"I did, sir; stand back, Nelly, and don't try to screen me! I came here and took the pledge from Father Macleod, and, God forgive me, I broke it too. I broke it last night, or rather all day yesterday, and-'

"Never heed telling any more about it, James dear,' said his wife eagerly, 'never heed telling any more about it. A man may be overtaken once, yet make a fine Christian afther all. You would not be sending him from the priest's knee, sir, because he broke it once. When, as I said before, it was his brother was in it, and not he, only for company.'

"I had no heart to come this morning-only for her,' said the husband; 'she remembered his reverence preaching about there being more joy in heaven over one sinner in heaven like me than over ninety and nine good men. Oh! if she would only let me tell the wickedness of my past life, and the sin and shame that has followed me

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'It was drink, James; it was drink,' reiterated the wife earnestly, don't be distressing yourself, for it was nothing but the drink. Surely when sober, there isn't a more loving husband, or tenderer father on Ireland's groundand now you'll be true to the pledge, and it's happy we'll be-and prosperous -for the masther told me this blessed morning that if he could depend on you for soberness, you'd earn your twenty-five shillings a-week, and have the credit to be a monday-man; and ye will, James-ye will-for my sake-and for the sake of the children at home.'

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Aye,' he interrupted, and for the sake of the broken-hearted mother that bore me-and for the sake of little Mary that I crippled in the drink. Oh! when the sweet look of that baby is on me-her sweet patient look-I think the gates of heaven can never open for such a sinner.'

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"While he made this confession, his arms hung powerless by his sides; and his pallid face lengthened into an expression of helpless, hopeless, irreclaimable misery. The wife turned away and burst into tears. Several evinced the quick sympathies of Irish natures, for they shuddered and murmured, the Lord be betwixt us and harm, and look down upon them both!' The woman was the first to recover consciousness; impelled by a sudden burst of feeling, she threw her bruised arms round her husband's neck, recalling him to himself by all the tender phrases of Irish affection. We can never forget the agonized earnestness with which the unhappy man took the pledge; the beautiful picture of his gentle and endearing wife as she stood beside him; or the solemn response that followed from a score of voices, 'Oh, then God strengthen ye to keep it.""

In addition to the preceding, we must be allowed to give the following extract from an American paper; the account is entitled "The first and last visit to a dram-shop.”

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'Timothy Truesdale is the name we shall assign to a very worthy, industrious, thriving mechanic of New York, who became a burden to himself, a curse to his family, and a nuisance to society at large: in short, one of the most shameful and abandoned drunkards that ever took the measure of an unmade grave in Gotham Gutter. He was not weaned from his degrading propensity by the Temperance or the Tract Society. Their logic was lost upon Tim: but it was woman's love that cured him, and all women may get a just idea of their importance in society from this story.

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Though he had a wife and five beautiful children, Tim seemed to be unconscious of the fact. He neglected his work, squandered his wages, which daily grew smaller, and spent his time at the pot-house, till the near prostration of all his faculties, or the distasteful words, no more trust,’ warned him to seek the shelter of his wife's care and protection.

"His children could not go to school, because learning was dear and rum was cheap; the landlord dunned for his rent, and Mrs. Truesdale was obliged

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to keep at home as she had no dress fit to appear abroad in, having pawned the last to pay a fine imposed on her husband by the police court. Misery, utter destruction, and famine stared the unhappy family in the face. It is impossible to exaggerate this picture even had we room or inclination.

Mrs. T. was a heroine though not of romance. She loved her worthless husband, and had borne his neglect, the tears of her children, the gripe of famine, and the railing of the drunkard without repining.

"Never had her exertions slackened-never had a harsh word passed her lips.

"At night, when she put her children to sleep, she wept and watched for his coming, and when he did come, drunk as usual, she undressed and assisted him to bed, without a reproach. At length, her courage well nigh exhausted, she resolved upon one last and desperate effort.

"At night having disposed of her three oldest children, she took the two youngest by the hand and bent her steps to the groggery her husband was accustomed to frequent.

"She looked in at the window, and there he sat, in the midst of boon companions with his pipe in his mouth and glass in his hand. He was evidently excited, though not yet drunk. Great was the astonishment of that bad company, and enormous Mr. Truesdale's dismay and confusion, when his wife, pale as marble, and leading two tattered and barefooted babes, stepped up to the bar, called for three glasses of brandy toddy, and then sat down by his side.

"What in the world brings you here, Mary? said he morosely.

"It is very lonesome at home, and your business seldom allows you to be there,' replied the meek wife. 'There is no company like yours, and as you cannot come to me I must come to you. I have a right to share your pleasures as well as your sorrows.'

"But come to such a place as this? expostulated Tim.

"No place can be improper where my husband is,' said poor Mary, 'Whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.' She took up the glass of spirits.

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Surely you are not going to drink that,' asked Tim in full astonishment. "Why not? You say you drink to forget sorrow, and if brandy has that effect, I am sure no living creature has so good an excuse for drinking as I. Besides I have not eaten a mouthful to-day, and I really need something to support my strength.'

"Woman, woman, you are not going to give the children such stuff as that?' cried Tim, as she handed each of the children a glass of liquor.

"Why not? Can the children have a better example than their father's? Is not what is good for him, good for them also? It will put them to sleep, and they will forget that they are cold and hungry. Drink, my children; this is fire, and bed, and food, and clothing. Drink-you can see how much good it does your father.'

"With seeming reluctance, Mary suffered her husband to lead hier home, and that night he prayed long and frequently, which he had not done before for years. The next evening as he returned homeward, with a steady step, he saw his oldest boy run into the house, and heard him exclaim, 'O mother, here comes father and he is not drunk!' Tears came down the parent's cheek, and from that hour he has not tasted strong drink, he had never been vicious or unfeeling, and as soon as his emancipation from the thraldom of a debasing appetite became known, friends, employment, and prosperity returned to him. As for Mrs. T., she is the happiest of women, and never thinks without joy and gratitude of her first and last visit to a dram-shop."

In this volume we have also a comprehensive and understandable treatise of mental Philosophy; under a somewhat new, but rational

system of classification: and from which more real knowledge may be obtained, and with much less labour than from some of the most celebrated treatises. We give the following quotation as a specimen of the manner in which the author treats of mental philosophy :

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1. " Apprehension," from "ad, to or upon," and "prehendere, to grasp," means literally that we have a firm mental hold of any subject or idea; but we cannot have this until we clearly perceive it, for our power of apprehension is co-extensive with our power of knowledge. Should it be said that some persons firmly grasp ideas which they do not understand, it may be replied that though they have no correct notion of the subject they so dogmatically hold, yet there is some idea connected with it which they do understand, and which forms the object of their apprehension. This term, like a very great number of others, is both an active and passive noun, and, in the former sense, stands for the power of the mind which grasps objects; and, in the latter, means the ideas which have been obtained by the use of this faculty.

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2. Í have already explained the word "Understanding," and shown that it means to "stand under," and therefore intimates strong mental vigour; and, as apprehension is evidently taken from the use of the "hand," so the idea suggested by this word is borrowed from the peculiar office of the feet. Persons who cannot grasp an object with their hands are deficient in muscular power, and those who cannot seize truth with their minds are destitute of mental vigour. People, also, who cannot stand or walk, or support themselves under a common burden, are physically weak; aud those who cannot stand under the truth, and take away a clear idea of it, are intellectually infirm. Indeed, without an understanding of the truth, the soul has no mental legs to stand upon. To have a clear understanding of a subject, and a clear apprehension, in common language, is one and the same thing. Perhaps the only difference between these words consists in the term understanding" intimating a more vigorous effort of mind than is implied in mere apprehension. Samson might have grasped the gates of Gaza, without being able to carry them away; the latter operation shewed the perfection of his strength. So the mind which can not only seize the ideas proposed for its contemplation, but also has sufficient power to make its knowledge portable and available for daily use, possesses no common degree of mental energy. The word "understanding," like " apprehension," has more than one signification; "the human understanding means the power we possess of acquiring knowledge; "the understanding of a subject" refers to the mind in the act of comprehending its ideas; while a "man of understanding" is a person who has improved and invigorated his mental faculties by diligent study. The extent of knowledge obtained by this power will entirely depend upon the exercise and study to which it is subject; hence it sometimes refers to the mental faculty, termed simple apprehension, and sometimes to the intellectual power which enables us to analyse and investigate truth or falsehood, and which will be noticed in the next chapter.

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3. The word "Conception" is frequently used in the same sense as "apprehension," or "understanding. We often hear the expressions,— "I have no conception of the thing, or "I cannot understand it," meaning, 'I can form no idea of the matter in hand." The term comes from " together," and "capio, to take," and generally signifies that the mind has been at some pains to take in the whole meaning or description of the subject or object proposed. We have reason to believe that conception means a very clear and distinct apprehension, and intimates that a great effort has been made by the mind to form a very correct notion of the thing presented for its consideration. Thus, while apprehension lays hold of knowledge, and the understanding carries it away, conception moulds it into sensible forms, and

thus makes the mental perception very distinct and clear. For this reason the power in question is not always confined to real objects; many of our conceptions are mere creations of the brain, and have no real antitypes in nature. We may have a conception of a horse with eight legs and four heads, although we never saw such a thing. This term, like those already mentioned, is ambiguous, and sometimes refers to the power of the mind in obtaining clear ideas, and sometimes to the notions which the soul has already formed in itself. To conceive, or form clear or perfect ideas, seems to be the true meaning of mental conception, only that the word is equally applied to the act of conceiving and to the offspring or idea conceived.

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4. The term "Imagination" is not unfrequently employed in almost the same sense as conception." When any one says, "I cannot imagine such a thing," the expression, in common language, is often synonymous with the words, "I have no apprehension of the thing," or "I cannot understand it." I have mentioned the word here, because of this its colloquial signification. I shall hereafter speak of "imagination" as a distinct and noble power of the soul, and very different from simple "apprehension;" but I have here introduced the term, because, in an inferior sense, it is used in nearly the same signification as apprehension." Every sensible object is supposed to produce an image in the soul, and hence Imagination, from "imago, an image," was considered as the most appropriate designation of this mental operation; and it is only for us to examine our knowledge to perceive that a great number of our notions consist of mental images, or rather that, in reverting to these ideas, we recall the real objects and present them before our thoughts. The kind of imagination, therefore, to which I am now referring, alludes to real rather than to fictitious ideas. In this sense an imagination is a vivid mental conception of real sensible objects, and consequently a very distinct and well-defined apprehension.

From the preceding it appears, that our author directs considerable attention to philology-a branch of knowledge which has hitherto been very much neglected, but one which perhaps more than any other, not directly relating to personal salvation, compensates those who give it the attention which it deserves. We have often had occasion to remark, that those who have written upon mental philosophy, or upon scientific subjects, have appeared to endeavour to make their meaning as difficult as possible to be understood; instead of opening philosophy to view, they have covered her with a learned vail which has effectually hidden her from the view of many who have anxiously desired to behold her fair proportions. Mr. Parsons has, however, endeavoured to take off the vail and to make the subjects on which he has written intelligible to all, and we think he has succeeded in his attempt. We are very much pleased with his remarks on "Conscience," and "Human Responsibility." The following is a specimen of the manner in which he treats those questions :-

I. Conscience. This word is of the same origin as consciousness, and comes from " "con, together," and "scio, I know." The Greek word in the New Testament, which is translated "conscience," has exactly the same signification, and is derived from "ovv, sun, together," and "sidew, eideo, I know." Consciousness I have already shown is the power which enables us to observe ourselves, and, therefore, has entirely to do with the operations of our own minds. We cannot be conscious of what powers others possess, nor of what thoughts or principles exist in their minds; but, whether we wish it or not, we must be conscious of our own opinions and volitions. No man as yet was ever able to doubt the evidence of his own consciousness. Hume denied the

existence of a material world, and maintained that all corporeal substances were nothing more than mere ideas; but even the scepticism of Hume could not extend to consciousness. He was conscious that he thought, that he felt, that he deliberated, and exerted his will. And all persons have the same inward and irresistible conviction. If there is any knowledge that is intuitive, it is the knowledge derived from this source. Without any reasoning, all mankind have an immediate and direct apprehension of the powers of their own minds. But power, to be power, must be free, just as choice to be choice, must likewise be free. Power to be moved can hardly be called power. To be able to move spontaneously, and spontaneously to stop moving, this is power. But, then, the existence of this power must include liberty. Without freedom it cannot exist. There is no truth respecting our mental faculties, communicated to us by consciousness, that is more deeply and constantly impressed upon our minds than the fact that we have power to choose our mode of action, and, consequently, have power to do good or to do evil. Now it is this inward conviction, or consciousness, which constitutes conscience and hence we see the reason why conscience and consciousness sprung originally from the same source, and by the Greeks and Romans were interchanged the one for the other. Without the consciousness of inward power to act freely there could be no conscience. No person ever as yet felt any remorse for doing what he had no power to avoid. Were any one to bind me hand and foot, and carry me to an ale-house, I should feel no contrition for the deed. The act was not mine; and though I might be grieved for the injury, I could not repent of it as a crime. But were I to go of my own free will into a scene of temptation, then, unless my conscience was seared, I must endure its upbraidings, because the power to choose which took me there might have kept me away.

Conscience, then, is the power which regulates our moral conduct. It teaches us that we are free; that we are consequently responsible; and ought always to avoid what is evil, and prefer what is good.

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1. It tells us that we are free. It is a query whether there is a human being upon the face of the earth but has this conviction. The savage knows that he murders and steals freely. The Turk, in spite of his Mohammedan belief in predestination, confessess his crimes, and thus tacitly owns that he sinned freely. He knows that his violations of the laws of the Koran have been committed from choice; and the professing Christian, to whatever sect he belongs, feels, and, even in the face of an Antinomian creed, acknowledges, that he has committed iniquities which he might have avoided, and neglected good deeds which he might have performed. In a word, the universal confession of guilt is a universal acknowledgment of voluntary crime, and therefore a universal admission that we are free. There is not a thief but knows that he stole freely; there is not a swearer but is conscious that he swears freely; there is not a seducer but feels that he ruined his victim freely; there is not a drunkard but is assured that he drinks from choice; there is not a sabbath-breaker but is aware that he voluntarily violates the fourth command; and there is not a murderer but is convicted by his own conscience or consciousness that he wilfully imbrued his hands in blood. Hence of necessity every "mouth must be stopped, and all the world must become guilty before God." There is not "a just man upon the earth who doeth good and sinneth not." And whatever may be the religion by which he professes to be ruled, whether it be the creed of a savage, the code of a Turk, a Hindoo, a Fatalist, or a Christian, still he is conscious of having freely neglected or violated many of its precepts; and therefore by his own law, however lax in its morality, he is convicted and condemned. Thus the universal consciousness of freedom to act as we please gives rise to a universal conscience. We find it not only in the rude pagan, but at a very early age in children. If a child can say, "I could not help it," it considers itself fully exonerated from