"My life on't, said Yansen, tis the very lad I saw this day, walking up and down in front of the Exchange, who appeared half out of his wits: looking anxiously for some particular object, yet shunning general observation: his person answers the description."

"That's fortunate," said the merchant, 'you must devote the morrow to search for him: bring him to me, if possible, and I'll do my utmost to serve my excellent friends Bennett and Ford of London."

Early next morning, Yansen went to the Exchange, and kept an anxious watch for many hours in vain: he was returning hopeless, when he saw the identical youth coming out of the door of a Jew moneychanger he brushed hastily past him, exclaiming, "The unconscionable scoundrel! seventy per cent. for bills on the best house in England!"

Yansen approached him. "Young gentleman," said he in a very mild tone, "you appear to have met with some disappointment from that griping wretch, Levi. If you have any business to transact, my house is close by; I shall be happy to treat with you."

Willingly," replied the youth, "the sooner the better. I must leave Hamburgh at daybreak."

The clerk led him to the house of the merchant, and he entered it by a small sidedoor, desiring the young man to be seated, whilst he gave some directions. In a few minutes he reappeared, bringing Von Kapell with him. The worthy Hamburgher having no talent for a round-about way of doing business, said bluntly, "So, Mynheer! we are well met; it will be useless to attempt disguise with me; look but at this! and he put into his hand the letter he had the night before received.

Overwhelmed with consternation, the young man fell at his feet.

"Oh!" he cried, "I am lost for evermy father-my indulgent-my honourable father is heart-broken and disgraced by my villany. My mother-!" here he became nearly inaudible, and he hid his face with his hands-66 66 you," he continued, spared all participation in the agony your wretched son is suffering."

are

"Boy, boy-" said the merchant, raising him, and quite melted at this show of penitence, "listen to me-are the bills safe? if so, you may still hope-"

"They are," eagerly exclaimed the youth :" "how fortunate that I did not listen to the offers of that rapacious Jew. Here, Sir, take them, I implore you," pulling from his breast a large pocket

book; "they are untouched-Spare but my life, and I will yet atone-Oh! spare me from a shameful death."

There was a pause, broken at last by Yansen saying significantly to his employers as per margin."

The merchant turned to the unhappy young man. "Take heart," said he, "Wenn die noth ist amgroszten die hulfe ist am nachsten."*-There's an old German proverb for you! Sit down, and hear what I have to say: I think myself not a little fortunate in so soon being able to fulfil the wishes of my English correspondents; your natural alarm did not suffer you to finish their letter: you will perceive how generously they mean to act; the credit of their house is saved, and they intend not to punish you. Read, read, and a bottle or two of my old Heidelburgh hock :-trouble always makes me thirsty three glasses, my good

Yansen."

Again the young Englishman hid his face, and sighed convulsively, "I do not deserve this lenity," said he, "my excellent father! this is a tribute to your virtue."

Von Kapell left his guest's reflections undisturbed, till a servant entered, who placed refreshments on a well-polished oak table. When she retired, he resumed—

"And now what tempted you to play the runaway?" swallowing the term he had intended to use-"was it for the wenches, or the dicing tables?"

"Spare me, most kind and worthy sir, I entreat you to my father I will make full confession of all my faults, but he must be the first to know the origin of my crimes."

"Well, well, take another glass of wine, you shall stay in my house till we can find a passage for you. It was but last night my good ship Christine sailed for Batavia, and-"

"Under favour," interrupted Yansen, "she has not left the harbour, the wind blew too fresh for her to venture on crossing the sand-banks at night, and it is now only shifting round a point or two."

"You are lucky, youngster," quickly added the merchant; "the Christine has noble accommodations, and you shall go on board this evening. Put these in the chest, good Yansen," handing him the bills,— "count me out the two hundred louis d'ors the boy is to have. Come, man, finish your meal; for I see," said he, regarding a vane on the gable of an opposite house," you have no time to lose."

The meal was finished-the money given
When things are at the worst, they must mend.

-the worthy merchant adding as much good advice as the brief space would permit. The Briton was profuse in his expressions of gratitude, promised amendment, and returned the warm grasp of Von Kapell, unable to speak for his tears. Yansen accompanied him on board, gave the owner's inost particular charge to the skipper, to pay his passenger every attention on the voyage. The vessel cleared the harbour-was in a few hours out of sight-and the next morning, Mynheer Von Kapell wrote to London a full account of the transaction, returning the bills he had so fortunately discovered. *

*

In less than a fortnight, the good old German received the following letter:

"Sir-We have to inform you, that we never lost the bills sent in your last favour every one of which is fabricated, and our acceptance forged. Our cashier has no son, nor has he lost a wife. We are sincerely grieved that your friendly feeling towards our house should have led you to listen to so palpable a cheat.

"We remain, with great respect, yours,

"BENNETT, FORD, & Co." "P. S. If you should ever again hear of the person you have at your own expense sent to Batavia, we shall be glad to know."

CURIOUS FACTS RESPECTING THE CUKOO.

THE CUCKOO never builds a nest for herself, but drops her eggs into the habitation of another, to whom it confides the care of bringing forth its progeny. This kindness, it was formerly, and in many places is still believed, the young cuckoo repays by devouring its fostering mother. But this certainly is an error. The disappearance of the foster-nestlings from the nest in which a cuckoo is hatched, is more satisfactorily accounted for by the observations of the late Dr. Jenner, to whom the world was indebted for the inestimable discovery of

vaccination.

"On the 18th of June, 1787," says he, "I examined the nest of a hedge-sparrow, (accentor modularis) which then contained a cuckoo's, and three hedge-sparrows' eggs. On examining it the day following, the bird had hatched; but the nest then contained only a young cuckoo and one hedge-sparrow. The nest was placed so near the extremity of a hedge, that I could distinctly see what was

going forward in it; and, to my great astonishment, I saw the young cuckoo, though so lately hatched, in the act of turning out the young hedge-sparrow.The mode of accomplishing this was very curious: the little animal, with the assistance of its rump and wings, contrived to get the bird upon its back, and, making a lodgment for its burden by elevating its elbows, clambered backwards with up the side of the nest till it reached the top, where, resting for a moment, it threw off its load with a jerk, and quite disengaged it from the nest. It remained in this situation for a short time, feeling about with the extremities of its wings, as if to be convinced whether the business was properly executed, and then dropped into the nest again. With these, the extremities of its wings, I have often seen it examine, as it were an egg and nestling before it began its operations; and the nice sensibilities which these parts seem to possess, seemed sufficiently to compensate the want of sight, which as yet it was destitute of. I afterwards put in an egg, and this, by a similar process, was conveyed to the edge of the nest, and thrown out. These experiments I have since repeated several times, in different nests, and have always found the young cuckoo disposed to act in the same manner. climbing up the nest, it sometimes drops its burden, and thus is foiled in its endeavours; but, after a little respite, the work is resumed, and goes on almost incessantly till it is effected. The singularity of its shape is well adapted to these purposes; for, different from other newly-hatched birds, its back, from the shoulders downwards, is very broad, with a considerable depression in the middle. This depression seems formed by nature for the design of giving a more secure lodgment to the egg of the hedge-sparrow, or its young one, when the young cuckoo is employed in removing either of them from the nest. When it is about twelve days old, this cavity is filled up, and then the back assumes the shape of nestling birds in general."

In

"It sometimes happens (which disproves Pliny's statement) that two cuckoos' eggs are deposited in the same nest, and then the young produced from one of them must inevitably perish. Two cuckoos and one hedge-sparrow were hatched in the same nest, and one hedge-sparrow's egg remained unhatched. In a few hours afterwards, a contest began between the cuckoos, for the possession of the nest; which continued undetermined until the next afternoon, when one of them, which was somewhat superior in size, turned out the other, together with the young hedge-sparrow and the unhatched egg. The combatants alternately appeared

to have the advantage, as each carried the other several times to the top of the nest, and then sunk down again, oppressed by the weight of the burden; till at length, after various efforts, the strongest prevailed and was afterwards brought up by the hedgesparrow.-Architecture of Birds.

sequently 37 degrees. The prevailing wind is south-west; and the direction of the wind during the three Decembers, collectively, has been south-westerly 274 days; westerly 17; north-westerly 143; easterly 8}; northeasterly 8; southerly 6; northerly 5%; and south-easterly 5.

METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.

THE mean temperature of December was 43.65 degrees of Fahrenheit's thermometer. The maximum, which was 56 degrees, occurred on the 1st, when the direction of the wind was south-westerly; and the minimum of 33 degrees took place on the 28th, with a north-easterly wind. The range of the thermometer was 23 degrees, and the prevailing wind south-west. The direction of the wind has been south-westerly 114 days, westerly 6; north-westerly 33; northerly 3; southerly 2; north-easterly 2; southeasterly 1; and easterly.

Rain has fallen on 16 days, and 9 have been accompanied with wind. Fog was noticed on the 8th, 9th, 27th, and 28th, and hoar frost on the 16th, 19th, and 20th; on the latter morning some slight icy efflorescences were observed on the windows which had a northern aspect. The evening of the 2d was distinguished by a very severe storm of thunder and hail, which was accompanied with a violent gale from the south-west on the 1st the thermometer rose to 57 degrees, and on this day it stood at 55 degrees about noon: the storm did considerable mischief in its passage over Wapping, Stepney, Bromley, Greenwich, and Deptford.

In Blackwall Reach, the lightning struck the mast of the Jubilee, a Gravesend sailing vessel which was coming up the river, and shivered it to pieces, it also carried away a great portion of the bulwarks: the passengers were fortunately below, and no one was hurt. The lightning also struck the new church which is building at Leytonstone, in Essex. A very considerable gale from the south-west was noticed on the 25th; on the evening of the 26th a faint appearance of the Aurora Borealis was seen; rime frost occurred on the morning of the 28th; and snow was first observed this season on the morning of the 31st.

The mean temperature of December, from the observations of 1830, 1831, and 1832, is 40.9 degrees. The maximum of 56 degrees was noticed on the 9th in 1832, and also in 1831; and the minimum of 19 degrees was observed on the 25th in 1830: the range of the thermometer is con

"He taught us how to live; and, oh, too high
A price for knowledge, taught us how to die!"
Tickle.

"COME, sister spirit, quit the house of clay!"
I heard, or thought I heard, an angel say:
For grace and glory but a line divide;
He pass'd it, and is on the heavenly side.
Not unawares the mortal nuncio came,
A wasted life, a frail and sickly frame,
To constant study faded night and day,
Sow'd thick the seeds of premature decay.
But ere the spirit soar'd to climes above,
Faith, Hope, and Charity a chaplet wove;
Hence, calm in death, he sweetly closed his eyes,
open them on beatific joys.

Το

Say, warriors, who on honour's bed repose,
Have ye so sweet a hope, so mild a close?
Say, sages, have philosophers a trust

In cov'nant love! when dust returns to dust?
Go to, ye mighty kings in purple deckt!
Does death the palace or the crown respect?
Watson was rich in faith, in peace divine,
Ye pass away, and dying, leave no sign.
Ye sacred pastors, whether by the mount
Of holy vision, or Siloa's fount,

Ye rove in prayerful musing, mourn the loss
Of him who wreath'd in flowers the creed and cross.
Ye churches call'd Wesleyan from your chief,
Drop tender tears, but not in hopeless grief!
Watson is happy, soothe your needless fears,
He soars to glory, while ye sow in tears!

Weep, Africa! for thou hast lost a chief
Who spread a shield on all thy realms of grief,
And wrote, and preached, and pleaded for the slave,
That freedom's flag o'er all thy coast might wave.
Ye Christian Missions, spreading every shore,
From palmy Ind' to piny Labrador;

He made your cause by sympathy his own,
And stretch'd his line of love from zone to zone.
Ye different sects, in Christ your centre join'd,
Revere the man of philanthropic mind;
Slave to no party, yet the friend of all,
Whether of Christ, Apollos, Cephas, Paul.
But what is life, if those distinguish'd most,
With all that man exalts, or mind can boast,
Fade thus at Fifty-two, a flower, a leaf!
And leave us no companion but our grief?
We saw his rich exuberance of thought;
We felt the eloquence of all he taught;
But soon the lustre passes from our sight,
Lost in the brightness of celestial light.
His mind, that shed its fragrance all around,
And made the region wisdom's holy ground,
Was like a crystal vase with odour fill'd;
But death has broke it, the perfume is spill'd.

Watson, whose life and writings gave delight,
With wit so sparkling, rich, and recondite;
No more shall grace May's festival with flowers
From Zion's hill, or wisdom's rosy bowers.
Perhaps we more than meet to man allow'd,
And God conceal'd the brightness with a cloud:
The star is set that led to Bethlehem's plains,
But Christ, the church's Head, for ever reigns!
But shall this lustre, lighted at the skies,
In death's horizon sink no more to rise?
No, "being dead he speaketh :" read his page,
It charms the church, and shall, from age to age !
The cross with all its furniture of love,
And covenants sign'd and seal'd,-the Lamb,-the
Dove,

Made more symphonious in his ravish'd ears
Than Mammon's lyre, or music of the spheres.
He touch'd this chord with such a master's hand,
It thrill'd through many a pulpit in the land,
And gave us back with rapture unexpress'd,
Truth's image, fair engraven on our breast.
But silent is the oracle:-no more
Shall eager thousands crowd the temple door;
Entranc'd to hear his eloquence, they hung
With silent wonder on his tuneful tongue.
Walsall.

ALONE he sat, and wept. That very night
The ambassador of God, with earnest zeal
Of eloquence had warned him to repent,
And, like the Roman at Drusilla's side,
Hearing the truth, he trembled. Conscience wrought,
Yet sin allured. The struggle shook him sore.
The dim lamp waned-the hour of midnight tolled;
Prayer sought for entrance, but the heart had closed
Its diamond valve. He threw him on his couch,
And bade the Spirit of his God depart.

-But there was war within him, and he sighed-
"Depart not utterly, thou Blessed One!
Return when youth is past, and make my soul
For ever thine."

With kindling brow he trod
The haunts of pleasure, while the viol's voice,
And Beauty's smile, his joyous pulses woke.
To Love he knelt, and on his brow she hung
Her freshest myrtle-wreath.-For gold he sought,
And winged Wealth indulged him, till the world
Pronounced him happy. Manhood's vigorous prime
Swelled to its climax, and his busy days
And restless nights swept like a tide away.
Care struck deep root around him, and each shoot,
Still striking earthward, like the Indian tree,
Shut out with woven shades the eye of Heaven,
When, lo! a message from the Crucified-
"Look unto me, and live." Pausing, he spake
Of weariness, and haste, and want of time,
And duty to his children, and besought
A longer space to do the work of heaven.

- God spake again, when Age had shed its snows
On his wan temples, and the palsied hand
Shrank from gold-gathering. But the rigid chain
Of Habit bound him, and he still implored
A more convenient season:-

Closed in around his heart-strings. The poor clay
Lay vanquished and distorted. But the soul-
The soul, whose promised season never came
To hearken to its Maker's call, had gone
To weigh His sufferance with its own abuse,
And bide the audit.

BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST.

RICHLY array'd, in gorgeous robes of state,
With haughty mien enthron'd, Belshazzar sits;
A crown of gold adorns his princely brow;
With stately grasp, the sceptre's form he holds;
Th' encircling scarf, with folds of richer hue,
Descends, and at his feet itself expends.
"Call in the nobles of the land," he cries;
"Bring hither all my officers of state,
And let us feast the soul with ease and pomp.
In haste prepare the banquet, for, this day,
I, with my nobles, courtiers, and wives,
Will set apart for mirth, and revelries.
Prepare the sacred vessels of the temple,
And bring them hither to the banquet hall,
And let us quaff the cool refreshing draught,
Made better by their sacred properties."

And now, behold, the hall is fill'd with guests;
Made glad with wine, each soul is lifted high;
With joy unknown before, each heart rebounds;
But, lo! what sight immortal strikes the eye!
What words of unknown tongue, burst on the sight!
What goodly forms, break the astounded view!
The distant thunder rolls, the lightning darts;
Behold the gath'ring clouds, in yonder skies,
Big with thy fate, and bursting with revenge!
And now, Belshazzar, great in hellish deeds,
Behold, and read thy awful condemnation,
Written with the finger of thy slighted Judge!
Well may'st thou tremble, and, in despair,
Recall the broken vows made to thy God.
Those vows, alas! will now avail thee nought;
Thy fate is seal'd; and ne'er will He who
Fixed thy doom, recall the sentence more.
Nov. 15, 1832.

W. MARSHALL.

BEAUTIES OF NATURE.
My native home is dear to me,
The soil on which I grew :
And dear is that old fashion'd tree,
From whence the eagle glew.

I love to climb that lofty rock
From whence the wide, wide sea,
With all its countless finny stock
Is there display'd to me.

I love to range along the beach
When the rough winds do roar,
And smile to see it cannot reach
The youth along its shore.

I love to walk that lonely dell,
Where wild flowers sweetly blow,
And there in contemplation dwell,
Of all things here below.

Or, in yon shady wood to be,
Where birds do sweetly sing:
Their love-songs on each verdant tree,
Till all the valleys ring.

Or, poring o'er yon river's brink,
Where fishes swiftly glide
Muse on life's vanity, and think
How rapid time does stride.
Then with the smiling infant play,
And lull its froward mind:
Or spirit on the young and gay,
To benefit mankind.

And may I ever useful prove,
Along life's thorny road:
Teaching both young and old to love
And practise all that's good.

L. R.

HEAVEN.

BY W. P. SPARKS.

THERE is a land-a happy land,
Where blessed spirits dwell,

How pure its light, how deep its joy,
No mortal tongue can tell!

A peaceful clime,-a Sabbath shore,
A heaven, and a rest-
Where weary travellers may go
To be for ever blest!

A place of holiness and love,-
Of rapture and delight;
Where hope is ripened into bliss,
And faith is lost in sight!

A land of hills and valleys green,
Of never-clouded sky,
Where joy for ever is serene,
And all is melody!

A land of sun and summer air,

Where flowers unfading blow,
Water'd by streams of glorious grace,
Which all around them flow!

A land where wearied ones may meet,
And meet to part no more,

A land where sorrow never comes,
And farewell sounds are o'er:

The mother there may meet her child,
And clasp it to her breast;

The bands of friendship strengthen there,
And sinless love is blest!

A land where sickness is unknown,
And grief no more is sad;

A land where beauty is unstain'd,
And mourning souls are glad.

Death and the grave are dark no more,
And not a soul can die;

For Jesus is its living Head,

Its time eternity!

'Tis there Immanuel has gained An everlasting throne;

His face, the sun which beams to bless-
His light-its light alone!

'Tis he who bought that land for us,
By pains none else e'er knew,
And if we here his precepts love,
There we shall see him too!

IMITATION OF POPE'S ODE ON SOLITUDE.

HAPPY the man whose wish and care,
Not sordid wealth, or acres bound;
Whose soul aspires to breathe the air
Of Zion's ground:

Who with the hungry shares his bread,
Supplies the naked with attire ;
In scorching heat provides them shade;
In winter, fire:

Who pours the holy light of truth

On dark'ned and benighted minds;
And strives to loose th' adult and youth,
Whom Satan binds :

Labour with study, who combines,
Together mixt-sweet recreation;
And prayer and praise devoutly joins
With meditation.

Thus walking with his God, he binds
The wreath that never shall decay;
And in eternal prospect finds
Hope's cheering ray!

So may I live-for kindness known;
Nor unlamented would I die;
But let the poor-not flatt'ring stone-
Tell where I lie!

F.

AFFECTION.

(A FACT.)

On the lone couch secure, young Melville lay,
And in his bosom breathed a lovely child;
Yet while he slept, his soul was winged away,
And death had stiffened while the features smiled.
Oh, cruel dart! in one short moment spoiled
Are all our dearest hopes. The boy awoke
In night with dreary horrors black and wild,
Unconscious of the agonizing stroke

Which princes feel, nor mighty monarchs can revoke.
He trembling felt the clay-cold stiffened grasp,
That clung around him 'gainst his little will;
Then gently tried to loose the iron clasp,
His pale frame shuddering with an icy chill,
While demons gazed to saturate their fill.
"O father! move your hand-it is so cold;"
Yet in the firm embrace it tightened still,
And the pale corpse would in its silence fold,
Nor sweet affection cease the blooming child to hold.
Beaconsfield.
J. A. B.

REVIEW.-The Works of Robert Hall, A. M., with a Brief Memoir of his Life. By Dr. Gregory; and Öbservations on his Character as a Preacher; by John Foster. Vol. VI. 8vo. pp. 690. Holdsworth and Ball. London. 1833.

No other volume in this excellent series either excited so much expectation on its announcement, or afforded so much gratification to the reader on its appearance, as this that is now before us. These effects have in no small degree been produced by the nature of its contents, for every one feels an interest in what is detailed in narrative, and is pleased to behold a development of intellectual character.

Of this large volume, the latter portion comprises twenty-one sermons, delivered on various subjects and occasions; but as in their general character they bear a strong resemblance to many others already presented to the public, they display nothing to arrest particular attention. In every one, the same commanding eloquence, the same expansion of intellectual power, the same acuteness of investigation, and the same fervour of piety, are alike conspicuous, and fully entitle them to a place among the works of their celebrated author.

The former part, however, which comprises a biographical sketch of Mr. Hall's life, may on this account be expected to excite a deeper interest, as every person wishes to behold the portraiture of a man who shines in all his compositions with such distinguished lustre.

It would appear from some prefatory observations, that the development of Mr. Hall's intellectual character, had been consigned to the well-known talents, and elegant pen of Sir James Mackintosh, and in this expectation the public were fully satisfied to confide. The imperious hand of