A Hayden fills our galleries with pictures, and dies maddened by neglect. A Hudson fills our pockets with money, and receives twenty thousand pounds as a thank offering. "Serve God and get on in the world," is the Christian father's counsel to his son. "Be virtuous my child, and seek a man of character and property for your husband," is the mother's to her daughter. A Christian must indeed give somewhat of his abundance to the poor, yet by no means so much as to inconvenience himself or prevent him from accumulating. He who should be singular enough to give away the whole of his possessions, might be very sincere, and probably very religious, but at all events he must be very silly as well. No doubt there is high authority for all this. Is it not written, for example, "the poor ye have always with you?" and who shall dare to bring discredit upon prophecy by trying to make it otherwise? Do we not also read, "To him that hath shall be given, and from him that hath not shall be taken away, even that which he hath ?" Clearly we are only observing this law of Providence when we sell up a bankrupt and give money to a railway king. There cannot be a doubt but we are a Scriptural people, and the religion of the nineteenth cen tury is the Christianity of Peter and of Paul. But we would not even appear to jest. We give no judgment in this matter we are stating facts; it is for others to interpret them. If the world is right it is well; but, if the world is wrong, it is an awful error. The question is not whether a rich man can be a Christian. We place it in a false light when we state it so. The question is, whether a Christian can be a rich man-whether, with the true spirit of Christ within him, it is possible either to accumulate riches for himself, or retain them if bestowed by others. We tell ourselves indeed that our wealth is, of necessity, a blessing, even to those who do not share it. We point to the labourers employed, the works accomplished, the society upheld by it, and we speak the truth. But is it truly for this end that we have toiled and saved? and, if otherwise, shall we dare to plead as our moral justification the good we have done unwittingly-by accident, as far as our own souls are concerned? Do we not know that we are powerless to do anything whatever which God does not turn to some good purpose or other? Was not the very murder of Christ the salvation of the world? Let us beware what we say, and to whom we are saying it.— The Great God of Nature is not to be thwarted in his purposes by such worms as we. He has made even our sins as much the servants of his mercy as our loftiest virtues. We are his instruments of good even without our will, as against our will; but it is for that will, which is our own, not for its consequences, which are His, that he will approve us or condemns us. This is the important, the vital part of the matter. The rest may be speculation. We are left to guess the nature of the "accident" by which Mr. Anthony Lugivardine got into the world again by getting out of it. The book leaves off abruptly with the premature death and burial of his companion by the Fountain of Arethusa. There is a most felicitous air of reality about the whole, prodigious as is the fiction, and the author very valiantly defies his readers to disprove anything he has told them; a tolerably safe defiance, if we except the rather awkward dilemma of a stream running right through the crust of the earth, of course by the power of gravitation tending towards the circumference. We need scarcely add that the reader may spend some hours of profitable pleasure with Mr. Anthony Lugivardine and Mr. Bartholomew Horncastle, in these inner regions of rainbow light, and children nineteen hundred years old. LEAVES FROM A LOG BOOK. (Continued from page 125.) CHAPTER II.-FRIDAY, 4TH MARCH, 1842. "The clank of chains, the windlass' click, click, click, Commands." -SHAKESPERE. FOR Some time before I awoke this morning, these sounds broke on my ear. And when I did awake, it was some time before I could distinguish whether they were the sounds of reality or of a dream. But just at this juncture of uncertainty, the point was decided by Jerry entering the state room, when he patted me on the shoulder, and said, “ Mr. Takimaff, are ye no gaun a rise to take the last sicht o' Leith ?" So I arose, and by the time I was dressed and on deck, the anchor was weighed, and we were bearing away in a north-easterly direction, across the firth, towards Inchkeith. It was as dull and cauldriff a morning as one could look upon. The wind blew chilly from the west, and brought with it a heavy splatter of sleet and rain. We could just see Leith through a bleak-looking haze, and all was haze around us; there was not an opening in the sky to cheer our hopes of a better day. There was also another circumstance which threw a dampness over our hearts, and harmonized exactly with the nature of the morning. This was the death of the Admiral, who was found dead in his crib after the ship had weighed anchor. No certain accounts could be ascertained as to the cause of his demise; and our curiosity was drowned in the depth of our sorrow, which was so great that we had not the heart to raise even a conjecture on the melancholy occasion. And seeing that he was irrecoverably "dead, dead, dead," our only thought now was to pay the honours that were due to his exalted remains. We therefore, after a lengthy consultation on the subject, deemed it but proper that, before proceeding on our sea voyage, we should see him honorably committed to his last resting-place in that element over which, in his life-time, he held so distinguished sway. The ship was therefore "hove to," and the colours half hoisted for the occasion. The Admiral was brought on deck in full state, and Jeremiah performed the painful duty of attaching a weight to the body, while I was employed in getting a monument prepared. This last mark of our esteem consisted of a clear glass bottle around the inside of which was pasted the following inscription, so that it might be seen shining through the glass, and at the same time be free from the destructive action of the waves. The one end of a long cord being attached to the neck of the bottle, and the other end to the feet of the Admiral, the body was solemnly dropped into the bosom of the mighty deep, when it sunk slowly to the bottom, leaving the bottle float ing on the top: INSCRIPTION. A' ye wha come this watery way, That free frae a' his earthly pains, He was nae common hamebred cock, The captain coft him when a chicken, Whilk he tauld by his strain; An' whan he cam' to man's estate, 'Twas seen he was the better sort. There's mony a story droll an' queer An' that he dee'd a naitril death, Ye haddocks, herrin', flukes an' cod, Sae keep within yer shell. Ye monsters o' the briny deep, But rather blear yer een an' weep, After being subjected to a variety of rainy squalls, an opening broke out in the sky, and by the time we came as far as Anstruther, the sun burst forth in all his noon-day effulgence, dispersing the vapours that had us. hitherto thrown a chilliness over our spirits, and confined us, as it were, into a prison of mist. We could now see above, below, and all around Our spirits, which before were pressed down as if a load had been upon them, now felt relieved, and bounded upwards " in glory and in joy," as if they were things of a higher world. Such is the effect that the weather has on the mind. I have heard of people whose hair stood on end at the approach of a thunder storm, this effect on the hair being caused by the electricity in the atmosphere, and not at all connected with fear in the mind, which also causes the hair to stand on end at times. These people, however, must be very susceptible of impressions, and must have finer nerves than the generality of our race. But surely there can be no body so very dull as not, on a change of weather, to feel some difference in their minds, at least, if not in their bodies. On a warm summer's day, when the blue sky above is spotless, all save a few white flaky clouds sailing across the azure, like fair spirits winging their way to heaven; when the boundless ocean is spread out before us, and only ruffled by a gentle breeze, while the joyous wavelets dance sparkling in the sun's broad beam, and a snowy sail is seen to come, spectre-like, o'er the ocean's distant rim, staying for a moment and vanishing again, we know not how, we know not where," who is there that can look unmoved upon the scene? Or, perchance, we may be pent up within doors, engaged in some sedentary employment, in which we take delight in dowie, dreary days, when the sun bursts in upon us, dazzling o'er our eyelids, and playing softly o'er our hands; we look abroad and see the beauteous day, when all that is beautiful in nature comes rushing o'er the soul; our in-door employments sicken, and we long to be out in the fields or the woods, inhaling the fresh air of the country, which seems to bring a new spirit within us; we forget our cares and our sorrows, feast our eyes and ears on the rural sights and sounds that, at every step, burst upon us, and give ourselves up entirely to present enjoyment-so fascinating, to some minds at least, are the beauties of the country. And the best of this. enjoyment is, that it leaves no string behind. It is so pure and harmless, that we cannot but think it is refreshing to the soul; it softens down all rancours that may trouble us, and makes us at peace with mankind, and with ourselves; we are delighted to think that we have a source of enjoyment of which no one can rob us. And this faculty seems to have been implanted in our nature for some higher purpose than sensual enjoyment merely; for when our soul is in this exalted state, and our heart overflowing with love and gratitude, we are naturally led, beyond ourselves, to look up to some incomprehensible Power that, we feel, must have been the cause of this harmony which exists between our minds and the beauties of nature. To be in this state of mind is, in fact, to give up praise and adoration to the Supreme Being; and I am sure no one can praise Him more from the heart than he who does it in this way: "He prayeth best who loveth best All things, both great and small; The opposite state of the weather has also its effects on the mind. On cold, bleak, wintry days, when the rain and sleet are battering on the windows, the wind sweeping by the doors with an eerie sough, and all is chill and cheerless without, we draw near the fire, a glow of comfort pervades the whole system, our hearts warm towards each other, and our very looks seems to express our gladness that we have a house and hold to shelter us from "the peltings of the pitiless storm." We delight in listening to the storm as it howls without; and the wild rapture that it wakes in our breasts is felt the better, because we naturally contrast the turmoil that rages without with the comfort and safety that reign within. But we have not always a couthie home and a comfort. able fireside to sit down by on such days as this; and in this case we feel differently-just such as we felt to-day ere the sun burst from his cloudy canopy and smiled upon us. But We were now a good way past the east nook of Fife, and were bearing away in a north-easterly direction, and we were now feeling the swell of the sea, which is generally pretty heavy here, when Jerry announced that dinner was on the table. We went down to the cabin; but I had not well supped a plate-full of kail when I began to feel a sensation which seemed to forebode that I would not derive much good from it. Being, therefore, apprehensive that I would be under the necessity of" throwing my kail upon the waters," I came upon deck for that purpose. no sooner was I on deck than to my great joy and surprise, the ominous sensation went away, and was immediately succeeded by another; this other being no less than a desire for a potatoe. This desire I communicated to Jerry, who brought up a fine large mealy one, which I ate and relished with unbounded pleasure. And it seemed that it liked me as well as I liked it; for it never showed the least inclination to leave This, however, may be accounted for by my remaining on deck, which is by far the best place when a person is in danger of getting me. sick. We were now come to that point of the compass from which we might see Dundee; and we hoisted our private signal, so that the folks of Dundee might know who we were if they chanced to see us. I took a peep through the spy-glass; but a cloud of smoke was over the poor auld toon, and I could not see it. On ascending the mast I could see the Law looking over the cloud, but not a vestige of the town was to be seen. But Dundee and the Tay were soon closed from our view; and on looking in their direction, the coast seemed one unbroken line, as if there were no river there at all. We could now see the Bell Rock on one hand, and on the other Arbroath, which basked beautifully in the afternoon's sun. It was a pleasure, and yet it was a pain, to be on the deck, and look along the coast as we glided slowly onwards, each of us seeming to breathe a silent farewell to our native land, as every moment a part of it vanished from our view. A number of sea mews were continually following the ship, and. hovering most gracefully around the stern. They are beautiful birds when one looks close to them-so fair, so mild, so innocent-like, and so gentle in their motions. We could almost fancy they came to bid us adieu; for their wings seemed to wave farewell. I was watching the motions of these birds as they hung in the air, and looked down upon us with their beautiful black piercing eyes, when Mr. Kerr came on deck with his gun and shot one. The poor bird was only wounded; but it fell, and could not rise again; and it was really a melancholy sight to see it sitting on the waves and looking B |