66 consume the mind of an ordinary of the earth, and the glories of man,-of any man. We doubt if the heavens. The air, at the same Milton himself could have "sat out" time that it brings me the conthe reading of his own book ; or tinuance of life and health, brings rather, we have no doubt whatever all the perfumes of nature on its upon the subject. As a story," it wings. I hear the voice of friendshould not, cannot be read; for the ship, of instruction, of caution, or subject of it is above every mode of reproof, from my fellows around and power of delineation. Milton me; and although the absent or the certainly did what human ability can dead speak not to the ear, they disdo; and no follower can ever tread course most eloquently and instruchis steps. His language is builded of tively to the eye; so that I can sit mountain height and granitic strength; here at my ease, in my chamber or but alas! what are Dwalaghiri and my cottage, and possess myself of and Sarate to the height of the very the story of all nations in all ages. nearest body in the sky? And if so, I can see the means by which other who shall fling back the veil, and men have become great, good, or show us the eternal throne, even happy; and be my own sphere of life in a moment when the immortal spirit what it may, I can imitate them; for breathed from "Him who sitteth whether my days are spent in a palace, thereon," is in the very torrent flood in a hovel, or a houseless desert, I of poetic inspiration. Such books as may, if I will, be the foremost man Paradise Lost are medicines to the of my class; and happiness knows mind, not food; they are the "eu- no distinction of rank or situation. phrasy and rue" wherewith to purge Then, when I climb the hill, so as the visual nerve" when we "have to command the wide horizon, where much to see;" or they are the "three the margin fades off into the tint of drops" from "the well of life;" but after their application we must use our own eyes, otherwise there is no vision. Well, then, let us suppose that this has been done; that we have studied the passage, and caught its spirit, as far as our limited powers will admit; and so let us put aside the book, and return to the question, as personally our own. the sky, and heaven is linked to earth; when I thread the mazes of the forest, and mark the varied growth of its trees, or the curious manners of its inhabitants, now peeping at me from bushes and crannies, and now flitting from my sight I know not whither; when I follow the course of the living water, and hear the murmur of its currents, the rush of its cascades, or the rustle of its reeds "How came I thus, how here?" or its willows, as the Zephyr comes Milton makes Adam, in part, answer from its cool surface to fan and rethe question but we are not yet fresh me on a sultry day; when I quite prepared; and too ready an take the lane among the cultivated answer to a question, is next to no fields, and see the bread of thousands answer at all. "How came I thus ?" waving around me; go where I will, So formed that, though, as I see in see what I may, it is wonderful, and others, and am taught to believe of wondrously delightful! myself, I once could do nothing, I Even if night has gathered terrescan now do so many things. The sun- trial nature under the protecting cover beam, which is really nothing in itself of her "raven wing," in order that as matter, yet shows me the beauties plant and animal may be rested and we The shortest measure in this mighty system is absolute infinitude to us, in every other way than in merely giving it a name; for be it two hundred and forty thousand miles to the moon, or one hundred millions to the sun, or that distance to a star which restored for the ardours and the action really made for man; and that, in of a new day, then the "shining ones" point of importance, he stands far are displayed in the canopy of the forward, if not foremost among the sky; so that I cannot tell whether works of creation. But when the day or the night hides and reveals turn our attention to the heavens, the most to my delighted observation. even to the material heavens, our The day shows me the minute of that vanity dies within us, and we feel creation in the midst of which I am "What is man, that thou art mindful so wonderfully, so delightfully placed, of him? or the son of man that thou without purpose, effort, or even know- visitest him?" ledge on my part; but it also veils, with a curtain of light, much of the mighty and the sublime. The night pulls off this curtain, and flings it in darkness upon the minute of nature, as if for the very purpose of giving the majestic to my undisturbed contemplation; and as if, in order to no man has yet dared to name, they make this contemplation still more are all very much the same to our undisburbed and complete, the waves real understanding of them. This of nature, which were so many and so system, so mighty in its masses, so mingled during the day, are hushed countless in their number, and so into a calm repose, except some soli- immeasurable in the extent which tary sound, which comes far on the they occupy, is totally independent dewy air, as if to draw out the mind of man; and therefore he becomes for distant meditation. This is one immeasurably less in comparison of the beautiful applications of with the whole, than an oyster at "Jacob's ladder," which was men- the bottom of the sea, or an animaltally seen by that patriarch while he cula in muddy water is, in comparison slept with the stone of Haran for his with the solid rotundity of the pillow : "He dreamed, and behold a earth. ladder sat up on the earth, and the top of it reached to heaven." This is not the application, but it leads to it; and he who pursues his contemplation of this ladder long enough, and in the proper spirit, will not fail to "Behold the angels of God ascending and descending on it." It is this, therefore, this night-view of the majesty of material nature, which brings home to the feelings of men, the most learned and observant of the human race, as a question which he cannot of himself answer, the interrogatory which the poet makes the newly created parent of our race address to all nature around him :— "How came I thus, how here ?" It is true, indeed, in the contemplation of the host of heaven during the watches of the night, that we have Even if he casts back upon his own the force of the question most fully experience, let it be ever so long, it brought home to us. During the helps him not; indeed, it has this day, especially in highly cultivated singular property, (in common with and thickly inhabited places, we see conscience,) that, after it gets to a much of the effects of human labour; certain extent, it shortens as it and our observation is apt to wound lengthens, and if it is stretched to its our vanity, in supposing that the maximum, it vanishes altogether. If system of nature on the earth was he casts back upon it, he finds no be ginning, and hardly any continuity, except the feeling of mental identity, amid bodily change, which binds all the recollected parts of his experience together. But these are few and far between, like scattered points of rock, just showing themselves over a stilly flood of oblivion, and vanishing one by one under the surface, even while they are gazed upon. We must, therefore, go to the answer given by the past; but before we can feel the force of that so as to profit by it, we must know where and by what means he obtained it. SONNET. LONG time in childhood, and as age drew on, Still as I thought-for oftimes in my way, Thought would come stealing through my various mind Why should I thus, for better things designed, Deepen the terrors of the judgment day? Fearing, I saw the bitter shafts of death Scorched, the frail thread, whereon I seeming hung; Nor mine each half drawn, quivering, panting breath; Heavenward I saw the saint's immortal wreath, Heard the sweet notes that angel voices sung, Saw too the damned with conscious horror stung; Then wished the silence of some mountain heath, Where, awful presence!-I might fill his ear; So was I drawn: but now my follies o'er, IT is generally believed that the moon rises about 48 minutes later every day than on the preceding; but this is true only with regard to places on the equator. In places of considerable latitude there is a remarkable difference, especially in the harvest time, with which farmers were better acquainted than astronomers, till of late; and gratefully ascribed the early rising of the full moon at that time of the year, to the goodness of God, not doubting that he had ordered it so on purpose to give them an immediate supply of moon-light after sunset, for their greater conveniency in reaping the fruits of the earth. In this instance of the harvest-moon, as in many others discoverable by astronomy, the wisdom and beneficence of the Deity is conspicuous, who really ordered the course of the moon so as to bestow more or less light on all parts of the earth, as their several circumstances and seasons render it more or less serviceable. About the equator, where there is no variety of seasons, and the weather changes seldom, and at stated times, moonlight is not necessary for gathering in the produce of the ground; and there the moon rises about 48 minutes later every day or night than on the former. At considerable distances from the equator, where the weather and seasons are more uncertain, the autumnal full moons rise very soon after sunset for several evenings together. At the polar circles, where the mild season is of very short duration, the autumnal full moon rises at sunset from the first to the third quarter. And at the poles, where the sun is for half a year absent, the winter full moons shine constantly without setting from the first to the third quarter. The moon goes round the ecliptic in 27 days, 8 hours; but not from change to change in less than 29 days, 12 hours; so that she is in Pisces and Aries, at least once in every lunation, and in some lunations twice. If the earth had no annual motion, the sun would never appear to shift her place in the ecliptic. And then every new moon would fall in the same sign and degree of the ecliptic, and every full moon in the opposite: for the moon would go precisely round the ecliptic from change to change. So that if the moon was once full in Pisces or Aries, she would always be full when she came round to the same sign and degree again. And as the full moon rises at sunset (because when any point of the ecliptic sets, the opposite point rises) she would constantly rise within two hours of sunset, on the parallel of London, during the week in which she was full. But in the time that the moon goes round the ecliptic, from any conjunction or opposition, the earth goes almost a sign forward; and therefore the sun will seem to go as far forward in that time, namely, 27 degrees; so that the moon must go 27 degrees more than round, and as much farther as the sun advances in that interval, which is 2 degrees, before she can be in conjunction with, or opposite to, the sun again. Hence it is evident, that there can be but one conjunction or opposition of the sun and moon in a year in any particular part of the ecliptic. This may be familiarly exemplified by the hour and minute hands of a watch, which are never in conjunction or opposition in that part of the dial-plate where they were so last before. And, indeed, if we compare the 12 hours on the dial-plate to the 12 signs of the ecliptic, the hour-hand to the sun, and the minute hand to the moon, we shall have a tolerably near resemblance in miniature to the motions of our great celestial luminaries. The only difference is that whilst the sun goes once round the ecliptic, the moon makes 123 conjunctions with him, but whilst the hour-hand goes round the dial-plate, the minute-hand makes only 11 conjunctions with it; because the minute-hand moves slower in respect of the hour-hand than the moon does with regard to the sun. never observe this remarkable rising of the moon but in harvest, since she is in Pisces and Aries twelve times in the year besides; and must then rise with as little difference of time as in harvest? The answer is plain: for in winter these signs rise at noon; and being then only a quarter of a circle distant from the sun, the moon in them is in her first quarter: but when the sun is above the horizon, the moon's rising is neither regarded nor perceived. In spring these signs rise with the sun, because he is then in them; and as the moon changeth in them at that time of the year, she is quite invisible. In summer they rise about midnight; and the sun being then three signs, or a quarter of a circle before them, the moon is in them about her third quarter; when rising so late, and giving but very little light, her rising passes unobserved: and in autumn, these signs being opposite to the sun, rise when he sets; with the moon in opposition, or at the full, which makes her rising very conspicuous. At the polar circles, when the sun touches the summer tropic, he continues 24 hours above the horizon; and 24 hours below it when he touches the winter tropic. For the same reason the full moon neither rises in summer, nor sets in winter, considering her as moving in the ecliptic. For the winter full moon being as high in the ecliptic as the summer sun, must therefore continue as long above the horizon; and the summer full moon being as low in the ecliptic as the winter sun, can no more rise than he does. But these are only the two full moons which happen about the tropics, for all the others rise and set. In summer the full moons are low, and their stay is short above the horizon, when the nights are short, and we have least occasion for moon-light: in winter they go high, and stay long above the horizon, when the nights are long, and we want the greatest quantity of moon-light. At the poles, one half of the ecliptic never sets, and the other half never rises; and therefore, as the sun is always half a year in describing one half of the ecliptic, and as long in going through the other half, it is natural to imagine that the sun continues As the moon can never be full but when half-a-year together above the horizon of she is opposite to the sun, and the sun is each pole in its turn, and as long below it, never in Virgo and Libra but in our autum-rising to one pole when he sets to the other. nal months, it is plain that the moon is never This would be exactly the case if there were full in the opposite signs, Pisces and Aries, no refraction; but by the atmosphere's rebut in these two months. And therefore we fracting the sun's rays, he becomes visible can have only two full moons in the year, some days sooner, and continues some days which rise so near the time of sun-set for a longer in sight than he would otherwise do: week together, as above-mentioned. The so that he appears above the horizon of former of these is called the Harvest Moon, either pole before he has got below the horizon of the other. As the sun is above the horizon of the north pole from the 20th and the latter the Hunter's Moon. Here it will probably be asked, why we of March till the 23d of September, it is plain that the moon, when full, being opposite to the sun, must be below the horizon during that half of the year. But when the sun is in the southern half of the ecliptic, he never rises to the north pole, during which half of the year, every full moon happens in some part of the northern half of the ecliptic, which never sets. Consequently, as the polar inhabitants never see the full moon in summer, they have always in the winter, before, at, and after, the full shining for 14 of our days and nights. Thus the poles are supplied one half of the winter-time with constant moon-light in the sun's absence, and only lose sight of the moon from her third to her first quarter, while she gives but very little light, and could be but of little, and sometimes of no service to them. ANSWERS TO EXERCISE. F. H. No. VII. are designed to impart to those who search them diligently,' such knowledge as shall fit them for heaven, and make them wise for eternity; and not merely to instruct them in this world's wisdom, although, be it remembered the Holy Scriptures contain nothing contrary to the soundest reason or most correct judgment. There have been, and we fear do still exist, many sceptical reasoners, who wishing the Bible to be untrue for the same reason as the robber and midnight assassin hates the beams of the noon-day sun, and longs for the gloom of night, produce these trifling verbal inaccuracies and variations of expression, as a proof that the Scripture is not Divinely inspired. "As well might they point out the spots of the sun in order to show that he gives no light, although we have daily ocular demonstration to the contrary; or produce the small protuberances of an orange, as an argument against the roundness of its shape. "Because the accounts of the same event I. "THAT all Scripture is given by inspi- given by one apostle differs from that of anoration of God we find explicitly detailed ther in a slight degree, the entire narration in various parts of Sacred Writ, and it is is to be disbelieved! If this imaginary cora declaration which, as Christians profess-rectness is to be the standard of our belief in ing that word to be the standard of our faith and practice, we are especially bound to believe. Inspiration in its simplest and most literal sense is, the immediate communication by a superior or supernatural power, of such knowledge as is unattainable by other means. "Then follows the question proposed, In what sense are we to understand that all Scripture is of Divine Inspiration?' "I do not consider that from the assertion made in the above passage may be inferred that the Spirit of God suggested to the sacred writers every word or dictated every expression. For the careful reader will immediately discover that, from their different style and manner of communicating similar events, the conclusion may be reasonably formed that they were permitted to exercise their own particular taste and judgment as to the choice of language in the communication of inspired truth. "But I believe it to imply clearly and distinctly, that although left to the choice of words wherewith to express them, they were preserved from error in the ideas and sentiments conveyed; and that, under the immediate guidance of the Holy Spirit, they were preserved from stating any thing contrary to the will of God. "Nor do I think philosophical exactness or grammatical precision to have been either expected or required; for the sacred writings every historical event, the whole catalogue of heroes, poets, and sages may be blotted out; and the warlike achievements, the scientific attainments, and, in short, every thing connected with the history of past ages, vanish from the page of literature, henceforth to be considered as mere phantoms of an overstrained imagination, to be believed only by the ignorant and credulous, and unworthy the credence of men with any pretensions to sense, judgment, or discrimination. 66 Leaving the wise man to glory in his wisdom,' let us earnestly desire that wisdom which cometh from above; and while these unhappy wranglers are contending for the shadow, may it be our privilege to enjoy the substance. For we know, that although in the comparison of the original copies with those now extant, a trifling variation may be found, such as the omission or addition of a letter, or transposition of a word, yet the doctrinal integrity and purity of the Scripture remains as strictly exact as the most rigid critic could require."—J. C. W. II. "In perusing the word of God, we find that the sacred writers, when speaking of their inspiration, whether given them for the purpose of verbal or written communication to their fellow-men, always refer it to one and the same source, the agency of God, the Holy Spirit. See Matt. xxii. 43; Acts i. 16; xv. 28; xxi. 4, 11; 1 Cor. xii. 4-11; Heb. iii. 7; x. 15; 2 Peter, i. 21; |