We do all homage to modern science, nor do we dispute the loftiness of its pretensions. But we maintain that, however brilliant its career in those tracts of philosophy where it has the light of observation to conduct it, the philosophy of all that lies without the field of observation is as obscure and inaccessible as ever. We maintain that, to pass from the motions of the moon to an unauthorized speculation upon the chemistry of its materials, is a presumption disowned by philosophy. We ought to feel that it would be a still more glaring transgression of all her maxims, to pass from the brightest discovery in her catalogue, to the ways of that mysterious Being whom no eye hath seen, and whose mind is capacious as infinity. The splendour and the magnitude of what we do know can never authorize us to pronounce upon what we do not know; nor can we conceive a transition more. violent, or more unwarrantable, than to pass from the truths of natural science to a speculation on the details of God's administration, or the economy of his moral go

vernment.

Instead of theorizing upon the nature and properties of that divine light which irradiates the throne of God, and exists at so immeasurable a distance from our faculties, let us point our eyes to that emanation which has actually come down to us. Instead of theorizing upon the coun sels of the divine mind, let us go to that volume which lighted upon our world nearly 2000 years ago, and which bears the most authentic evidence that it is the depository of part of these counsels.

1. Why may we be satisfied that the translation of the Bible is a good one?

2. What must we bring with us, if we want to win the kingdom of Heaven?

3. What does the Bible profess to be?

LESSON CCXVI.

AUGUST THE FOURTH.

Calais Taken.

On this day, in 1347, Calais, a strong sea-port town in France, was taken by Edward III. of England, after a siege of eleven months. The besieged turned 1700 women, children, and old people, out of the town, to save their provisions; and Edward had the goodness, after en

tertaining them with a dinner and giving them two pence apiece, to suffer them to pass.

The garrison and inhabitants of Calais, having at length consumed all their provisions, and even eaten all the horses, dogs, cats, and vermin in the place, the governor, John de Vienne, appeared upon the walls and offered to capitulate. Edward, greatly incensed at their obstinate resistance, sent in Walter Manny, an illustrious knight, to acquaint the governor that he would grant them no terms, but that they must surrender at discretion.

At length, however, at the spirited remonstrances of the governor, and the persuasions of Sir Walter Manny, Edward consented to grant their lives to all the garrison and inhabitants, except six of the principal burgesses, who should deliver to him the keys of the city, with ropes about their necks.

When these terms were made known to the people of Calais, they were plunged in the deepest distress; and after all the miseries they had suffered, they could not think without horror of giving up six of their fellowcitizens to certain death.

In this extremity, when the whole people were drowned in tears, and uncertain what to do, Eustace de St. Pierre, one of the richest merchants in the place, stepped forth and voluntarily offered himself to be one of the six devoted victims. His noble example was imitated by other five of the most wealthy citizens.

These true patriots, bare-footed and bare-headed, with ropes about their necks, were attended to the gates by the whole inhabitants, with tears, blessings, and prayers, for their safety. When they were brought into Edward's presence they laid the keys of the city at his feet, and, falling on their knees, implored his mercy in such moving strains that all the noble spectators melted into tears.

The king's resentment was so strong for the many losses he had suffered in this tedious siege, that he was in danger of forgetting his usual humanity, when the queen, falling upon her knees before him, earnestly begged and obtained their lives. She then conducted these patriotic citizens to her own apartment, entertained them honourably, and dismissed them with presents.

1. What took place on this day, in 1347?

2. What did the garrison and inhabitants of Calais ?

3. To what did Edward consent?

4. How did the queen behave?

LESSON CCXVII. -
-AUGUST THE FIFTH.

The Love of Novelty.

A LOVE of novelty, which is not indulged as a beneficial means for improvement, resembles the rose of Florida, the bird of Paradise, or the cypress of Greece: -the first, the most beautiful of flowers, emitting no fragrance; the second, the most beautiful of birds, eliciting no song; the third, the finest of trees, yielding no fruit.

It characterizes a weak and superficial mind; ill qualifies it for honourable exertion, and peculiarly unfits its possessor from selecting brilliant subjects to exercise his fancy, or from furnishing correct and sound materials to form and elevate the understanding.

To a judicious love of novelty, on the other hand, may we refer some of the pleasures we derive from contrast; the various changes of climate and seasons; the observance of manners and customs of nations; the charms of science, and the delights of poetry: since, by directing the attention to a diversity of objects, the mind roves, as it were, in an enchanted garden, imbibing rich and comprehensive ideas, which administer, in a manner the most vivid and impressive, to the organs of perception and taste. Directed to its proper end, the enlargement of the understanding, by the acquirement of knowledge, it conduces to the improvement of every art, and contributes to the perfection of every science.

As the passion of legitimate love is engendered and confirmed by intimacy of connection, so, on the other hand, the passion of admiration is awakened by distance, and kept alive by continual novelty. For these two pas

sions, so often confounded with each other, are not more different in their origin than in their results. What we love becomes more endeared to us by repetition; what we admire ceases to please us when it ceases to be new. Thus it is with scenery; -the vine in our garden, the oak that shades our cottage, the woods that shelter us from the north, are not more high, more shady, more neat or more fruitful, than other oaks, vines, cottages, and woods; but, from long familiarity, they acquire a title to our preference, by the interesting associations with which they are connected; and having acquired that title, we should be unwilling to exchange them for the most beautiful vale of the south, or the proudest mountain of the north. On the other hand, let us climb the triple

THE MONKS OF OLD.

311

Cader-Idris, Ben Lomond, or Ben Nevis ; and, after viewing with admiration their several wonders, let us inquire of our own feelings, if we do not look around for other objects to gratify our desires? - Novelty once satisfied, admiration ceases; and when we cease to admire we become weary.

1. To what are the rose of Florida, the bird of Paradise and the cypress of Greece likened ?—and why?

2. To what does a love of novelty conduce, when properly directed? 3. Repeat the concluding sentence of this lesson.

Their books they read, and their beads they told ;
To human softness dead and cold,

And all life's vanity.

They dwelt like shadows on the earth,
Free from the penalties of birth,
Nor let one feeling venture forth,
But charity.

I envy them their cloister'd hearts
Knew not the bitter pang that parts
Beings, that all affection's arts

Had link'd in unity.

The tomb to them was not a place
To drown the best loved of their race,
And blot out each sweet memory's trace
In dull obscurity:

To them it was the calmest bed
That rests the aching human head:
They look'd with envy on the dead,
And not with agony.

No bonds they felt, no ties they broke,
No music of the heart they woke,
When one brief moment it had spoke,
To lose it suddenly.

Peaceful they lived, peaceful they died;
And those that did their fate abide,
Saw brothers wither by their side
In all tranquillity.

They loved not, dream'd not, for their sphere
Held not joy's visions; but the tear
Of broken hope, of anxious fear,
Was not their misery.

I envy them—those monks of old;
And, when their statues I behold,
Carved in the marble, calm and cold,
How true an effigy!

I wish my heart as calm and still

To beams that fleet, and blasts that chill,
And pangs that pay joy's spendthrift thrill
With bitter usury.

LESSON CCXIX.

— AUGUST THE SEVENTH.

The Shepherd's Dog.

THE following anecdote is an instance of that sagacity and attachment which so justly contribute to make the dog a favourite and confidant of man.

Those valleys, or glens, as they are called by the natives, which intersect the Grampian mountains, are chiefly inhabited by shepherds. The pastures over which each flock is permitted to range extend many miles in every direction. The shepherd never has a view of his whole flock at once, except when it is collected for the purpose of sale or shearing. His occupation is to make daily visits to the different extremities of his pastures in succession, and to turn back, by means of his dog, any stragglers that may be approaching the boundaries of his neighbour.

In one of these excursions, a shepherd happened to carry along with him one of his children, an infant about three years old. This is a usual practice among the Highlanders, who accustom their children, from their earliest infancy, to endure the rigours of the climate. After traversing his pastures for some time, attended by his dog, the shepherd found himself under the necessity of ascending a summit at some distance, to have a more extensive view of his range. As the ascent was too fatiguing for his child, he left him on a small plain at the bottom, with strict injunctions not to stir until his return. Scarcely, however, had he gained the summit, when the horizon was suddenly darkened by one of those impenetrable