you persevere in the divine life, even unto the end. It would be better for you "never to have known the way of life, than, having known it, to turn from the holy commandment delivered unto you" better to perish in Sodom, than to stand a pillar of salt in the desert: better not to arrive at heaven's gate, than to perish at the threshold.

INSURANCE*.

IN the summer of the second year of my residence we were visited by a long and severe drought. Many of the springs and wells were dried up, and so were several rivulets which

never had been known to fail before. In some

settlements the inhabitants suffered much from want of water. In one, which was within a few miles of me, they had to drive their cattle several miles for this necessary of life, until they had deepened their wells or dug new ones. The depth to which the influence of the drought extended was very surprising. I had a well, forty-two feet deep, which was quite dry; and I had to sink it six feet lower before I recovered the water. But these annoyances were mere trifles compared with a great calamity which befell our own settlement in consequence of it. Every thing was so dry, that people were careful not to set fire to the woods. One settler, however, who had a slash which he was very anxious to burn, imprudently set fire to it. But it was more easily lighted than extinguished; for, to the terror and dismay of the inhabitants, who all hurried to the spot the instant they saw the smoke rolling upwards in heavy black masses, it did not stop when its intended work was done, but literally ran along the ground, extending its ravages far and wide. At length it reached a farm-yard, when the barn and other outbuildings immediately caught fire and were consumed. They were all built of wood, and as dry as tinder. In spite of the united efforts of the whole settlement to stop it or turn it aside, the fire reached the dwelling-house hard by. Here it blazed up with renewed vigour. This house was hardly half consumed when the cry of "Fire!" was heard from the affrighted occupants of the next farm-house, which met with a similar fate, and then the next, and the next. In short, nothing could stay its fury. It destroyed every farmstead, house, and fence, on one side of the settlement; and then went off again into the woods, where its desolating path could be discerned, for several days, by the dark cloud of smoke by day, and by the bright streak in the heavens above it by night. Four dwelling-houses and five barns, with a number of inferior outbuildings, were totally consumed. And nothing was insured; not, at least, in the common acceptation of the term. Those simple people knew nothing about insurance companies or their agents; and yet they were not altogether uninsured either.

But, to explain this, I must advert to another fearful and recent calamity of a similar nature, but much more extensive. I allude to the great fire at Miramichi, a flourishing little seaport on

From "Memoirs of a Missionary in Canada." London, Murray, 1846.

the shore of the gulf of St. Lawrence. That illfated town, as well as the whole of the surrounding cleared country, and the wilderness beyond it, was for days one vast and boundless sea of fire, so that the poor inhabitants, in their fright and consternation, had no place to flee to for the preservation of their lives. Many of them were burned to death; and many of those who, for refuge from the flames, rushed into the great river, were pushed by the crowd beyond their depth, and drowned. When we were made acquainted with their sufferings, we cheerfully contributed to the utmost of our poor ability to their relief. I had the pleasing satisfaction of transmitting to the poor sufferers a sum of money amounting to nearly twenty-five pounds, all collected within little rural district. There were few parishes in the colony so poor as we were, and yet not one contributed so much. It so happened that those of my people who had now in their turn become similar sufferers themselves had been among the largest contributors: one of them even sold a heifer to raise money for the occasion.

my

tuted the insurance I have alluded to. They had This generous and Christian liberality constipaid the amount of their policies, and their certificates were made out in fair and lasting characters; nor did the record perish in the wreck of their fortunes. But this certificate was a very different thing from the pompous document so designated by money-making insurance companies: it consisted only in the short and concise promise, that "He that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord, and he will repay." And he did repay. The whole community turned out as one houses and barns; and, although they were neman to assist the sufferers in rebuilding their cessarily put to some trouble and expense, yet they were amply indemnified for their loss by having new buildings thus erected for them at a less cost to themselves than the difference between their value and that of the old ones.

THE FATAL STONE*.

THE Scots of Ireland, and the early Scots, being then alike ignorant in the arts of reading and writing, had no other way of commemorating events than by placing stone monuments on or near the spot they wished to have remembered. Of these they had three kinds, religious, eventful, and funeral. The first were merely upright stones, rudely carved with the moon and stars; their funeral monuments were likewise rudely sculptured; and those that marked their other events had a history belonging to them, which even to this day is carefully remembered, and related to every inquiring traveller. To such we will leave them; for little faith ought to be placed in legendary or traditionary history, where the narrator has the power to embellish it with all the romance of fiction. From the same source may be traced the origin of their venerated inaugural or fatal stone; but, since the Bardic prophecy concerning it is not without some truth, I will endeavour to satisfy your curiosity by telling you its strange history. The Scots fondly ima

From "The Child's First Step to Scottish History:" by Anne Redwell. London: Sharpe. A pleasing volume.

gine it to be Jacob's pillow, and that it was brought from the Holy Land by the druids (who came originally from the east), and placed by them with pious care in their sacred island. On it the kings of Ireland were installed in their supreme power; and whether or not it was the self-same stone that was afterwards carried with sacred trust into Cantire, when the Scoto-Irish colonized that part, may be matter of doubt; but at all events, it was held in equal veneration, and was only used for the solemn office of inaugurating their kings, which ceremony was performed by their priests. When Kenneth by conquest became king of Scotland, he, with the same care, had the fatal stone removed to Scone, that city being in the centre of his kingdom; and Edward the First must have put an equal faith in its history, or he would not have been so eager to gain possession of it, and transplant it to the capital of his own kingdom. By him it was placed in Westminster abbey, near the altar, before the shrine of St. Edward; and in that sacred edifice it has ever since remained. Edward the Third promised to return it to its lawful owners, and issued grants to that effect, which, however,

were not fulfilled.

Juvenile Reading.

THE ETERNAL BURDEN*.

manded for it.

THE caliph Hakkam, who loved pomp, wished to enlarge and adorn the gardens of his palace. For this purpose he bought the surrounding land, and paid the proprietors as much as they deThere remained only a poor widow, who, from pious motives, refused to sell the inheritance of her ancestors, and rejected every application which was made to her. The overseer of the royal building was provoked by this woman's obstinacy: he seized upon her little patrimony, and the poor widow came weeping to the judge.

Ibn Beschir was then cadi of the town. He

duly considered the case brought before him, and found it a delicate one; for, although by an ancient statute the widow was proved indubitably in the right, yet it was by no means easy to dispose a prince, who was accustomed to consider his will perfect justice, to the voluntary fulfilment of an antiquated law.

What, then, did the just cadi do? He saddled his ass, hung a large sack over its back, and rode immediately to the palace-garden, where he found the caliph seated in the beautiful building he had erected on the widow's land.

The appearance of the cadi, with his ass and sack, greatly astonished him; and he was still nore surprised when Ibn Beschir threw himself at his feet, and said, "Permit me, sire, to fill this sack with earth from these grounds."

Hakkam assented; and, when the sack was filled, Ibn Beschir entreated the caliph would assist him to lift it upon the back of the ass. Hakkam thought this demand stranger than the foregoing one; but, in order to see what the man had in his mind, he endeavoured to help him. The sack, however, could not be raised; and the ca

From "Stories and Sketches for the Amusement of Leisure Hours." London: James Burns. 1946.

liph said, "The burden is too heavy, cadi—it is impossible." "Sire," answered Ibn Beschir, with noble confidence, 66 you find this burden too heavy, and it only contains a small portion of the earth which you have unjustly taken from the poor widow: how, then, shall you bear the whole of the stolen land, which the Judge of all the world will lay upon your shoulders in the day of judgment?"

The caliph was struck with the force of these words: he praised the conduct of the cadi, and gave back to the widow all her inheritance, with the buildings he had raised upon it.

Poetry.

A FATHER'S LAMENT*.

A DREAMY stillness in the calm air slept :
The moon was cloudless, and serenely wept
Her tears of radiance in my lonely room,
Giving a silvery softness to the gloom;
When death-that mighty and mysterious shade-
Beneath my roof his first dread visit paid,
His shadowy banner o'er my hearth unfurl'd,
And broke the spell that bound me to the world.
O, mournful task! at that subduing hour
I watched the withering of a cherished flower:
I bent in silence o'er a dying child,
And felt that grief which cannot be beguiled;
Held on my trembling knee his wasted frame,
As the last shadow o'er his features came;
Saw the dull film that veiled his lovely eyes,
Received upon my lips his latest sighs;
And, as the spirit calmly, softly passed,

I knew that I was desolate at last.
A few brief hours, and he was borne away,
And laid, soft sleeping, on his couch of clay.
Fond hearts that loved, and lips that blessed, were
there,

That swelled with grief, and breathed the parting prayer.

The pastor gave his treasure unto God:
I only heard the booming of the clod
That closed for ever on my darling son,
And told that love's last obsequies were done :
Then looking, lingering still, I turned again,
To quell my grief amid the haunts of men.

Yes, thou art gone, my beautiful-my boy!
Thy father's solace, and thy mother's joy;
Gone to a far, far world, where sin and strife
Can never stain thy purity of life;
A young, bright worshipper at Mercy's throne,
While I am prisoned here, unbless'd and lone;
Lone as a shattered bark upon the deep,
When unrelenting storms around her sweep ;
Lone as a tree beneath an angry heaven,
Its foliage scattered, and its branches riven;
Lone as a broken harp, whose wonted strain
Can never wake to melody again.
Thus I have felt for thee, child, since we parted;
Weary and sad, and all but broken-hearted.
I mourn in secret; for thy mother now,
With settled sorrow gathered on her brow,

FromHours with the Muses."

Looks unto me for comfort in her tears,
While the soul's anguish in her face appears.
We sit together by our evening fire,

And talk of thee with tongues that cannot tire;
Recall thy buoyant form, thy winning ways,
Thy healthful cheek that promised many days;
Each pleasant word, each gentle look and tone
That touched the heart, and made it all thine own;
Gaze on the treasures which pertained to thee,
The little sources of thy boyish glee-

Things which are kept with more than miser care-
The empty garment and the vacant chair;
Till, having eased the burden of the breast,
A tranquil sadness soothes us into rest.

"Twas sweet to kiss thy sleeping eyes at morn,
And press thy lips, that welcomed my return:
'Twas sweet to hear thy cheerful voice at play,
And watch thy steps the live-long sabbath day:
'Twas sweet to take thee on my knee, and hear
Thine artless narrative of joy or fear;
To catch the dawning of inquiring thought,
And every change that time and teaching wrought.
This was my wish; to guard thee as a child,
And keep thy stainless spirit undefiled;
To guide thy progress upward unto youth,
And store thy mind with every precious truth;
Send thee to mingle with the world's rude throng,
In moral worth and manly virtue strong;
With such rare energies as well might claim
The patriot's glory and the poet's fame;
To go down gently to the verge of death,
And bless thee with a father's parting breath,
Assured that thou wouldst duly come to lave,
With filial tears, a parent's humble grave.

Such was my wish; but Providence hath shown
How little wisdom man can call his own.
Such was my wish; but God hath been more just,
And brought my humble spirit to the dust.

I should not murmur that thou couldst not live:
Thou hast a brighter lot than earth can give.
Then let me turn to thy fair sisters here,
And hold them, for thy precious sake, more dear;
Restore them to a place upon my knee,
And yield that love which I reserved for thee.
One hope remains-and one that never dies—-
That I may taste thy rapture in the skies:
Here let me bow my stricken soul in prayer,
Till God shall summon me to meet thee there.

Miscellaneous.

with 1,300,000 gallons; and the Southwark Waterwork company supply 12,000 houses with 1,000,000 gallons daily; making a grand total of 36,000,000 gallons of water running daily into the metropolis from the reservoirs of the different companies. The total number of houses supplied is 250,000, or 144 gallons to each house. The population of London and its suburbs is 2,500,000 persons: if they all consumed an equal quantity of water, it would be equal to 14 gallons daily, or 5,110 gallons yearly to each person. The yearly consumption of water in London amounts to 13,140,000,000 gallons: this immense quantity of water would supply the whole population of Great Britain and Ireland (30,000,000 persons) with one pint per day for ten years, or the whole population of the known world (900,000,000 persons) with one pint per day for six months. Supposing this quantity of water was in one reservoir, with a spout at the bottom, so that the water could flow at the rate of 4 gallons per minute, it would require 5,850 years, or as long as the world has been created, to empty it, and the weight of the water would be 46,928,571 tons.

PROTESTANTISM.-While apostacy is pushing its way over the soil of protestant England, and establishing itself perfectly at its ease in Ireland, it would appear that a new spirit is spreading through the sullen superstitions of the Continent. We have heard of this impulse for some time; and, although we are slow in receiving it in all its parts, yet the general authority is so much above suspicion, and the effect so much in analogy with the great operations of Providence in awakening men to the gospel, that we are strongly inclined to give it credence. The Continental Echo, a religious paper, contains many important details on the subject; but, for the present, we give only the single instance :-" The following statement was made by Sir Digby Mackworth, at a recent meeting of the Protestant Association :- He said he had only returned last week to his own country, after many months' absence on the continent. In passing through Italy and France he had observed an universally strong tendency to promote the advancement of protestantism. He did not speak of any particular place: he only spoke generally; for, of course, he could not presume to speak otherwise. In Italy, however, the oppressed Italians were everywhere sighing for religious liberty; and in France-infidel Francethere was a spirit abroad equal to that which animated the reformers of the fifteenth century. He knew and esteemed many Roman catholics in France, who looked to England for religious assistance, and who were calling aloud for protestant teachers. He would not, for particular reasons, mention the names of localities; but he was in a situation to know the fact that there were at that moment upwards of two millions of such Roman catholics in France.'" All things denote the coming of a crisis in the religions of Europe and Asia.-Britannia.

houses with 3,500,000 gallons; the Lambeth waterworks supply 20,000 houses with 1,500,000 gallons; the Vauxhall waterworks supply 13,500 houses

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a

SEMPERINGHAM PRIORY.

SEMPERINGHAM, a small village in Lincolnshire, is celebrated in the monastic annals of England as being the birth-place of one of those remarkable characters, who, in former times, devoted all their pecuniary means, no less than their energies, to promote the extension and consolidation of the Roman catholic church, and to whom we are in measure indebted for many of those noble piles which now adorn different parts and districts of this country. Sir Gilbert de Semperingham was the eldest son of a Norman knight, and was born in this village. He was sent to France to be educated, and on his return from thence took orders, and obtained considerable preferment, amongst which was the presentation to the churches of Tessingden and Semperingham, and

VOL. XXI.

was also appointed chaplain to the bishop of Lincoln. Having devoted himself wholly to a religious life, he obtained permission of Pope Eugenius III., A.D. 1148, to institute a new religious order of monks, to be called Gilbertines, after his own Christian name, and to be settled at his native place. The singularity adopted by these ecclesiastics, as well as the reputed piety of their founder and first recluse, quickly attracted the attention of others, and induced numbers of both sexes to join the society. As the number of applicants increased very rapidly, Gilbert de Semperingham found it necessary to increase their accommodation; and he therefore immediately employed his large estates in building a house for their reception, and also settled upon the institution an adequate annual endowment for their

T