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made to swim, we do not say it was by the law of gravity, or by the ordinary or common laws of nature; but by the suspension of the law of gravity. It would, indeed, be contrary to sense to say that iron was made to swim by the law of gravity; but not contrary to sense to say it was made to swim by a suspension of that law.

Another class of facts, on which revealed religion is based, are those which have been, and still are, the subjects of prophecy. Many of these facts are already matters of history; and some of them are matters of observation and every-day experience-such as the dispersion of the Jews, and their continuing a separate people, dwelling alone, and not reckoned with the nations; becoming a curse, a bye-word, and a reproach, in all countries to which they have been driven. Even the religion of nature, of which Mr. Owen is the minister and interpreter, is not opposed to the truths of divine revelation. Bishop Butler has shown, in his "Analogy between Natural and Revealed Religion," a beautiful and striking coincidence and harmony between the laws of nature and the doctrines of revealed religion; the one illustrating and corroborating the other, without the slightest jarring, inconsistency, or incongruity-indicating a common origin and author.

To religion Mr. Owen referred all the ills of human existence. Now, a religion must produce evilthat is, vice, ignorance, misery, poverty, destitution, and crime through the operation of its principles, precepts, and the examples which it holds up to imitation. What, then, is the principle, precept, or example, recorded for imitation in the Holy Scriptures, to which evil, either moral or physical, can be traced? Let Mr. Owen, if he can, mention one principle, or one precept, or one model of virtuous conduct, in the Scriptures, to which evil can be traced. He holds revealed religion to be a discipline of

impurity, vice, and crime; let him deduce his conclusions logically and consistently from the principles of revealed truth, instead of dealing in declamation, general assertions, vulgar invective, and scurrilous abuse. The principle of love to God and man runs through the whole of divine revelation; and all the virtues, all the dispositions and actions which it inculcates, are but so many forms of this great principle. Can Mr. Owen point to any injunction in scripture incompatible with this principle? He had even the audacity to assert that religion inculcated vice. What, then, is the vice taught in the Bible? Men, he said, were taught to hate one another. Where is that taught? Does not the word of God teach us to love our enemies, to do good to them that hate us, to pray for them that despitefully use us and persecute us? Are we not taught to ask forgiveness of God as we forgive others? and to return to no man evil for evil, but, on the contrary, blessing? If any teach persecution and hatred, neither persecution nor hatred are taught in the Bible. The religion which it teaches is one of universal charity. We are not, indeed, taught to regard virtue and vice with the same feelings; to hold them as of equal value, and worthy of the same esteem. Neither are we taught to entertain the same respect for the vicious and the virtuous. We owe the worthless not esteem, but compassion; not approbation, but pity; and we owe to vice, in every form, abhorrence and aversion.

Mr. Owen ridiculed the idea of man being either virtuous or vicious for his belief or disbelief, as if the one and the other had no connexion with the state of the heart or the character of a man's actions. If a man reject the truth, because the truth condemns his conduct; because it demands the abandonment of immoral practices; then disbelief cannot be regarded but as odious and detestable; while the unbeliever must appear in the eyes

of the virtuous anything but an object of esteem. And, on the contrary, if belief be inseparable from virtuous thought, feeling, and action, and if it be actually the source, the spring, and principle, of universal charity, of love to God and man, then it must be an object of the highest esteem, in which esteem the faithful have a right to participate.

A community of goods, in which there will be no private property, Mr. Owen informed the company, was to be a feature of his new system. A natural consequence of a community of goods, as men are now constituted, would be a relaxation of the springs of human exertion; the fear of want, a desire of improving our condition, and security for the exclusive disposal of our labor, being the chief incentives to industry. Who would labor if he might have his wants supplied without any care or exertion on his part ? Who would think of surpassing others in skill, invention, and application, if the fruit of all his toil was to be divided equally among all the indolent, vicious, and abandoned? or were no increase of happiness, comfort, or respectability, to accrue from the zealous discharge of his duty, from enterprise, perseverance, and successful exertion? These objections to a community of goods, Mr. Owen meets with a declaration, that, under the new order of things which he is to introduce, all men will be perfect in virtue, each straining, apart from all selfish views, his powers and faculties for the weal of the whole community of man. This perfection of virtue is to result from stripping man of all religion as it has hitherto been taught, and teaching him, under Mr. Owen's direction, the religion

of nature.

His religion, in all its parts, Mr. Owen is to reveal to the world in his next public exhibition. The religion of nature, if consisting, as is generally understood, in the explication and application of the laws of

the universe, might, one should have thought, have been discovered by the researches of the sages of ancient and modern times. But all sages, philosophers, statesmen, divines, and legislators, are perfect fools compared with Mr. Owen. His head, of all the heads that have ever been formed, is perfect in its organization: hence he is such a prodigy of intelligence. As he is acquainted with his new religion, and must be supposed to be under its complete influence, he is no doubt as perfect in virtue as he is in intellect a nonpareil, to which there is not on earth anything par aut simile, equal or similar. I had almost said there is not any who has a spark of intelligence, or a single grain of understanding or common sense, but himself; but in this I am checked by Mr. Owen's own statement, that all intelligent men had adopted his views; that all who had read, heard, and inwardly digested his doctrines, were wise and enlightened; but that all were fools besides! Such a statement is certainly highly creditable to the wisest, the best, and the most enlightened man that ever appeared on the stage of human life.

In conclusion, I may just notice that Mr. Owen informed the company that in his new world, or new order of things, they should neither marry nor be given in marriage. The company naturally concluded there was to be a promiscuous intercourse-a community of women as well as a community of goods. But Mr. Owen immediately set them right in this matter, by telling them that the union of the sexes would be in all cases the union of the purest affection. Affection, he said, constituted the only true and natural marriage; and that when affection ceased, marriage ceased. Of course men should leave their wives when they cease to be objects of affection. Mr. Owen, with his characteristic candor and discernment, assured the company that marriages without affection were in

all cases the effect of priestcraft, although all the world have hitherto thought that priests had little to do with marriages, except performing the mere ceremonial. This is, no doubt, another great discovery!

Need the reader be informed that these details were listened to with wonder, admiration, and delight, by an immense crowd of cockneys, and even by ladies, who cheered the philanthropist through his lecture with violent clapping, and all the usual demonstrations of applause. It may just be stated, that of the company the minority were ladies,

as ladies in general are foolish enough to believe the Bible, in preference to Mr. Owen-and to embrace the religion of the Son of God, in preference to the religion of the philanthropist of New Lanark! Men, says Mr. Burke, are in general right in their feelings. To which I may add, that as women have more feeling than men, their sense of what is wrong must be more acute. And to say the truth of the ladies present at the meeting (if ladies they may be called), they seemed to be rather of the masculine than feminine gender.


FEAR haunts me like a sheeted ghost, there comes no rest to me,
The swelling thoughts have sunk and fled which buoy'd my spirit free.
A form of ill, unchanging still, a dark embodied shape,

Weighs my crush'd heart, and grimly waits to shut me from escape;
Dim-seen, as goul by star-light pale, gorged with his hideous fare,
Yet all-distinct upon my soul there comes his wolfish glare.

The heaven is dark, as if a pall were spread upon the sky,
And earth is like a grave to me, with vultures gather'd by;
And though I breathe, my soul lies dead, and o'er it floats a troop,
Long-bill'd, of birds obscene and vile, prepared for bloody swoop;
One-fiercer, deadlier than them all-one gloats upon my heart,
And half I laugh in bitter joy, to think no blood will start!

No blood, no blood to wet his maw! that blessed torrent's flow
Was suck'd by countless beaks and bills,-dried up long years ago!
"Tis thus I dream, yet not in sleep; for sleep, the torturer, brings,
Before my closed eyes a train of bright and noble things:
The smiles of maidens fair and young, the glance of beauty bright,
And tones remember'd long ago,-all fill me with delight.

Then happy-like the Indian chief between his pangs of pain-
I quite forget in present ease the torture and the chain.

A dream is mine. Sweet, mellow, faint, as if from 'o'er the sea,
Or some calm lake, at evening heard, when hush'd the breezes be,
A strain begins,-and o'er mine ear the blessed music falls,
Bathing my heart, as moonlight bathes some donjon's craggy walls;

A spell of power-a talisman each anguish to allay-
And memory's wand brings back again the long-departed day,

The proud young time, when, free as air, I walk'd beneath the moon,
And listen'd to one gentle voice that sung its witching tune;
I bend, in sleep, to kiss her brow, as ends that falling strain-
Gone! Gone!The agony comes on !-The fiend is here again!

Close, close beside me glooms the form that haunts me night and day;
The phantom stands beside my bed, in morning's twilight grey,
Dim, undefined, and terrible. Ah! well my thrilling blood
Told me that, foe to human kind, a demon near me stood.
It spoke at last: and o'er my soul death's deep'ning shadows flit-
"I takes ye up for debt," it said, " and this here is the writ."



[This article is from a Magazine, the conductors of which have exhibited strong symptoms of dislike at the late events in France; and it is probably published by them to excite, through the sympathies of its readers, the same unfriendly feeling. We of course give it a place in our pages for no such purpose as this. Whether the incidents mentioned in it are real or fictitious, it is doubtless a true picture of many a scene of individual suffering during the "three glorious days;" and though as Republicans we must rejoice that the Sun of Liberty has shone upon regenerated France, as Men we cannot

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but feel for the distresses of those heroic individuals who prepared the way for the brightness of his coming" and the enjoyment of his cheering influence.]

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I was born in the beautiful valley of the Seine, near the small town of Bonnières. It is a lovely place, and I will say no more of it; for in sitting down to write all the miseries and horrors that have visited me since I left it, the fair calm spot of my birth, and the sweet peaceful scenes of my boyhood, rise up like the reproachful spirit of a noble parent before a criminal son, and upbraid me for having ever quitted my tranquil home. My father, though but the gardener at the chateau, was also a small propriétaire; and, in his spare time, used to cultivate his own fields by the banks of the river. The chateau had been purchased by Mons. V the rich bookseller in Paris; and in hanging about the house while a child, I became a great favorite with the good Parisian. Still my principal patron was Monsieur le Curé of Bonnières, who discovered in me an amazing genius for my catechism, taught me to read and write, gave me a smattering of Latin, and declared, that if I took pains and behaved well, he and Monsieur V― between them, would procure me the means of

studying, and make me a clergyman like himself.

My ambition was flattered with the prospect; and during my early years, the dream of my future honors was always before me; but, as I grew up and learnt to dance upon the green with the girls of the village, my sentiments insensibly changed. I began to think of leaving off dancing, and being grave, and serious, and never marryingeach with an augmented degree of horror. The decisive blow, however, was struck, when I had seen three times Mariette Dupont. We were both as young as we well could be to fall in love; but she was so beautiful, and her soft dark one's heart, that from the very first eyes looked so imploringly into moment I saw her, I felt an inclination to put my arm round her, and say, Thou shalt be my own; and I will guard thee from sorrow, and care, and adversity; and shelter thee from every blast that blows in the bleak cold world around." But on this I must not pause either, for the memory of such dreams is bitterness. The matter went on-I loved Mariette, and she that joy is at least my own-lasting Ay ! -imperishable, and the annihilation of a world could not take it from me -She loved me-deeply, truly, devotedly-through life-to the tomb!

Years flew by; and we were married; for my father had never liked the thought of my becoming a priest, which he looked upon as being buried alive. He said I should do much better to labor as my ancestors had done; or, since I had a superior education, could read and write, and understood Latin, I might easily make my fortune in Paris. So he willingly gave his consent to my marriage with Mariette. Monsieur V, the bookseller, said it was always right to

let fools have their own way; and the Curé frowned and united us, merely observing, that he had bestowed his time and attention very much in vain.

By my father's counsel, we determined to go to Paris immediately, for he and my brother were both sure that I should there become a great man, and Mariette had no doubt of it. Besides," my father said, "if you do not get on there, you can come back here, and help to take care of our own ground, while I work at the chateau."

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To Paris we went, and took a small lodging in the Faubourg Poissonniere, where, for two or three weeks, Mariette and myself spent our time and our money in love and amusement. We were not extravagant, but we were thoughtless; and surely a three-week's thoughtlessness was but a fair portion for such happiness as we enjoyed. At length I began to think of seeking something to do; and I had sufficient self-confidence to fancy I could even write in a newspaper. Forth I went to propose myself; and Mariette's eyes told me how high were her anticipations of my. success. To the proprietors of the Constitutionnel, my first application was made; but the gentleman I saw bent his ear to catch my provincial jargon-looked at me from head to foot-told me I was dreaming; and turned upon his heel. How I got out of the house, I know not; but when I found myself in the street, my head swam round, and my heart swelled with mingled indignation, shame, and disappoint


It required no small effort to force myself to enter the office of the National, which was the next I tried. There I mentioned my pretensions, in a humbler tone, and only proposed that something from my pen might be received as an experiment. The clerk to whom I spoke bore my message into an inner room, and returned with a calm, business-like face, to inform me that 40 ATHENEUM, VOL. 5, 3d series.

all departments were full. This had occupied me the whole morning; and I now returned to Mariette, who instantly read my mortification in my countenance. She asked no questions, but only cast her arms round my neck, and with a smile, which was not gay, though it was not desponding, she whispered, "Do not be vexed, Frank. They cannot know yet how clever you are. When they see more of you, they will be glad enough to have you. Besides, we can go back again to Bonnières."

The thought of returning unsuccessful to my own home, was not what I could endure. I imagined the cold eye of the curate; and the disappointment and surprise of my father and brother; and the jeers and the wonder of the whole village; and I determined to do anything rather than go back to Bonnières. The landlord of our lodgings was a tinman, a great politician, and a literary man. All his information, however, was gathered from a paper called the Globe, which he cited on every occasion. To the office of the Globe, then, I went, after dinner; and, having taken a couple of turns before the door, to gather resolution, I went in, and modestly asked when I could see the editor. One of the young men in the office answered that Monsieur then in the house, and ushered me into another room. Here I found a gentleman writing, who looked up with a pleasant and intelligent expression, and pointing to a seat, asked my business.


As I explained it to him, his countenance took a look of great seriousness; and he replied, "I am extremely sorry that no such occupation as you desire can be afforded you by the editors of the Globe, for we have applications every day, which we are obliged to reject, from writers of known excellence. I am afraid, also, that you will find much difficulty in obtaining what you seek, for one of the worst consequences of bad government is now

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