly, resolved no longer to grant him the

usual supplies. The Tongue first, in a seditious speech, aggravated their grievances; and after highly extolling the activity and diligence of the Hands and Feet, set forth how hard and unreasonable it was that the fruits of their labour should be squandered away upon the insatiable cravings of a fat and indolent Paunch, which was entirely useless, and unable to do anything towards helping himself. This speech was received with unanimous applause by all the members. Immediately the Hands declared they would work no more; the Feet determined to carry no farther the load of guts with which they had been hitherto oppressed; nay, the very Teeth refused to prepare a single morsel more for his use. In this distress, the Belly besought them to consider maturely, and not foment so senseless a rebellion. "There is none of you," says he, “ can be ignorant, that whatsoever you bestow upon me is immediately converted to your use, and dispersed by me for the good of you all into every limb." But he remonstrated in vain; for during the clamours of passion the voice of reason is always disregarded. It being, therefore, impossible for him to quiet the tumult, he starved for want of their assistance, and the body wasted away to a skeleton. The Limbs, grown weak and languid, were sensible at last of their error, and would fain have returned to their respective duties; but it was now too late: death had taken possession of the whole, and they all perished together.

DEEP in an easy chair a portly Paunch,

Well stuffed with turbot and the lordly haunch,
Not to forget the pinion of a snipe,

A quart of claret and a genial pipe,

A plate of filberts, and the "daily news,"
Wearied at length, sunk calmly to a snooze.

While there, at peace, the sleeping beauty seems,
And hunts rare dinners through the land of dreams,
Dear reader! fill your glass, and hear from me
A word or two of Paunch's pedigree.

Time was, when vacant, hungry, lank, and lean,
That goodly size in savage lands was seen.
A crooked bow his sinewy fingers bore;
Red from the chase, with ivory fangs he tore
His half-warmed food, or pitched the gobbets raw
Down the dark trap-door of his ravenous maw.
One luckless day, the creature's favourite dog,
To guard his hut, lay fastened to a log.
Home from the chase the hungry savage hies,
Nor sheltering hut nor watching dog he spies;
But smouldering ashes blackening on the ground,
And roasted carcase of his hapless hound.
A learned sage, well skill'd in all dissection,
Says taste and smell are born in close connection;
So thought the savage, when an odour sweet
As new-mown hay in summer's sultry heat,
Rose from the carcase of his well-cooked hound,
And lapped his charmed senses round and round.
Taste soon demonstrated how wise and well
The rich, the rare report of Brother Smell;
And, just to prove his neighbour in the right,
Left not of that poor dog a single bite.

No end from this of huts by fire consumed,
And faithful dogs in fiery graves entombed.

One thing alone subdued the power of cheer,-
'Twas monstrous troublesome and monstrous dear.
A week it took to rear a decent hut,

And dogs were scarce--but all things have their "but."
Yet what will love of luxury design?

Up comes the iron from the stubborn mine,
The bellows pant, the furious furnace toils,
And cunning labour tortures nature's spoils.
The brick is baked, the needful coal is found,
Deep in the entrails of the miser ground;-
With cheerful fires the glorious oven shines,
And the rude savage like a signor dines.
No respite now, to wood, or fire, or cook;
To butcher's knife or fisher's luring hook;
To bird of air, or fish, or beast of field—
They cry 'tis sad, but hunger's heart is steel'd.
There fry and boil the once disporting fish—
Here fragrant woodcocks make a tender dish-
There hiss the steaks-here simmers savoury hash—
And yonder calipee and calipash-

The fat goose liver and the peacock's tongue-
And hundred sauces neither said nor sung;-

The gaping oyster from the rifled deep,

No longer Ocean can its secrets keep ;

And then the grape to wash the viands down,

Once blushing by some French or Rhenish town-
Once richly pendant o'er Italia's plain,

Or hoarding liquid gold in thee, fair Spain!
Or purpling deep on famed Oporto's land,
Or bearing fire on Sicily's wild strand;
Not to forget full many a pithy dram
Of Curaçoa, or Brandy, or Schiedam-
Or, better still, the generous mountain-dew,
That, like a juggler, makes one candle two:

These were the things that sleeked the savage bare,
And built the Paunch in yonder easy chair.

By this the Paunch from his siesta woke,
Gan his fair sides contentedly to stroke;
And glancing gaily round the cheerful walls,
For evening toast and cup of sack he calls.
But wicked Balaam ne'er did stare and quake
In half the panic when his donkey spake,

As stared and quaked our portly friend the Paunch,
When the glib Tongue, so loyal once and staunch,

The sack refused, and in seditious speech

Excused himself and comrades for their breach.
Said he "Sir Glutton, lubberly and large,

Too long we've pampered thee, a cumbrous charge;
Too long the ready Hands, the active Feet,
Have carried thee portentous loads of meat;
As for the Teeth, industrious, aching still,
Sadly degraded to a monster mill,

No more for thy amusement shall they grind,
Thou blown-up bag of laziness and wind!"

At this the Feet commenced applausive din-
The ivory Teeth commended with a grin-
The joyful Hands increased the loud uproar,
Then calling silence thus distinctly swore :-
"May we before the hangman's cleaver fall,
Or add to Science in the Surgeons' Hall,

If more to thee, Sir Paunch, we haste to carry
Piquant ragout, or can of warm canary—
Truffle or toast, or plate, or knife, or fork,
Or spread a table-cloth, or draw a cork :-
Find other vassals mean enough to drudge."

"Hear!" cried the Feet-the Belly answered "Fudge!" "Just list to reason, ye rebellious crew!

Pray, tell me, have I asked the Teeth to chew,
The Feet to carry, or the hands to bear,
Without according each his lawful share?
Does stinging gout the active Feet invade?
The Hands are daintily as damsel's made;
As for the Teeth, my fair repute I stake,
They ne'er, by me, have felt a single ache;
Even as the stars around the day-god run,
You are my satellites, and I your sun;

Through me you're strong-desert me, and you're lost,
So off, ye rebels-bring my sack and toast."

But not a step the stubborn Feet would budge,
Stung by the sound of that contemptuous "Fudge."
Deep in the pockets plunged the sullen Paws,
And the white Teeth grinned mischievous applause.
But mark the end-ye Chartists! mark it well-
Soon o'er the members ghastly sickness fell;
The abandoned Paunch, like bag-pipe seldom blown,
Shrunk and collapsed, with many a piteous groan.
Nor he alone, poor soul! so sadly fared-

The members all their monarch's trouble shared.
Shrunk were the Feet, and bony, like a claw
Of famished eagle, or a starved bear's paw;
The Knees no more the fabric could maintain,
And on the Hands you counted every vein;
The chest rang hollow, as each chest must ring,
When all unplenished by a single thing;
Against the ribs the heart began to knock,
Much like the pendule of a worn-out clock;
Like autumn leaves the hairs fell from the brow,
And scarce a ragged tooth can chatter now;
Like empty purse the lips henceforth must lie,
On the once healthy cheek the roses die,
And, as the waves run rippling o'er their bed,
Each passing hour writes wrinkles on the head;
The eye may read on that fast-crumbling urn,
"Poor dust thou art, and unto dust return!"

Too late the Hands, repentant, seek to bear
To the weak Paunch their long-accustomed share;
Too late the sorrowing Limbs their error see-
Too late, alas! the few last Tusks agree.